#he's just so ruinable

[shinshoyu]

i think johnny cage on his hands and knees is a beautiful image

[psalmsofpsychosis]

Luke Hunter: Girlfriend Material

[melobin]

wonbin + dacryphilia ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

day eleven. wonbin is always overwhelmed when it comes to you

warnings. sub!wonbin, crying

wc. 1.1k

masterlist

day 10 / day 12

“look at me” wonbin kept his head down as you spoke to him, unintentionally ignoring your request. wonbin would have loved to look at you, but he couldn’t. there was no strength left inside of him, his brain having turned to mush as his body shook under you. 

when you first pushed wonbin down to sit on the bed and straddled him he was excited, his back hitting the headboard as you eagerly stripped the two of you of your clothes and kept your lips on his in a heated kiss. the first whimper wonbin let out was when you slid your fingers into his hair and tugged at the strands harshly, the whimper fell from him at the perfect time as your lips parted momentarily. the smile on your face after you heard the noise told wonbin he was really in for it that night.

he loved it when you took control, when you were rough with him and didn’t hold back. your sex life was pretty even on both ends, you both had your rougher, more dominant nights and you both had your more sensitive night. it was always fun when you both fell into the same mood, either ending in the two of you having mind blowing sex from both of you challenging the power dynamic or the two of you whining in each others arms whilst you moved desperately against each other. the two of you had incredible sexual chemistry, it was why wonbin felt nothing but pure lust as you continued to rough him up. 

wonbin didn’t anticipate just how quickly he’d lose himself though, usually he can last at least a little while, but tonight he was pretty much gone within an instant. something about the way your walls hugged him tightly as you sank down on his cock made his head spin, his thighs tensing under you as he struggled to find a place to put his hands. he happily let you guide them to your waist, his nails pressing deep into your skin as he attempted to relax under the feeling of you and not cum right away. 

it didn’t take long for wonbin’s eyes to shut, his lids fluttering shut as he breathed out another moan. he was in a daze, completely overcome by the feeling of you moving on his cock. his state only got worse when you began to move faster on him, taking him deeper with each bounce. 

gaining his attention back was the hard part, after asking him to look at you, you knew he was out of it. the sniffle you heard come from him only secured that for you. oh wonbin, he was so sweet, so pretty, so precious and far too ruinable for his own good. pretty boys always made the prettiest criers and you already knew how pretty he looked when he cried, 

you brought your hand down to his jaw, gently cupping it before tilting his head up so he would look at you, his eyes opened once you did. his eyes had turned red, his pupils shaking as his lips parted to let out a deep, shaky breath. he didn’t know what to do with himself, he couldn’t hide from you due to the way your hand tightened its grip on his jaw and lord the last thing he wanted was for you to stop. he’d just have to face you head on, or at least attempt to. 

“why are you crying pretty boy” you cooed at him, the thumb of your other hand running underneath his eye to wipe away some of his tears whilst your hips slowing down dramatically. at that point you were basically grinding down against him, purposely clenching around him. wonbin’s lips parted to reply but no words came out, instead a broken sob slipped from him. the sound made your heart ache.

he wrapped his arms around your body and pulled your chest against his, he buried his head in your neck and let out another sob as you moved on him again. you pushed your fingers into his hair and played with the strands soothingly, letting him breathe deeply into your neck as you felt your skin dampen. 

“let me take care of you bin” you sighed in his ear, moving your hips against his against. you felt him nod gently into your neck.

“please” his voice was broken and worn out, his eyes continuing to leak against your neck as you continued to ride him. wonbin was completely out of it, ruined because of you and he loved every second of it. having you take care of him was a dream come true.

wonbin was in blissful agony, his body aching in the best ways possible. his cock throbbed inside of you as your walls clamped down around it, his hips bucking up without him meaning too. he felt as if he had lost all control of his body with the way it moved on its own accord, he knew how close he was to completely losing himself in you. he pleaded with himself, prayed he would be able to tell you he felt like he was going to cum.

truthfully he felt someone embarrassed about how quick his orgasm had approached him but he couldn’t help it. with how incredible you felt wrapped around him, the way you spoke so softly to him and how close the two of you were, it was bound to happen. it was almost laughable how quickly the situation had changed, how he went from wanting you to pull at his hair and degrade him to begging for you to take care of him and love him.

“so close” he breathed out, his voice still tired from the tears that were falling from his eyes, he was a mess.

you gently pulled at his hair, lifting his head out of your neck so you could look down at him. his eyes sparkled under the dim light in the room and his lips were swollen, cheeks flushed as he stared up at you. it looked as if there was no thought behind his eyes, his brain void of anything as he took in the pleasure you gave him.

“you want to cum?” your voice was soft as you questioned him, hips not stopping as you waited for your answer.

“please” he whimpered once more, his voice whinier than before, he was truly a wreck, and the prettiest wreck you had ever seen. 

“cum for me, pretty” wonbin’s eyes squeezed shut the moment you spoke to him, his body shuddering beneath you as the feeling took over. he was overwhelmed, head immediately going back to your neck as his cum began to spill out into your cunt. the warm seed filling your walls as he cried out into your neck, a wet blotch forming instantly due to how many tears had began to form. the orgasm was intense, more intense than wonbin had first expected.

you softly played with his hair as you stilled your hips on his, fingers twirling around the strands as his arms stayed locked around your body and he sniffled into your neck. you shushed him calmingly, wanting to comfort him the best that you could in his current state.

you ended up staying there for longer than you had anticipated, his breathing slowly steadying out as you stayed wrapped around his cock whilst wonbin wrapped himself around you. 

you couldn’t help it, taking care of him was what you were made to do.

tag list. @maripositaa @youdoebaby @urwonnly @gothamgf @chanryou @okhanbinniee @wonbinlover @annenakamura @noluvagn @collosalb1tch @leejeongz @taromilkteass @electric-hearts @https-yeonjun @wonbinkisser @zynz0 @cupidslovearrows @gacktsa @selleprotection @peterm4rker @yizhoutv @s3l3n0phile @cherrytaesan @bananielle @lovetaroandtaemin @lovenanamin @haechiiiz @ihrtsoph @ikeu4life @ywnzn @eaudenana @seokiebin @ramyeonzprincess @ikisswonbin @blooqz @antoncore

[l1tw1ck]

I have a question ⁉️ which horror movie character (of the ones you've watched) would you fill up and breed and why like describe it like your writing college essay and your professor is a strict mf

-🍫

ooo okay okay

Stu Macher

cw: top m reader, bttm ftm stu, afab language, dom/sub, face fucking, gunplay, cunnilingus, breeding

mostly using 2nd pov cause i prefer it 😭

So far, Stu is definitely the most breedable in my eyes next to Dewey. And ruinable, he's definitely someone who needs to be ruined.

He's so pretty, silly and eccentric, one of my favorites in the franchise so far. I like my men pretty & unstable, I can't help myself.

Burying your cock balls deep in his throat, making him gag and tear up from how rough his mouth's getting fucked. A gun pointed to his head to 'ensure' he doesn't try to get away (although extremely unlikely). Unbeknownst to him, the gun'd be empty for his safety but he loves the idea of possibly dying for disobeying you. His pupils'd be blown wide as he takes your cock without any complaints. "Don't waste any of it." You'd order, dragging the barrel of the gun along his face. A dark blush strewn across his cheeks as you practically drown him with your cum

Then you'd push him onto the bed, stripping him down to nothing and pulling on his sensitive nipples. He'd make such pretty hoarse noises as you only stimulate his nipples, he'd beg you to touch him in other places but you would ignore his pleas. "You can come with just your nipples, can't you sweetheart? Don't you wanna be a good boy for me?" The gun pointed at the side of his head, your finger on the trigger. Stu would nod, your satisfaction trumping his. Thanks to the constant encouragement, praises, and the threat of being shot, it wouldn't take long for Stu to come from getting his nipples pulled and sucked on~

Then you'd toss the gun aside and turn him over, spreading his legs and burying your head in between them, getting his pussy ready to be bred with your tongue. He'd bury his head in his pillow, practically sobbing as you tongue and finger fuck his needy wet cunt. His eyes would roll back as he came, squirting on your face and muffled fucked up giggles would leave his mouth.

You'd get him into a mating press, the perfect position for a beauty like him, and slam into him without mercy and finally fulfilling his wishes. An insane expression would be painted on his face, that perfectly messed up look that made you crave him more. His shaky words would be turned into incomprehensible babbles as you pound his cunt into oblivion, bringing him into an almost brainless state.

The only (just barely) comprehensible words that could come out of his mouth would be pleas for you to come, to breed him, and that he's about to come. He'd come so many times before you did because the mere thought of you filling him with your seed would send his overstimulated brain over the edge.

By the end of it all, there'd be thick globs of cum spilling out his pulsing cunt, his whole body shaking and a big grin on his face ♡

[eggcompany]

So Smart, Those Boys Part 4

Knock, Knock. 

Two knuckle taps at the door.

“John?” Sherlock called out as he tied his rode tightly around him. He has only thrown on a pair of tight black briefs and a pair of socks. He always wore socks in the winter, he had to.

He walked to the door and waited for an answer. The floor creaked as the person shifted back and forth for a moment before answering. 

“Um… Yeah. Yeah Sherlock it’s me.” John said through the door and Sherlock breathed deeply. 

Please don’t punch me. I actually like you. Sherlock thought as he opened the door. 

John’s mouth dried as the door opened to reveal the pale man. 

Skin. All he saw was skin. Porcelain skin, glowing and clean and he smelled something so distinct it had to just be the smell of the man. Cigarettes and something chemically and above it all was something chocolatey like cocoa butter.

Good lord… unfair. Please don’t kick me out. I fucking adore you. John thought and stepped forward. Sherlock stepped aside and looked at the floor. 

He felt so heavy. Nervous. So nervous. His heart was racing and he felt cold but sweaty, all clammy. 

“I feel a bit overdressed.” John said and smiled. He sensed Sherlocks anxiety so he tried to lighten the mood a bit. He looked around as he took off his coat and his shoes. Sherlock smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I didn’t know what to put on after I showered…” Sherlock mumbled out quietly. He hoped he hadn’t done something wrong already. By the look of John’s rosy cheeks and razor sharp gaze, he was guessing he didn’t. 

“You look… delicious. Absolutely ruinable.” John said in a low grumbly voice as he stepped up to cup Sherlock’s jaw and bring his head down so their lips could meet for the first time.

Sherlock melted and pressed his lips against John’s. 

So many things sfasted into his mind at once. Strawberry chapstick, warm, so warm, soft yet rough, so warm.

Sherlock opened his eyes when they pulled apart. John’s cheeks were red and his hand had fallen down to touch Sherlock’s elbow. 

“Shirt off. Now.” Sherlock breathed out as he looked down at John’s sweater and button up. He needed to get under them. Down to his skin. Warm skin. Sherlock could almost imagine what the older man looked like underneath the layers. Stocky and muscular and tanned. Manly. Oh so manly.

John smiled and pulled his sweater up over his head. As soon as it was off Sherlock started to guide him to his bedroom.

John unbuttoned his flannel as Sherlock pulled him by the elbow to the other room. John was on the last one when he stopped and looked around the room. 

Are those? Are those bullet holes? John wondered as he stared at the nearly two dozen black holes in the room that had spray paint around them. The rest of the room was so normal. Silk sheets and matching pillowcases, coats hanging from hooks on the back of the door, laundry basket in the corner, closed closet doors, a bookcase overflowing with books. But in the walls…

“I… I don’t have one. I don’t have one anymore.” Sherlock mumbled when he noticed the air changing around John. The way his eyes widened and his mouth fell open and the slight uneasy tension in his shoulders.

It was embarrassing though. The scars from a bad time in his life that are still permanent in his walls. John turned and looked confusingly at him. 

What in bloody hell happened here? John wondered and looked at the other man. 

“I’m not a murderer, John. I don’t have a gun. I won’t hurt you…” Sherlock said and stepped closer and ran his hand from a collarbone down across his hairless slightly tan chest and lower across his stomach. 

So strong. Smooth and warm and perfect. So perfect. Strong warm body. Sherlock thought as John sighed and looked up at him. 

Please don’t murder me, you’re so hot. John thought and undid the last button and shrugged the flannel off. Sherlock pressed his closed lips back to John’s and let his hands roam a bit. 

Sherlock pulled back to breathe heavily and looked down at where John’s hands were down at his sides. He smiled and ran kisses from the other’s lips across his cheek to whisper in his ear. 

“I thought you said ruinable.” Sherlock whispered, pulled back to stare down at John in the most bratty way he could muster. 

Something flashed in John’s eyes. Something wild, sharp. Pure young hunger for a good rough shag. 

John moved forward and unbuttoned his pants and let them fall open. He shoved the center of Sherlock’s chest. The curly haired boy allowed himself to be shoved, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Ruinable.” John said and straddled Sherlock on the bed, harshly pressing their lips together for a moment before pulling back. 

“Destroyable.” He said with a smirk as he kissed Sherlock again but this time prying his lips open. Sherlock easily let John lick in his mouth and tried his best to keep up with the older man’s harsh fast pace. John pulled back, sucking on the younger’s tongue and stared at the now panting boy. 

Sherlock’s mind was hazing out, all the thoughts quieting. He focused on the feeling of John’s sturdy, dense weight on his lap, the sensation of John’s burning hot tongue licking across his and around his teeth and cheeks, the way his lips were rough on his but the silkiness of his tongue contrasted. Sherlock couldn’t even think of something witty or clever to say. He could only think of how it all felt.

He moved his hands to sit on the blonde’s hips. There were miles of warm tan skin right in front of him and he couldn’t even handle it all. 

“Wreckable.” John whispered against Sherlock’s open lips as he untied the knot holding the silk robe closed. He ran his hands from Sherlock’s skinny stomach, over the slight bumps of his ribcage, across his flat chest, to his shoulders. The brunette let the robe fall behind him, leaving him bare except for his socks and his briefs. 

John looked down at his body. Something hung up in his chest. He gently ran his hands down Sherlock’s torso again. 

So thin… so pale… Flashed through John’s mind as he looked at the nearly paper white colored skin and concave stomach and ribs that showed through the other’s stomach. 

John was staring. John was going to find his body unattractive and leave. John was going to… to think he was gross. Sherlock looked to the side and moved his arms to wrap around his middle. 

John smiled at the cute shyness. He did make a mental note that if they decided to actually be together he’d remind Sherlock to eat more often. A little tummy pooch never hurt anyone.

“Loveable” He said had pulled Sherlock’s arms away from his stomach and scooted so their chests were pressed together. He gently cradled the other’s jaw with his hands and kissed him.

Slowly they melted together, John sitting down so all his weight was on Sherlock’s lap and Sherlock finally letting himself relax and be kissed. Their tongues tangled together as Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and let his hands splay across the tan shoulders. 

Sherlock pulled to get even closer but when John winced he let go and dropped his hands, pulling away from the kiss. 

“I hur-” Sherlock tried to say but John shushed him. 

“You didn't hurt me. I just have an old scar that’s still tender. Come on, back to this.” John said and went back to kissing. Sherlock kept his hands lower on John’s back.

When John moved his hands up to tangle in Sherlock’s hair, the younger in response shoved his hands under the waistbands of John’s trousers and pants. 

“Ravangable.” John said as he pulled back and slid off the other’s lap. He made quick work of kicking off his trousers, socks slipping off along with them. He stood in front of Sherlock in his tight red underwear. 

Sherlock stared at him and clenched and unclenched his hands. John was… built. Strong arms, dense muscles covering his body, smooth chest yet fuzzy thighs, and a soft tan that covered him all but what looked like what would be covered by short shorts. Sherlock wanted to just… touch. He wanted to rip those stupid underwear off and touch and rub and sit on just everything. He wanted to touch and feel every muscle. He needed . 

Without noticing his staring and scanning, Sherlock’s mouth had opened a bit. John smirked and wiggled his hips and bit and watched the way Sherlock focused in on the motion. 

“And very, very fuckable.” John said Sherlock looked back up at his eyes. John smirked down at him and looked at the pillows. Sherlock got the message and backed up so his head was on the pillows. 

John looked him up and down. Seeing him all stretched out was something else. Beautiful long legs, silky skin, and a mop of curly dark hair. He looked like a doll. Something made from porcelain or clay, molded by hand. A perfect art doll crafted by hand. 

John crawled to sit on Sherlock’s knees. Sherlock’s eyes were fogged and his lips were parted and panting. 

John ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s thighs. His skin was cool, almost clammy under John’s warm hands. The blonde reached forward and rubbed at the waist of the black underwear hugging the boney hips. There was a large noticeable bulge pushing the front of them up. He rubbed one hand over Sherlock’s bulge while the other moved to hold himself up. 

Sherlock pushed his hips into the bed, away from John’s hand. John moved his hand back up to rest on his hip. He sat up and looked at Sherlock. He raised one eyebrow and cocked his head in question. 

Why isn’t he rubbing up into my hand? John wondered as he looked at Sherlock's uncomfortable face.  

“Um… I don’t really um I don’t…” Sherlock stuttered and pulled away to sit up. John sat on his haunches and laid his hands in his lap. 

“You don’t want to?” John asked in the most non judgemental way he could manage. Sherlock’s head whipped up to look at John. 

“No! No I do! I wanna do it really, really badly!” Sherlock explained and shook his hands around in front of him. John smiled and giggled a little bit. His cock was still pressing against his red underwear and he kept moving his hips trying to make himself a bit comfortable. 

“What’s wrong then? Am I being too dominant? You can shove me down too if you’d like.” John offered with a smile. Sherlock looked into his eyes. 

Pretty eyes. Kind eyes. Tell the truth and let him have you. Sherlock thought before swallowing and looking down at his feet that sat in front of John. 

Sherlock looked down and then back up. 

“I don’t like being touched on my front. I just… I don’t like touching it.” Sherlock said. Anxiety started to pinch in his chest. Should he have just said he was a bottom? But John seemed like a generous lover and would have given him a reach around or something. 

John nodded and looked over at the bedside drawers. Plain dark wood with a lamp and a file folder on top. Maybe it’s a gender thing or something. Skirts, no dick… touching. Whatever. Too good of a guy… and ass… to leave plus why would I care. I’ll just… make it up in other ways. 

“Well Sherlock, what do you want to do? I’m good with anything. If you wanna do something or cuddle or watch a movie and eat take out, that’d all be… nice.” John said and moved so he was sitting criss-cross. The position change made the fabric that covered his crotch looser, which was appreciated even when his erection was starting to flag. 

Sherlock took a big breath and pushed himself forward so he was on his hands and knees, facing John. 

“I’d rather you let me see what’s going to be pounding me through the bed.” He said in a low tone. His eyes shone through the curls hovering over his forehead. John looked down at him and smiled. 

“Go right ahead, doll.” John said and leaned back so his arms were straight beside him and behind him, holding himself up by his palms. 

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, his eyes losing focus for a second and his lips falling open a bit. John watched as sherlocks back dipped and arched.

“You like being called that don’t you?” John whispered and watched as sherlocks big pale hands moved closer to John’s hips  Sherlock brought himself closer to John and moved to straddle John’s knees.

“Yes.” Sherlock said and pressed his lips against John’s. He opened his mouth and licked the seam of John’s. But the shorter man pulled back to kiss and whisper across sherlocks neck.

“Yeah, I could tell. You like being called doll. What about princess? Hmm?” John questioned as he sucked on the side of sherlocks pale neck. He wanted a bloom of purple to be there. Sherlock wore scarves anyway.

The younger moaned and lifted his hands like he wanted to grab John’s shoulders.

“Yes. Yeah I like. I like that.” Sherlock whimpered and quickly shoved his hands down John’s pants. He used one to pull the offending fabric away and the other to grasp his base.

John bucked up and groaned, pulling his head up to kiss sherlocks lips.

Sherlock opened his mouth and savored the way John’s movements became scattered. Needy almost.

John picked around his mouth and thrusted up into his hand.

“Fuck Sherl…. Lemme take em off.” John said into sherlocks mouth. Sherlock looked down and saw that John’s thighs were trying to spread but the underwear was blocking the way.

“How much do you like these underwear?” Sherlock asked as he looked down at the red fabric. Absolutely hideous. He loved it though because it was so John .

John panted, Sherlock still holding him.

John looked confused for a moment.

“I don’t know. I wear the same kin- Oh!” John shouted as Sherlock grabbed the side of John’s underwear and ripped them. Sherlock smiled and pushed the red fabric down. His cock throbbed where it was still trapped in his black underwear.

“You’re feisty, princess. It’s cute.” John whispered and shoved his useless underwear down so he could kick them off.

“Sherlock leaned forward and sucked John’s tongue into his mouth for a moment before revenging John’s mouth.

He slide his hand up John’s thigh as his other stroked up and down John’s cock. Sherlock felt an odd sensation of deja vu as he stroked John. He pulled back and looked down.

He could help but giggle a bit as he looked at John’s dick.

John felt panic start in his chest as he heard soft giggle emanate from the brunette.

“What? Is there something wrong?” He questioned and tried not to sound too self conscious. Sherlock looked up, smiling.

“I like your dick John. Lemme show you mine.” Sherlock said and waggled John’s cock a bit. John let out the deep breath that he’d been holding in.

Sherlock was gonna show him his dick. Naked Sherlock …

John however was incredibly confused when Sherlock bent backwards and opened his bedside. He pulled out a bottle of lube, a condom and something he hid behind his back. He tossed the lube and condom at John and sat up with one arm behind his back.

“I thought…?” John said and trailed off, he stared at sherlocks smiling face.

‘What an odd man. Never know what he’s going to do…’ John thought. There was something annoying about it but yet so… compelling. Like he wouldn’t trade anything for the world for the oddity of sherlocks moods or behaviors.

“I said I’d show you mine. You have your dick. Well I do too.” Sherlock said and giggled as he held out a blue swirl patterned silicone dildo that looked almost identical to John’s own prick.

John looked at it in confusion before breaking out laughing. Sherlock laughed too and the dildo woggled around in his hand.

“It’s the same one! Alien twin!” Sherlock laughed and put the dildo next to John’s prick. It was softer than John but yes, it was just about identical length and girth. Though John’s had a more prominent vein and crown but it was close enough.

John’s laugher boiled down to giggles and he took a hold of the faux cock.

He looked at it for a moment before looking a Sherlock with a dark gaze.

“Is this what you do? You don’t do relationships, you come here and do yourself over on a blue alien prick?” John asked and stared into sherlocks eyes.

Sherlock blushed and looked to the side.

“Yeah… i won’t ask if it’s weird. You’re the one naked in my bed. You signed up for weird, John Watson.” Sherlock said and shyly smiled but kept his eyes at a certain spot on the floor.

“I did indeed. I think I’d like to see you screw your self over one day though. But for now…” John said and pushed Sherlock onto his back on the bed and pulled his legs up and got between his thighs.

“I’d like to show you the real thing.” John said as he threw sherlocks long lanky legs over his shoulders. He reached back and grabbed the condom and small tube of lube.

“You don’t need to do much. I got a bit carried away in the bath.” Sherlock whispered as he watched John kiss from his ankle to his knee. It felt amazing, like sparks each time John’s lips made contact.

John smiled and sucked on the inside of sherlocks knee.

“Next time I’ll do it for you. Id take my time and lay you out.” John said and pulled the black fabric of sherlocks pants up along his legs, uncovering his cock.

John was almost surprised. Sherlock was… kinda hung. At least nine inches, not exactly thin but not thick, and such a pretty pink color. Not like John’s own desperate red.

‘Like that pink quarts that girl gave me’ John thought as he spread Sherlock’s legs around his hips now.

“Maybe eat you out a little bit.” John whispered as he squeezed lube onto two of his fingers. He ran them around sherlocks hole as he moaned.

“Yeah. Yeah that would be good.” Sherlock stuttered out. Finally the confident and brilliant mask was falling away from him. He moaned and grabbed at the sheet below him. John leaned down to kiss around sherlocks neck, causing the younger to moan and tense. John continued to circle his fingers.

“Yeah I know Princess. I know it would be good. I know you’d be so loud.” John whispered. He pushed in two of his fingers and sucked on one of Sherlock’s small pink nipples at the same time.

Sherlock cried out and bucked. He shoved his hands into John’s short blonde hair.

John took it as a good sign and continued to suck and lick at sherlocks nipple.

“Oh John~” Sherlock moaned out between gasps and ragged breaths.

‘He’s gonna be the death of me’ they thought at the same time.

Sherlock because John pushed his fingers right into his spot. The spot that made him throb, made him feel electric.

And John because… good lord he could have cum. The way sherlocks usually deep voice pitched up all high, the way his thighs shook, the way his hole clenched up, the way he everythinged.

Sherlock was getting fed up of waiting. No more waiting. It was time for action.

“God damnit!” Sherlock shouted and in an instant John was on his back and Sherlock was reaching behind himself.

“Desperate now Princess?” John asked breathlessly as he grabbed sherlocks hips.

Sherlock smiled and grapes John’s cock. The tip kissed his hole for a moment before he slowly sank down.

Oh it’s good. Sherlock though. So good. So usual but yet so much better. Thick and solid and warm and just perfect.

Sherlocks breathes turn ragged and more gasping as each inch slid in.

His brain felt so quite. All he could think about was how wonderful it felt to feel John’s skin. The tickling from the hairs on John’s thighs just added to the sensations.

Sherlock felt so light. So quiet and light and free. So free from his own mind.

So warm. It was all so warm.

So thick and warm and wonderful.

“Princess? Sherlock? Sherlock. Are you alright?” John said as he rubbed his thumbs deeper and deeper into sherlocks milky skin. The younger man was panting and whining and looked so out of it.

“I love you.” Sherlock said as he looked down. His eyes were teary and sparkling. So beautiful. His pupils were blown wide and he looked so dazed.

John stared up at him.

‘Do not say it back. You’ve known him for like a week-‘

“God, you’re gorgeous.” Is all John could think to say in that moment.

Sherlock was tight and warm and so wet. So slick inside he must’ve filled himself with lube. His hair was an ungodly mess and his skin, oh his skin. Purple blooming from where John had sucked. His nipples, puffy and pink, looked like art on his flat chest.

Sherlocks hands rested on John’s chest. They curled, bitten nailed scratched down his pecs.

“More. Please more.” Sherlock whispered and looked back up to the ceiling.

John swallowed. He’d never met a man so… peculiar yet so fucking fuckable .

John lifted his knees so his feet where flat on the bed and rubbed up sherlocks sides once before grabbing roughly onto his hips.

“I’ll give you more than enough, Princess.”

To say the least, John decided to pack his things and move into 221b Baker Street.

<-Last Chapter

[heeseongism]

listening to heeseungs live felt like he opened up my legs and starting serenading my pussy WHEN I TELL YOU THAT WAS THE MOST TOE CURLING BACK ARCHING EYE ROLLING BED GRIPPING THIGH TREMBLING EARGASM MY EARDRUMS HAVE EVER RECIEVED IM CREAMING

WHY DOES HE LOOKS SO FUCKABEL AND BABYGIRL I SWEAR TO GOD I WAS CHOKING MY SCREEN BECAUXE HW DAR HE LOOKS SO RUINABLE AND ADORABLE AND THEN PROCEED TO BE A TEASING LITTLE SHIT THE WHOLE LIVE>?"£&?<>?"??"??!??"("&(!?!!

LIKEEEE???!??!!??! YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS YOU HOE AND WHAT IS WITH THAT SLUTTY NOISE THATA LEFT YOUR MOUTH

you guys he looks like an actual doll im cryng he so fucking pretty look at his adorable ass face i just wanna protect this precious boy and wrap him in a blanket and cuddle him to sleep and smother him in kisses i despise him so bad 🥺

[taylortruther]

For better or for worse, a key factor in the "untouchability" of the Beatles as a cultural phenomenon is the fact it didn't last long enough to be "ruined." The band ended on a (musical) high note (more or less) and they never truly reunited in a way that could disillusion people about their greatness. And, though it feels weird to say this, John dying barely a decade later kind of gave them a huge boost, increasing that "petrified in amber" effect of the Beatles being un-ruinable, while also happening at a right moment to sort of kickstart a nostalgia cycle. (it was interesting to see fans being nervous that one (1) new song released in the 2020s could possibly endanger this)

But Paul is approaching middle age by the 80s and, as I mentioned, he's a workaholic with songwriting in his blood, so he won't be stopped. So he's "aging out of the system", becoming a has-been vs. John'# evergreen over-idealized and flattened image (because the dudebro fans only really care about his first two albums, conveniently forgetting the majority of John's post-Beatles work) is just an incalculable factor in how their respective legacies have been shaped.

The thing is, literally three weeks before being shot, John released an album which was kind of panned and considered irrelevant and boring because it was about like... being married and parenting. But there's a near instant switch in the narrative the moment he gets shot, and Imagine, a song released nine years earlier, suddenly goes number one, and his political stuff becomes center-stage again, when that wasn't really what he was singing about anymore.

lol sorry, I could go on about this forever but the actual way the Beatles narrative a lot of people have picked up on through cultural osmosis was shaped is endlessly fascinating to me, and sad when the real people behind it are considered.

i appreciate this, because the beatles are obviously a phenomenon, but i don't know much of the nitty gritty. like i know about the criticisms people have about john being immortalized, but not much of the whys or hows. mostly it just seems really sad that paul and ringo have to bear the burden of this entire legendary band when they are mere mortals.

[neovita]

@picavecalyx Silva wasn't there, not at the time, perhaps she was...there was little box, on top was a note.

' Not sure if you celebrate this sort of thing!! I barely do...but I think it's fun!! It's sad it doesn't snow here, but you can imagine it is!! Or pretend!! Here, I've been busy, but I hope this brings some light to your day!!! "

Inside the box was a few geodes, each one held a different kind of crystal inside. Among them, were shells, some painted, some not. Just a collection of little things, decorations, maybe.

★ Why... ? Why does she have to keep making things so difficult ... ?

★ Cyrus stared at the box in his hands, eyes scanning over each small decoration. It was uncanny... he knew there was no way she could know, but some of these things were Cyrus' favorite kind of object. He hated to carry such frivolous sentimentality with something as fraught as a seashell or a crystal. The truth is, when Cyrus was small, he used to collect seashells. He used to find them on the beach, buried in the water. He would run his small fingers in the cool sea and emerge the pretty pieces from within the muck.

★ He remembered now, that when he was little, he used to think it was so gorgeous. The fact that this world could produce such a simple beauty. No piece of jewelry or art could compare to these tiny, natural wonders. That's what he thought at the time.

★ As the years went by, that childish wonder faded. No... more accurately, it died. Soon all he could think of was the dents and the bruises that this sordid earth was covered in. He could only view each passing day as rotten, soiled grime that was well past its due date. Scraps of garbage festering upon the dirt, and the only right way to fix it was to eradicate it completely.

★ But now, as he stared at the shells and at the geodes, he couldn't stop that wonder from creeping back into his heart like an unwanted guest. He let himself feel each ridge of each shell, each bump of the sparkling crystal. He read the note over, and over. Cyrus wanted to say he felt nothing when he saw those words on that paper.

★ Silva... what was it about the child that was making Cyrus feel these things? What was it about her that was exposing his own ruinable spirit? Maybe it was a simple answer. Maybe it was because when he looked at her he saw something he could not be. A child, rung out by life, who didn't let her spirit die. Didn't WANT her spirit to die. Cyrus couldn't understand it.

★ He could never BE that child.

★ Cyrus sighed, and collected everything in his hands. He handled them like they were precious glasses, like they would shatter if his heavy hands gripped them too tight. He brought them into the cave that he usually rested in. Carefully, one by one, he set them up against the natural shelving of the jagged walls. He watched as they brightened up the room, with each newly placed decoration.

★ He took a step back, almost wincing at the warmth that flooded his chest. It was mortifying, and disgusting. The way that suddenly, this empty cave felt like... his.

★ And when he glanced out the open entrance, he DID imagine it was snowing. He DID pretend. Small snowflakes pictured in his mind, gently caressing the ground all around him. He thought of the cold. This place... it was empty. It was supposed to be a good thing.

★ So... why now? Why?

★ Why did he wish that someone was here to see it with him?

[inappropriate-aunt]

I still miss my dog every day. I wish he could have lived just a few more years. I wish I'd had time to process that I was going to lose him.

It just happened so fast. I remember desperately thinking that I could save him if I just got the right treatment, if I had the test results, and going to the grocery store and buying every food I could imagine that he might eat because he had stopped eating. I spoon fed him ice cream and yogurt and chicken baby food. He licked little bits but the cancer was in his lymph nodes. It must have hurt to swallow. Pain medicine can only do so much.

I knew it was happening but I couldn't accept it. Why couldn't my love and care keep him alive? Why couldn't I, with access to medical treatment and a perfectly ruinable credit score, why couldn't I save him? I knew it was going to be expensive but I didn't care. I thought, I can sell every part of my body that someone would buy if it means I can get him healthy again, get him walking without bumping into walls or falling down, get him well enough to eat. I just didn't have enough time, and I thought, I should have noticed sooner. I thought, god if I had figured it out sooner I could have done things right, and scolded myself that I was so wrapped up in my own issues that I didn't notice.

But I did notice, and I took him to the vet, and I did everything you can do, and still he died. And it's been almost two years but I still miss him. I think about my current dog, and I worry if I'm missing signs, not feeding her right, not taking proper care of her needs. A month after losing Ed she came into my life, and a month after that she nearly died of bloat. It cost every penny I had but I kept her alive. Now sometimes it's hard to believe how healthy she is, when she romps around and barks at me and pulls me off the road so she can try to eat something in the grass. It all seems so ordinary, so domestic, compared to the anxiety and terror and grief of those tense emergency vet visits. When I get frustrated with her or stressed about her behavior, I want to scold myself, I want to remind myself to be grateful.

But that's life, I think. We're grateful for who we have but we can still be frustrated by them. Because we love them. I think about my grandma, and how frustrated her children are with her. I know they'll cry when she's gone.

And I am grateful. I know every day with her is borrowed time. I know she would have died if her old owners hadn't given her up for adoption. Selfish pricks who used her body to sell puppies and discarded her as soon as she got too old for their liking. Would they have even noticed?

I like to think I notice when people aren't doing well, but I'm so oblivious sometimes, so wrapped up in trying to keep myself alive. But I worry. About my friends, about my family. I try to pull them back from the despair of living and grieving. Grandma doesn't walk anymore and it's suffocating her. I bring her plates of cookies and gossip with her and get her to laugh and I wonder if it's enough to keep her with me for just a little longer.

I think about my friends, most of whom suffer from the same mental illnesses that I do, and I wonder if I'm doing enough to keep them around. Please don't leave me. You can move to the other side of the world and never speak to me again but please, don't go. I promise them, I won't leave you, all the time, even when it's hard and I'm thinking I can't do this anymore. I remind myself why I can't die. That it's not fair to them. They keep going, and so do I. We're all hoping together that things will get better. We're all trying to make life a little easier to bear for each other. Because we all know how hard it is. We all know the feeling of grief that tugs at us, and keeps piling up year after year.

Maybe that is why we can't live forever. I'm 32 now. My grandmother is in her 80s. She carries so much more grief. I'm so scared of losing her, and my parents, and my friends. Because I can't do this life alone. But she went on and on, even after losing her husband, her parents, brothers, sisters, friends, second husband. She keeps laughing and teasing people and scolding us. She still has spunk enough to demand that I bring her baked goods, and play against her in word game apps that have too many ads. So I know it's worth it to keep fighting past the grief.

I just miss them so much, and missing them makes me want even more time now with the people I still have, the people I have found, the people who are far away but still fighting to live. To me, life is worth living to keep others alive, to remind them that there are times when they will laugh and smile, and eat good food, and listen to good music, and to remind them that just by existing they make one strange woman very very happy.

[dreaming-in-daylight]

no but he is so cute his hair is so ruinable i just wanna ruffle it up

© bright fairy🧚  | preview

[youngbloodlisk]

sweet little baby look at him 🥺 he is so pretty 🥺

[melobin]

melo thinking .. anton thoughts .. size and strength kink !!

antons just so big .. everywhere. he’s so tall and broad, built so nicely.. his arms, his thighs. his cock.

the thing about anton is even if he doesn’t seem it, he has that cocky edge to him. hes hot, his face is pretty.. his body is inane and he knows it. which is why he always uses it against you. he’s just so much bigger than you, stronger than you .. he thrives on it. the way he can tower over you .. how he can open things for you .. how he can press you against the wall and make you feel so small as he cages you in with his arms and looks down at you. he thinks you’re just so cute ! ruinable.. if anything.

and he does that a lot !! ruins you, that is. he cant help himself. one thing anton has found himself enjoying more lately is mirror sex, in riskier places. public bathrooms to changing rooms in clothing … takes you shopping under the guise that he wants to buy you a pretty outfit to wear for your date night, picks out a skirt for you .. a mini skirt.. it’s barely even a skirt, more like a belt with how short it is but he loves it. more specifically he claims he’d love it on you, so he asks you to try it on for him.. following you into the changing room and locking the door behind himself. sits on the bench facing the mirror as he watches you take off your jeans .. cant stop himself form leaning forward a little and slapping your ass when you’re bent over, would have the smuggest smile on his face as he watches you through the mirror. almost like he had ulterior motives bringing you in there .. he did !

he’d watch you carefully as you slide the skirt up your legs, laughing when you turn around and try to pull it down a little when you realise just how short it is.. he loves it though !! his hands would grab your waist.. pulling you down to sit on his lap facing the mirror.. fingers would trail along the skin of your thighs, whispering in your ear about how good you look in the skirt,, lips on your neck while the tells you how fuckable you are right now … that’s when he trails his fingers a little higher to press against your panties. “you’ll let me fuck you here, won’t you, pretty?” and you say yes !! of course you do … you let him take off your panties to slip them in his pocket.. patiently waiting as he releases his cock from his jeans and helps you sink down on it, his eyes not leaving the mirror for a moment as he takes in the way your cunt swallows his thick cock. holds his hands on your hips, grips them so tightly as he looks at the two of you .. you look so small compared to him .. he’s so big and broad and you seem so small and fragile compared to him, like one sharp thrust would break you apart. but it doesn’t .. he makes sure to test it out with his hand over your mouth and your hands pressed against the mirror as he takes you from behind .. just because you’re in public doesn’t mean he’ll go easy on you …

[niilue]

okok but imagine fucking noritoshi like. thagt man is usually stonic seeing him as a moaning mess under you is so [dies

mmmmm noritoshi thirst yessss

ෆ    ִ      ׁ   sub noritoshi kamo

noritoshi doesn't like to show his weakness and how much he loses control when he's with you. but it's inevitable for him. seriously.

the man can appear to have everything under control. he is serious and distant with most people but oh my god!

when you're holding him tightly around his waist, penetrating between his walls, he's whimpering in front of you.

he's insatiable when it comes to you. he's so easily carried away by the excitement, letting you take him, fuck him, bite him, and ruin him. in the most sensual and obscene way possible too.

he doesn't care, here, in bed, or wherever you are, but for you to be with him, squeezing him and telling him what a good boy he is. he'll moan and scream until he's speechless.

"nori, my good boy so insatiable, i just fucked you and you're still whining for more?"

the man was no longer thinking rationally. he was just nodding his head in pleasure and babbling incoherently. he was just moaning your name and rubbing himself all over you. he couldn't stand to be a second without you fucking him to the point of exhaustion.

"haaa, (name), just… just do it, fuck me, over and over again, don't you see i just need this to live."

you could only obey his orders and take it just the way he wanted it, and you had to take advantage of his docile and ruinable state. it didn't last forever and a noritoshi in his right mind would never ask you for a dirty thing like that.

[whaleofatjme1920]

okay i have another question about your headcanons;

what kind of people does the Operator target as victims and proxies? what does he look for on proxies, and what makes someone so noticable to him that he has to kill them? LOVE YOU TAKE YOUR TIME YOURE AWESOME

Who the Operator Targets, Both as Victims & Proxies

This is such a fascinating ask for me. I tried moving in chronological order but I kept getting drawn back to this. I absolutely adore you for sending in stuff like this and for you as a person!

Victims

The Operator chooses his victims both because he can, and for actual reasons.

For the people he can take just because, he thinks he's enacting some weird type of "now you know how harsh the world is" or, he just wants to mess with you.

I like to think the Operator actually chooses garbage humans over the ones who are more innocent because really, no one is going to care a trash human being is gone. Keeps the heat off his proxies.

He will choose if you've gotten too close to his work or just prod his interest in any way.

Sometimes, the Operator gets weirdly interested in people and then just says "kill them."

He likes people who can be easily manipulated and give into paranoia.

He will exploit that.

If you're one of those wattpad kids who are like "let me summon them" I guarantee you the Operator is going to hide away from you forever. He finds that SO TACKY.

Like I'm serious he will avoid you like the plague if you even think you can summon him.

He literally does the choosing and has ultimate decision, no one else.

He likes people who are a little feisty? Makes it interesting for his proxies.

I swear he'd call that a work evaluation.

If you know too much for whatever reason, he will come after you.

If you find out about his human contacts, as in corrupt government officials, police, healthcare workers, he will come after you.

If he notices any obsessive tendencies in you, he might exploit that.

Adversely, if you are 100% healthy and happy he may come after you just to ruin you.

The Operator also likes when his proxies choose their victims and do their own research. Sometimes, he'll give them a list and tell them to read up on their targets and then come back to him.

Sometimes, the Operator gets bored and essentially throws a dart on a map.

Though, when he's really considering targets/victims, he will choose people who really are getting involved with him where they shouldn't. If you get any mention of him, his associates, the world he is a god over, if you start doing crime in his name, he will come after you. He will take the lives of people he think deserve it (and funnily enough, they often do).

Really, if you look into things you shouldn't or look perfectly ruinable, he will come after you.

bit of a wild card innit.

Proxies

The Operator can and will get weirdly infatuated with some humans. Sometimes, he chooses them from their infancy, and sometimes, it's when they're in the middle of their life.

This is what happened with Tim, he got weirdly infatuated for whatever reason. It followed him his entire life.

He will also choose proxies based on abilities he thinks would work.

Did you know not all proxies are killing machines -

Sometimes he chooses proxies from humans he was originally going to kill. Maybe you interested him enough and he just said "okay this is better."

Sometimes he makes people proxies just to see them suffer.

If you give him any inkling that you'd rather choose death over being one of his children, he will make your a proxy and that's how that be.

With proxies who do physical work like killing, he wants them to be physically fit. Normally always chooses humans. Finds beings like Jeff and EJ too unpredictable, thus making them independents.

Humans who become physical working proxies are always filtered into groups. They never work alone. Need to be skilled on lots of facets. He will choose humans that have better survival experiences than others.

They can't be too testy, but it's honestly not a problem, both the Operator and his already existing proxies will ensure you get integrated very, very well.

For proxies that aren't meant for killing, just scouting and the like, he likes them to be generally forgettable and generic! Makes it so much easier for him. He will take generic people and make them feel like they're sleep walking, making them fix and do things his proxies aren't. I refer to those humans who have the benefit of the proxy title but aren't exactly proxies as "Beaters."

Some proxies are more favored by the Operator than others.

Generally, the proxies the Operator chooses are because he's had some weird infatuation with them, a calling. It's an intrinsic tie that he feels and he takes hold of.

Sometimes victims become his children, but that doesn't happen all that often.

The Operator probably has a few allies as well, those that are human but aren't worthy of becoming his children. Again, corrupted government, police, people in power, that kind of stuff. People who operate in the grey zone like hackers, thieves, stuff like that. These are the people who do more human things for him, the cops that cover for proxies who got sloppy, the ones who erase what BEN and the like won't.

The man has connections all over the world, and anyone is free game. If he thinks he can use you, he absolutely will.

The people he deems worthy (and worthy changes based on his mood) will always have some task to complete for him.

Anyone can be useful.

Unless you're one of those wattpad kids then literally you will never know he, or his entire society exists.

[runningwithhellhounds]

Theo, across recent timescapes. Theo x life: a series of impressions.

Theo is an invasive agent in Hayden's sensory collection. She's trying to not pay him any mind.

She also tried to erase his self-importance by pretending he didn't exist when she knew he watched with his bridge-burn eyes as she and Liam kissed. Found success in his uncharacteristic silence in a moment that was ruinable.

They are standing in dappled shadows on the forest ground, waiting for Liam, who ran ahead to make a call out of Theo's earshot. Theo is sitting by a tree with his knees up and loosely spread, with his hands in between them. His hands, chained: it's simplest hazard control. Effective, though. Hayden feels spiteful as she's walking left to right, throwing a palm-sized rock from hand to hand. Theo looks bored, irked.

''Where are you going to, little Red Riding Hood?'' Theo addresses her, smooth to self-entertain, making her stop mid-throw, causing the rock to hit her palm and fall on the ground. She picks it up and mimes throwing it at him. Success unfound, in how he doesn't flinch. Success unfound, in how he's making this into a story about a little girl and a sneaky wolf.

She considers him. If answering at all would cater to his amusement, or lesser his situational unpleasantries, which she's trying to avoid. But Theo is in the midway of doing nothing and determined to draw attention to himself, the way he has been.

''We're out of flowers, I'm afraid. Would you like some redwood wood, instead?'' Theo offers in a made-pleasant public service voice. Hayden notices that he's siding with the forest, here, scuttling into its floors where he has found purchase through extended stay.

''You know all the tree species?'' Hayden asks. Takes a bite and wills it into a treat for herself, rather than bait. Theo probably meant the tall and non-wiggly tree he's sitting against; Hayden wonders if he ever studied forestry, or if this is werewolfery knowledge.

''I know better things, too. If you come closer, I'll whisper them to you.'' He grins. Lifts his chained wrists as he adds, ''No pressure, though.''

Hayden considers him. Again and again. This is, she guesses, learnt prudency; a refined taste for justice, maybe. Guesses resurrection does that to you.

''Warning, beware of dog,'' she says.

Theo looks at her, eyes hooding and mouth neutralising. He shrugs, looks sideways. Attention, lost. Trade, declined. Secretful threat traded for blankness, if anything. Hayden, it seems, does not entertain in Theo-ways.

—

Theo Raeken, it turns out, has a finitude to his spread of catastrophe. Sheriff Stilinski watches cross-armed as running-mouth-boy exposes the culprits of murder; aggravates them like it's his best expertise until they say things they tried not to say and so saves his own slate from police-worthy additions.

Stilinski watches as Theo, for some inexplicable reason, lingers in the police department. Theo is sitting on one of the reception benches, eating a bag of mixed nuts from the vending machine. One would think it's ill-advised, that as soon as Parrish released him, Theo asked Parrish to buy him some goods from the vending machine, said he was detained unfairly. Deprived of food for this short but uneasy time. Didn't have his belongings on him. But it mustn't be nonsensical; it must be some behavioural tactic of making himself appear unconcerned. As having clear consciousness, innocence, all of those.

Stilinski resumes watching through the screen as Theo's chewing slows down when an officer with a police dog walks to the machine. He watches Theo's frowned, suffering, doubtful expression, staring into the dog's eyes like he can't take the dog seriously. The officer stops fishing change out of his wallet with a metal scoop in his cupped hand to shoot Theo a questioning look.

''Everything alright, son?'' the officer jingles the change in his hand, looking Theo over.

Theo's gaze doesn't even change when he looks up. Doesn't turn into a stranglehold of a gaze, either. ''Does your dog bite?''

The officer considers Theo, the sagged, unruffled spectre of him.

''No need to worry,'' he assures. Starts inserting the coins. He then turns to Theo in an afterthought. ''Is someone picking you up? You need anything?''

''Oh,'' Theo breathes, ''for real? Would you? Just something to eat? I've been stuck here waiting.''

Stilinski watches as Theo picks up a protein bar from the machine drawer. Flavoured water, a second later. Probably, apathy comes easily to him. He must not think in any understandable way; rather, he must think unfeelingly. Kid's got— not a care in the world.

—

Liam is holding a bouquet and inspecting its flowery contents. Frowning at the petals he's scraping at, glowering at the buds he's poking.

In the aftermath of the ceremony ran on the anniversary of Liam's school in the decorated sports hall, his mother is standing by the chairs in unison with another boy watching her son.

She knows him from a photo Liam showed her, a boy new in the school, softly named: Theo. It was evident that Liam took the photo discreetly, which she commented on and which Liam denied. She notes the distance at which Theo keeping and approaches him.

''Don't worry, he's not keeping secrets from his friends,'' she says. ''He doesn't have a girlfriend, at least not that I know of. I was the one who gave him the flowers.''

''Oh?'' Theo says. ''I see.''

He puts his hands in his pockets. He's probably shy. This happens sometimes, with high-school boys, they can become clumsy with themselves. She feels motherly talking to them in moments like this; motherly and pleasant in her efforts to engage adolescents when they are dithering.

''I think he's reconciling masculinity with flowers,'' she comments.

He smiles. Smirks, more like it. They must be close.

''Good colour choice,'' he comments on the orange of the flowers.

She nudges his arm. ''Go talk to him when they're done taking photos.''

Theo shakes his head, shrugs once. ''Nah. I will be leaving soon, anyway,'' he says, and she drops her hand from his arm. He's probably a little shy.

—

Mediterranean sunrise comes with a surprise: a man awakening on the ground a few steps from the barely-formed footpath. A man, or maybe younger, his Mediterranean awakening accompanied by the smell of fig trees, and all. Kind red soil.

He's naked. He's slowly wiping a hand across his lips. You know, suddenly, that this is a complication. The circumstance makes his body looks like an involuntarily stripped body. Perspective changes: red soil is now needled soil. Acrid tones sour the sunrise.

''Hey,'' you call, stepping closer in your sandals and a coral-printed towel around your neck, feeling unsuitable for the demands of the situation. ''Hey. Are you okay? Should I call the police?''

He's pushing himself up. Not looking at you. Not mindful of the resin at his back. This is indicative, you think, of something, because you're mindful of the way road dust is making your hair dry and webby, while his attention is this narrow, or overall absent.

He looks up, then, at you. ''What?''

A surprise gifted by a foreign agency; not Italian, then. You switch to English and try to make it not clumsy.

''I'll call the police for you,'' you assure him. Scramble to find your phone in your tote bag.

''D'n't call th'police,'' he says. He isn't trying to cover where his body is exposed.

''I don't want to assume anything,'' you say, feeling odd and performative. ''But— Look. I can just call the emergency number and they can direct you to a centre for sexual assault.''

Body, bodily manuscripted into the soft soil. He looks like he's processing slowly. Gets distracted inspecting his hands. Is that blood, you wonder, realise, really, it all just getting worse and fraughter. In between his fingers.

''Don't call th'police,'' he says. ''Was jus' drunk.''

''Is that blood? On your fingers.''

''I jus'. D'n't call. Did s'me things I shouldn't have.'' He reads your face, then says, ''Not like that. T'myself.''

Heat is lowering to the grounds of the morning and your sandals are light on your feet, escape-hairs pleasant, pine trees your favourite. And the hostility-seen boy is trying to act alright.

''It's okay,'' you say, wondering if it is; something complicated about the okayness of not-okay. You squat down, to balance the eye heights. ''I can call the hotline for—''

''No, n't—. Just stupid, no police. Please.''

''Do you want some water,'' you say, taking it out of your bag, and he takes it. Uncaps and smells it, blinking with his nose above the bottle opening, before he shakes his head a little, and starts drinking. Your phone is still in your hand, but you're unsure. You give him your second non-swimly shorts and wait until he overcomes his hesitance and gingerly takes them.

''You don't have to tell me,'' you insist. ''But I'm sure that there's someone who—''

''Thanks. It's okay, you can go now.'' He starts moving to get the shorts on, then swiftly straightens his back, inhaling deeply and looking up. Must be avoiding some hidden ache.

You hesitate, phone in your hand, legs starting to feel stiff from the position.

''I could drive you someplace. My car is ten min—''

''Thanks, but I'm okay now. You can't help,'' he interrupts. There are cases like this one, right, people using caustic means for secret-maintaining ends.

''Are you sure?'' you press. ''I could go away while you're talking to—''

''You're not helping,'' he says, monotone now, now operative and controlled to be alkaline. He's looking at your eyes fixedly, and you stop hesitating. ''You should go.''

Ground gives. You shake your head and start walking away, leaving him with your shorts and thinking then good fucking luck, honey.

You turn back one more time. He's looking at you leaving with unfocused glossy eyes, and you wonder, surely not for the last time, how deeply and stickily swamp-lodged he must be.

—

A hot guy is walking in the chest-high sea and doing little dives. Grazing the water surface with his fingertips in between and wiping salt from his eyes, before diving again and re-salting his eyes, like some deliberately mindless-seeming cyclical mechanism. Salt for maintenance, salt a nuisance.

Now he bends his knees and only submerges up to his chin, and you imagine he's sensing freshness at his nape.

''You just have to relax,'' you say loudly from where you come to stand in the water to your ankles, ''and you can probably hold your breath for longer than that.''

He stands up and turns until he spots you. You walk closer until the water is at your waist and he's looking at you like someone unexpectedly interrupted. Unexpectedly perceived, unfortunately. A popular kid being addressed by an unpopular one.

''You wanna teach me how to swim?'' he asks and smirks a little, and you shrug.

''If you feel like you can't stay underwater for more than five seconds, it's probably because you're panicking. You can hold your breath comfortably for at least fifteen seconds, I dare say.''

He looks at the glistening in the water, looking weary.

''Can I,'' he says, more of a response made to be unrevealing than a question.

''One thing I'll say,'' you say, untying your hair to avoid breaking it when it will be wet and to be casual, maybe; mitigate the upfrontness and possible insinuation, ''is that your body looks mad functional. Don't take this in any funky way.''

''I won't,'' he says.

—

Theo is in no space. Some telephone line space.

Should I be taking this personally, Liam texts him. He knows that Theo has been straightforwardly ignoring his messages. He hopes, actually; hopes Theo hasn't run into any of his long-known non-friends who see his face as a face, fanged, and not eyes, often confused, tongue, often tied, responses, often belated. Hopes that Theo isn't not answering because of some surviving anachronism from his past, but rather because of something new. That would be more manageable.

He also hopes that Theo isn't not answering because he is succumbing to his self-damaging instincts, even though that would mean simmering resentment towards Liam; even though that would likely be the best possible option in the precarious array of options in Theo's life.

Liam texts, did you know that if space was infinitely big and infinitely old, it would be white? I don't really get why, do you?

—

You have a boy couched in your living room. His name is Theo. Picked him up on a staff-only fire escape. It would be a leisurely sight, now, a tracksuit-hoodie-boy sitting right next to a drying rack, which he said he didn't mind. If it wasn't for your rapid heart. Heart: heated, speaking in unit-free measures. Heat: a smooth, unfibrous thing.

''May I,'' he murmurs, and you lean in.

It's a classic student situation: a breathless undertaking to the backtune of wine in tea mugs. He selected a Sierra Nevada mug with a setting sun. Came with the flat.

''Add me on Facebook,'' you say. The two of you haven't even done much, but you feel so hooked, by the fire-escape boy who moves in a way so self-assured and touches indoor objects warily. ''Or Instagram. Wherever you want.''

''I don't use social media,'' he says. He uses his hold on your hand and your finger to push his hair out of his eye. You like the way it parts and hits his temples.

''Phone number?'' You suggest, more joking than not. Exchanging phone numbers feel more joke-like than not.

''No phone number,'' he says. Must see your expression, shrugs and says, ''Guess I'm too old for technology.'' He smirks at the dry look you shoot at him, knowing your age of twenty-three to his twenty-two. He's saying too old and you don't buy it. He carries no weariness in his jaguar body. He takes his lower lip in his mouth. ''What if,'' he then says, ''I'm a vampire.'' He touches the tip of his tongue to his upper teeth.

''My favourite paranormal activity,'' you say.

''Too bad,'' he says, grinning. You look at his ajar lips and think: too bad.

''Your canines are sharp, though,'' you say. ''At least.''

He grins wide. Pointedly and slowly leans towards your neck with an open mouth, until teeth make contact. You feel your smile dropping when his phone beeps. He hesitates for a beat and then leans his forehead on your chin, just breathing there, and you know you are both thinking about him saying no phone number.

''But none for me,'' you say. Because of all the places your bodies have been touching, a beat of silence means: five heartbeats of him staring at his phone, engulfed in the jacket he discarded on the floor by the couch, and you staring at him. And then he leans over, easily shifting your weight, until he can kick the jacket, some, not really achieving anything.

''Another vampire,'' he says, then, on the side of unapologetic. Luckily, you are known to be unresentful. Good at not taking things personally. ''From another brood.'' He places his hands back on your hips.

''Hm,'' you say.  It's fine. The monomania of the green-eye boy is temporary. He's hot, but your desire never lasts, anyway.

—

There's a guy on your bus ride, on the opposite side of the passage, one seat forward. Your age. You noticed the generic niceness of his face.

He's drawing a sinusoidal curve on the fogged window. Moves his hand further right, where the window is still fogged. Starts drawing vertical lines, carefully, some methodology to it, the lines parallel to each other. He pauses after he draws four. Huffs, twists his smile into one that is hiding and downturned. He crosses the four lines with one that is horizontal, then adds another vertical line to the side.

You feel yourself smile. He drops his hand, shakes his head a little. Looks through the window at the frost-covered barren brown fields, away from his prisoner day-count. It's funny. He's funny. You look away.

—

It's a short, crude thing. Like this:

A fictitious boy stumbles out of a bare-walled building. Languid, unrestful body. Unleisurely, water-logged body. A tired backstreet play-doh thing. Young.

''Hey,'' you call. ''You. You good?''

The night is warm, humid. A post-rain road construction night. A night for cicadas, if you drive further out.

He inhales in the way of catching breath. Squints at his watch, eyes go glassy. Looks at the moon overhead, then squints at you. And you— you feel awake now.

You look him over, the sugarburn boy with a backwards baseball cap. The trouble of a tooth cavity, which means: okay, if you have some money. Some reckless uncare, too. He's watching you. You inhale slowly, but it turns out all tell-tale anyway. He must see the appeal you feel, in how he licks his lips and tilts his head.

''Interested?'' he asks.

You hesitate. Feel for your jacket pocket with your wallet in it. Lift it without taking it out, clear enough.

He nods. Clears his throat.

''Can you play nice?'' he asks. Teasing, but also not.

You can.

He nods. Looks at his watch. You follow him.

—

You pick up your pretend-sugar fake-care service by a closed ice-cream stand, its inviting light sign shining red on his face. It's raining lightly when you pull up and he doesn't have his hood up like he knows the wet hair strands sticking to his forehead make him look good. In the car, he has no song requests when you ask.

''How can I service you?'' he asks.

—

''What should I call you,'' you ask.

''No need to call me,'' he says.

''What if I want to,'' you admit. Not subtle and elusive. If I may be so bold as to in the back of your mouth.

He pauses, thinks. His gaze is saccading empty spot to empty spot and you know the only type of name you'll get is a fake. You'll take it, as a consolation purchase.

''Theo,'' he says.

—

Alec answers the knock with a toothbrush in his hand.

''Theo. Jesus,'' he breathes.

''Hello,'' Theo responds, overly carefully-crafted for the simplicity of a greeting, but Theo has never carried himself as though he was simple. ''I brought you those,'' he hands Alec paper sheets folded in half. ''I got my hands on some werewolves. Could you give those to Scott?''

It's more automatic than not, when Alec takes and unfolds them. They are black-and-white prints of photographs of ID's.

''You did?'' Alec says, still dumbfounded, still in the act of being interrupted. Habit-mindedness sliced in half. ''How?''

Theo shrugs. His face furrows for a beat, then he fiddles with the door handle, pushing it down twice.

Alec looks at the goods in his hands: a toothbrush, werewolfy profiles. ''Do you want me to tell him that they're from you?''

Theo looks conflicted. That's fair; it's a conflicting state of circumstances, or what is it that Liam told Alec. Maybe Theo turned to Alec because of the implied similarity: both well-accustomed to doing what it takes. Maybe Theo is finding some comfort in that; like Alec would recognise that Theo is a runaway object, or a throwaway one, only having made himself a weapon because he had been made into one first. Like Alec would recognise that Theo is trying to pay his dues. Or maybe Alec is misjudging and Theo isn't seeking comfort at all, which is what Malia thinks. Guess Alec is a little soft for softer scenarios.

''Jesus,'' Alec says again. ''You were gone so long. You didn't say anything. Have you—'' He hesitates, frowns a little. ''Does—Ah, well, you know. Does Liam know?'' He was going for tentative with this one before he swerved. Tending to the habits of skittish wolves.

Theo is looking past Alec's shoulder, distanced and glassy. Alec thinks of dolls, their eyes amiss in that they are unseeing and custom-built. It's a thought too cruel, unless it's sympathetic.

Theo shakes his head, slowly, and exhales, touches his temples with his index fingers, then drops them lower and presses them over his jaw muscles.

''TMJ pain?'' Alec asks.

Theo drops his hands. ''What?''

''Oh. The jaw joint,'' Alec points to his own.

Theo shrugs. ''It's just tender. This muscle,'' he taps.

''Have you been stressed? TMJ problems are common for young people. Can happen because of stress. Stress can cause teeth grinding.'' A clumsy explanation, but Alec can't re-order its parts now, just hopes Theo takes it. Hopes Theo makes his skin onion peel and shows something less dry underneath. And Theo:

Theo looks at him expressionlessly, for a beat, and then exaggeratedly sad-faces. Pouts, closes his eyes, nods slowly. ''I've been stressed,'' he says.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32225941

[exmptohilx]

A starter for @dakotaxmp and @heatherxmp

Mun's note: The context of this thread, aka a big fire at HoneyPot, has been discussed and approved by Dakota's mun beforehand.

Tohil had planned to not show up at work today. 

While running around doing stuff with fire was his favourite leisure pursuit, the Mayan god had learned his lesson. Despite being youthful and well-cared-for, the human vessel he was in was still ruinable, which meant that once in a while, these bones and flesh needed to be allowed to unwind. 

After a short phone call to inform the boys at the firehouse that he would be absent for particularly no reasons, Tohil put on his favourite casual outfit - an oversized plain grey T-shirt, black baggy pants, and equally black loafers - and headed out to plunge himself into the embrace of freedom. 

Bad news for Tohil, fate had got a very different plan for him today. 

From around the corner, the firetruck’s siren resounded through the streets, stopping the god of fire from sucking the draw for the last of diluted ice coffee from his venti-size plastic cup. When he looked up, the current of people had already reversed its direction; unhappy faces and panicked cries announced the end of his peaceful morning. 

Oh, fuck that. 

Not that he didn’t trust the boys to handle the fire well. After all, they were intensively trained and thoroughly tested before being qualified to get the job, so there should not be any concerns about their professional capabilities. Also, he was an off-duty fire chief for the day. Also again, his gears were still at the fire station, a bit too far to be fetched on foot. 

After scanning through those three quite convincing reasons, Tohil decided to head straight to the fire scene. As he spotted where the fire came from, the Mayan god, for the first time, hated the fact that his guess was right.   

“Yo mate, how bad is it?” 

The Mayan god shouted out the question to the closest fireman he was able to approach, partly to inform his presence, with the almost finished ice coffee cup still held in his left hand. 

“Oh, chief, hi!” The fireman called out, his rather composed voice tone had already answered Tohil before the response was fully verbalized, “Seems like a switch caused this, we’re checking if there’s anyone else inside.” 

Right when Tohil was about to join the other fireman in observing the scene, he noticed a young-looking male who looked like had just been escorted out of the burning restaurant was approaching them. Out of instinct, Tohil took a few steps toward the other, arms opening wide, all ready to offer some support.  

“Hey man, you need help?” 

Nah, not today

[ with Dakota and Heather ]