#i think i have a thing for knuckle cracking

[prael]

Day 12: Three Shades of Sin

Le Sserafim Kazuha & Yunjin & TripleS Xinyu

words: 11,736 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Look, you know this story starts with the way Xinyu has her fingers threaded beneath Kazuha's jaw, her lipstick smeared off in bits and pieces, but that’s not actually how it ends. It’s a slow descent; watching your girlfriend kiss someone new is a beautiful disaster that never really loses its lustre, and the truth is, there’s no moral at the end of this tale - the closest you’ll get to something cathartic is this:

Yunjin grinning at you, sunshine-bright and wickedly gorgeous. “You gonna invite us in, or what?”

-

First things first: the bar is packed - oh, it's always packed - but especially so on the nights when Kazuha performs. It's not a burlesque club, not really; in theory, it's not all that much more than an upscale lounge for yuppies with more money than they need, trying to pretend they're living sophisticated lives with a splash of debauchery on the side.

It's packed, obviously, because they're getting a little more debauchery than expected tonight - but all the familiar faces are there: the grad-school crowd who treat this club like the neighbourhood dive bar; the pretentious A-list types who claim to hate this kind of thing but always seem to show up anyway; the trust-fund kids and their vices and habits; the semi-locals, like you. They’re the mainstay: you know their drink orders, what they’re into, whether you’ve gone home with them before. You know who is dating who. Who's got a looser distinction between romance and just fooling around. Who got fired. Who's always fucked up beyond all help. You know the girl sitting at the end of the bar nursing a cosmo and waiting for you, alone.

She'd come to see Kazuha perform like everyone else.

"You missed my boyfriend," Xinyu says to you, just shy of winking. She looks beautiful - she always does, of course, but this time: she's wearing black leggings and a crop top that shows off the cut of her waist, her toned abs. The skirt is so small it's basically an accessory to how she's got her dark hair pinned up into something half-bedroom, half-backstage-chic, hoop earrings that dangle just above the slope of her neck.

"Did I?" you reply, coy. It's not flirting - or maybe it is, you're not sure.

She tips her head, cheek resting delicately on her knuckles. You end up staring at her mouth; the words coquettish and prurient and absolutely, unquestionably fuckable are swirling around your brain. "Yep," she says, and her lips curve beautifully. "You did."

Xinyu turning up the dial until she's impossible to resist is pretty much standard-operating-procedure here- it's sort of like this place runs through her blood. She's claimed ownership of it for herself.

"It's too bad," she says, drumming acrylics on the countertop. She shoots you a look that's all bedroom eyes: that drowsy, liquid-lidded kind of want that tells you she'd have her head tilted back against your pillows in less than a few minutes if you asked. "I think you would've really gotten along."

"Guess I'll just have to settle for his girlfriend." You lean closer to her, conspiratorial. "This is fun. What else are we doing tonight?"

"Oh, yeah, you know." She stretches long and languid, satisfied. "Same as usual." That means dancing - some partying, probably lots of drinking, flirting. You're going to take her home and pin her wrists to the pillow above her head. You don't mind any of that - it's become your life, these last months, too. You know the routine here like you've known it for years.

"Want something to drink?" you ask her, and Xinyu considers you. Like she's going to pounce.

"Not really," she says, and then her chin fits into the dip between her thumb and pointer finger. You get closer. "Think I'm thirsty for something else." There's nothing left of the distance between you, and you're not kissing her yet, not yet - but the tension is making a point of shuddering and cracking.

All that promise of something more.

"Don't let this go to your head, but." Xinyu reaches out a hand. You play into the script; you take it and bring her knuckles to your lips. Her wrist smells like the perfume you bought her a Christmas ago. You kiss there, too - for a split second. "I love my boyfriend. He's great." Your eyes dart to hers again - she's always watching, waiting for the attention to come back her way. "But sometimes girls just hit differently, right?"

"See anyone in particular?" you say, still nonchalant, while Xinyu hooks a fingertip onto the neckline of your shirt.

"Oh," says Xinyu. Her grin is devilish, dangerous: like she'd carve right through your throat. "That's cute of you. Like, you really wanna know, hm? I have a list."

"How long is it?" You raise an eyebrow, feign boredom. She likes the challenge.

"Depends on the night."

"But I'm at the top," you continue, unabashed - your usual brand of charming. "Right?"

Xinyu laughs; it's a delight, musical and precious. You'd listen to it for hours if you could.

"You already know, honey." Her nails skim your neck; they catch in your hair. The strands fall over the silver around her fingers. "Top of my list, and everyone else's, too."

"Nope." You lean even further over the bar, stealing the inches, taking them for your own. "Not tonight."

"I don't share." Xinyu taps your nose, prim, smirking. Her eyes are shining, brimming with energy - you can't look away from her. She's intoxicating. She's beautiful. "He wouldn't like that anyway."

"Oh, come on. That sounds like a 'him' problem. Right?"

There's a raucous chorus of laughter from across the floor: people coming in from the cold, wanting to see the show, see a gorgeous girl in next-to-nothing strut her stuff up onstage. You watch as Xinyu's eyelashes flutter, delighted - she's waiting for something to begin; this is a ritual that repeats, the fervour starting low and ending high.

And it starts, and it ends, always, with you looking at her.

"We'll see," sings Xinyu, and she twirls on her stool, one leg neatly hooked over the other. The bar erupts into thunderous applause - the lights dim, and Kazuha emerges onstage.

-

See, the club isn't normally about stripteases - sure, some girls dance - but this is still a place with bottle service and $18 cocktails, not one where dancers make a show of stripping out of their lingerie. And it's not like you care much for how people try to make themselves seem better than they are, really: if you wanna be trashy, fine. If you want to keep up appearances, put on some kind of show like you're worth a dime more than anyone else out there, great, fine, do that. This place may be the latter, but in the end, it's all the same; everything falls apart once the night sets in. Everything stays messy, no matter which box you paint yourself into.

That's a long preface to say: you're just not expecting her in the slightest.

To be honest, most nights aren't all that exciting - there are people to remember, drinks to mix up, tabs to close and mouths to kiss, sometimes - but mostly, there's not a lot worth mentioning. When people come into the bar - the people who are new, the people who think that this is an opportunity for the night to turn interesting - you look up, size them up, wonder who they're going home with, if you're interested at all. More often than not, it's none of the above.

"Hi," says the new face as she slides up to you on the stool. Well, okay, so this part is different.

Xinyu stepped out earlier - said she had someone else to find, said you'd probably like who she had in mind, but whatever. You'll see when you see. You're not picky. You were ready to dick around on your phone until your girlfriend figured out which plaything you were both in the mood for tonight - you're not opposed to another addition, not at all - but then-

Then the girl sits at the bar, leans on her elbows over the polished surface. Rakes her fingers through the wisps of dark hair at her forehead, pushes it back, and -

And meets your gaze dead on, and doesn't break it. Not even a bit.

Okay - so, she's blindingly, impossibly stunning. A textbook fucking ten.

"Hi," she says again, firmer, like she knows what you're thinking. "Do they serve anything here that isn't blue or tastes like putting your tongue to a nine-volt?"

It's such a shockingly mild opener that you immediately laugh at her. It just spills right out of you.

"Yeah," you say, leaning against the bar, mildly amused. You call over the bartender, order in duplicate - you're pretty sure that's how this works, you have to get the drink in front of her, not even mention it, just let her know that you're calling the shots here - and then fix her with another look, eyebrows quirked. "New in town?" you ask. Small talk. Sure.

"No," she replies, "just new in here." She tosses her silky red hair over her shoulder. Reveals the halter-neck of her blouse and the deepness of the dip. Her collarbones are out. You barely even notice. "Also," she continues, "this place is a fucking zoo."

There's no patience to her. She's harsh, no filter. Your drinks arrive, and she hardly reacts when they do.

"It's a bit crowded." You're trying somewhat to stay diplomatic. "It's the girl on stage," you offer, and you gesture vaguely towards Kazuha's figure: long legs and curves in all the right places, raven-black hair falling to her waist. Everyone looks at her like she's a gift sent down from heaven. She's dressed in something gold, sequin, and she knows that they're pretty much right.

"Well, I guess that explains it."

"Everyone's hoping she'll take off more clothes." You shrug your shoulders at your new companion. "But she never does, so I'm not quite sure why everyone thinks tonight will be the exception."

"No shit," the girl drawls, her tone entirely blasé - she's so painfully disaffected, the disinterested, entitled type; your heart skips a beat. "No offence to you, man, but I think most of the guys here are either idiots or creeps." The redhead wrinkles her nose. "Or both."

"A fair assessment, honestly," you muse. Sip your drink. It's bitter. She hasn't touched hers. "You think I'm any different?"

The corner of her mouth ticks up. "No," she says.

The room seems to tilt sideways, and everything gets fuzzy: it feels like you're supposed to be talking in code or perhaps just reading between lines - there's a whole secret conversation happening beneath this surface-level, meaningless banter. You're making contact, making plans. She knows where this is going. You're right there with her.

"The girl up there is cute," the redhead says after a while, thoughtful. "What's your deal with her? How come you haven't turned into one of the animals in the horde yet?"

It's an obvious line of questioning.

"She's nice," you admit, "but I've already got something good going with someone. No need to push my luck with anyone else."

At this, she raises an eyebrow, curious, cautious, wary. "Nice, how?"

"I mean, she's beautiful," you say, "very pretty." Easy things. Surface things. These things anyone could list off. "Cute voice."

"Nothing in particular, though, huh." Her eyes flick back to the performer onstage - Kazuha's walking the catwalk, kicking her heel out at the men closest to her; her skirt rides up, and everyone goes absolutely wild for it - and then returns her focus to you. "Not your type?"

You've been in this seat - or one just like it, at least - watching Kazuha's ass onstage for countless nights. You're well aware of her appeal, but you can't figure out a harmless way to say your mind is giving you three images of a palm-print burning across the same expanse of skin at any given moment.

You shrug, ambivalence feigned. "I guess not."

"It's funny." She props her chin on her palm, her nail polish glittering against her jawline. She's barely touched her drink. "The girl's normally such a doll, right? Kind of girlish. Could barely hold a conversation with a boy when I met her. And now she's all that. On stage."

"Hmm," you reply, like you can't imagine it. "Is that right?"

"Oh yeah," she tells you, half-smiling. Her lipstick leaves marks on the glass as she takes her first sip. "Years of ballet school will do that to a girl. Though maybe something about performing just became second nature."

"Explains the legs," you mutter, feeling the look she levels with you; dangerous. "And the gracefulness," you amend quickly. She raises an eyebrow at you, and you raise one right back; it's a power struggle, and when her fingers curl across her chin, you almost choke on nothing.

"Legs and grace," she says. "That's about it for her, huh?"

You nod, your voice quiet, soft.

"How do you know her?" you ask gently.

"Oh, honey," she croons. Her face is halfway to laughter, mirth perched like a threat in her voice. She puts a palm flat on the counter and slides it forward so her manicure scrapes at the varnish. Leans into you over the edge of the bar and presses her lips to your ear. "I'm fucking her."

Everything in your brain stops, and starts; everything crashes down around you; everything rearranges.

"You know," the girl continues like she's explaining something casual, something innocent, "she's real fun on her hands and knees. Can't get enough of me." She tilts her head, contemplative. "I suppose she is beautiful," she adds, almost thoughtfully, and then reaches out her fingers. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "And graceful."

All you can picture are those gorgeous, creamy thighs marked up by nails like razors: bruises shaped like fingertips, angry scratches that would leave scars if pushed hard enough. Things for her to return to.

You swallow. You blink.

"She's very lovely," you say, careful, careful.

"Listen." The girl leans away, sweeps her red hair back over her shoulder, fixes you with her heavy-lidded eyes again. "We don't have to pretend we're in love or anything." Her voice is velvet, husky; the words catch at your eardrum and melt there, dripping down the bones of your skull like liquid seduction. "She's busy, clearly. So, I'm looking for a little company tonight, and I think I've found it."

"And your girlfriend?"

"Can't make it." She smiles, wolfish. "Which, if you don't mind me saying, is very lucky for you."

"Girlfriend, who you fuck into the mattress," you clarify. "She'd have no problem sharing?"

"With a pretty thing like you?" Her eyelashes flutter - the way they sweep low makes shadows across her cheeks, delicate. "No chance she'd object."

Your mouth twists to the side. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," she purrs. "Just: I'm going to go to the bathroom, and I think you could follow me there in five minutes, tops. Sound like a plan, handsome?"

Oh.

Okay. You think vaguely that Xinyu's probably got a hand in this, somehow. Doing this on purpose, leaving you here to fend for yourself - and it's a very Xinyu kind of move, really: setting you up with some stranger, letting her proposition you, and waiting for it to escalate past the point of return. Sending you right up to a pretty pair of vices, telling you to chew them down to size. Maybe if you do good - you already know how she wants you to perform - you'll get an actual reward later. Another girl for you to fuck, or maybe Xinyu herself. Or both. Your brain is spinning in circles. You really, really can't think straight with her breathing right onto your pulse.

"What, you've got something better to do than fuck two girls tonight? The girl seems to weigh something out in her mind; watches you through a side-long glance. "You really can't drop everything to play around for a little bit?"

So maybe it's not Xinyu's handiwork - this is a little too far-fetched, even for her - but you can't lie. When she goes ahead, drags her fingers on your shoulder as she glides by and doesn't bother looking back, the way your cock throbs makes it easy to decide that it doesn't matter.

-

You get lost a bit on the logistics. (That'll actually be a recurring theme.)

There's a pair of single-occupancy toilets in the back of the bar, ostensibly family washrooms; for mothers with children, wheelchairs, sloppy bathroom sex with god-blessedly gorgeous strangers, that sort of thing - but they're occupied. Both the handles spun up; red tags flipped up to indicate engagement, a motif, and symbolism in spades. Something heavy-handed and easily ignored.

"Maybe I should just get on my knees right here," she suggests eventually - like a joke, but she'd do it. You're pretty sure.

"Absolutely not," you counter, only a little bit scandalized. She grins and presses a palm flat to your abdomen.

"Just problem-solving." She's totally blasé. "Critical thinking."

"Careful with that," you warn her, sorta unreasonably given where your fingers are on the cut of her hips.

She pretends to think about it, fingers tapping thoughtfully on her lip, a comical exaggeration, and you just roll your eyes. You think about getting her name, maybe a number - you could just leave it at that, save her contact info under tall, great ass, (fuckable) lips and pray to hell it never comes up as recommended when someone else texts you.

Yeah, right. It's better to just bury yourself in this until it all dissolves - stick to the immediacy of it. Get your mouth on every part of her body and lick her clean, and then be gone before the sun rises. Right?

She pulls you down by your neck and slots your lips together again, slow, agonizing, her lips slipping over yours like they're made to be there. She kisses like it's an art form - something you can perfect, practice - and her tongue darts along the seam of your mouth like she wants to coax you open. There's the bite of cherry lipstick, sweet and candied; her fingertips into your belt loops, then yanks you toward her with her nose scrunched and a wicked smile.

"I can't believe you'd let me fuck you with your back against the wall like this." Her hips bump forward into yours - she's playing at bashful, coy and innocent. She's failing miserably. "What if someone sees?"

"I think you'd like that," you answer.

"Mmm," she agrees. She's tipping her head back, sliding her tongue across her upper lip, baring her neck to you. Her eyes flick back up, dragging like a blade. "Letting someone walk by, seeing you pushing into me, knowing I was about to make you lose control...yeah. Sounds hot, honestly."

"Shut up," you murmur, leaning closer.

"Make me," she kisses back, eyes flashing; oh, if you didn't feel it before, this is definitely how you know you'll see her again: you recognize the power in her stance, the firecracker-red blaze in her glare - it's like looking in a mirror, that domineering aggression. It's the promise of a rivalry; something you'll want to tame.

A wayward thought lingers: oh, hell - your mind is rapid on the recall, an endless, eager, addicting memory loop - how she kisses, too. The silky sweetness, the enthusiasm - the way her hands bury in your shirt and her pitched, muffled sounds of appreciation spill right into your throat. How she's such an obscene daydream, and the filthy, filthy things she tells you with her hands in your hair - the shock of that, her bold, pretty mouth telling you what she's fantasizing about right now and the fact that those fantasies line up with yours in nearly every sense. Her very presence is a contradiction, her mismatched gestures: tender kisses and wandering hands; how, for every inch given, she'll take five more.

You get your fingers under her skirt, pull her legs up to your waist; she wraps her palm over your cock; smiles against your lips, almost smitten but too arrogant for it: a villainous grin. You hitch one of her thighs over your hip, her panties damp against your slacks. Oh, how good she is - how perfect the feeling, how beautifully her teeth sink into the soft underside of your lower lip like you belong to her: a piece of property.

"That's it, sweetheart," you groan, kissing the apple of her cheek, letting the blush seep right under your tongue. Your hand hovers near her inner thigh. "God, you're so fucking sexy."

"Touch me," she hisses into the skin of your cheek.

"So demanding," you hum.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she moans, arching into your chest - but her eyelashes flutter as your thumb ghosts across the fabric of her underwear, teasing. "Ah-ha..."

You'll justify it later, somehow: a cheat night, maybe - Xinyu's so used to getting other girls all to herself, you should have a few all to your own - and this one doesn't count as one, really; she belongs to someone else anyway, the raven-haired girl with the siren voice, long legs in silk stockings and pearls across her neck and high-heeled boots clicking across the pavement. And Kazuha doesn't even have to know: she's busy, probably; off with another guy or two or three. No reason to tell her what happens - you certainly won't complain. One orgasm and the redhead will be out of your hair.

There's a side door, some stairs. Nobody stops to ask who you are or where you're going, or even so much as bat an eye as you spill out into the alley - where people go to smoke or fight or vomit; she kisses you outside in the cold air, sliding her hands into your pockets and pushing up to the tips of her toes. There's a smile on her face like you're her best idea ever. It's cold out; she doesn't appear to care.

"God, I'm wet," she breathes, and you don't have to believe her.

"I bet I can help with that." Your jacket slides across your shoulders, off onto the concrete. You're leading her around a corner and against a brick wall. It's dark here. Dark enough for mistakes. Dark enough that you can press her spine to the bricks, slide your hands to her sides and lift her up, taste the lipstick across her jawline-

"Oh my god," comes a voice - softer, sweeter, a total siren lilt. "Please, fuck, that feels so-"

Both your heads swivel.

One streetlight illuminates Kazuha with her back pressed to the bricks and her hand curled tightly in all this black hair, panting, pleading: a perfect fucking masterpiece. She's got her eyes screwed shut, her lips parted; she's absolutely lost.

"Huh," says the redhead, dispassionate - and her fingers curl loosely over your forearm, drumming rhythmically. "Looks like she got distracted after all."

The hand between her legs is fucking her up and doing it fast, snapping sharp wrist motions accompanied by these rhythmic, throaty gasps from Kazuha as she holds onto the edge of a dumpster lid, clawing at metal. There's a muffled string of curses as the woman crouches, leaning forward - shoving her tongue inside. "Fu-uck," Kazuha manages, two distinct syllables - and her grip tightens around her waist, her spine. You catch the light shining off her gold earrings like a flash-warning, and you fall short of a breath.

“Xinyu?” you sputter. “What’re you-”

Xinyu extracts her hand from Kazuha’s cunt, licks her fingers clean and turns to you, not at all guilty - but she isn’t sorry, either. You blink hard.

“Oh, hey,” says Xinyu, cheery as anything. She brushes off her dress. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“Neither did we,” you choke, dry-mouthed. “Are you…”

“We’re making use of some downtime,” offers Kazuha, smoothing down her hair, wiping off her smudged lipstick. The makeup is so precise that it doesn’t look smudged at all - or maybe that’s just how used she is to covering it up. “Is there a problem?”

“No, none-” Your mouth snaps shut as Xinyu meets your stare and gives you an impish little shrug, biting back a smile. She saunters over to where you stand, keeping a respectable distance.

“Look at this, babe," Xinyu says. She gestures to the girl you were making out two seconds ago, casual. "I found him first. Isn’t he handsome?”

“You’ve got weird taste,” replies the redhead, not unkindly, tilting her head back against the wall and exposing all that gorgeous skin. You can see her chest rise and fall in ragged breaths. Xinyu walks a hand up your torso, palms your collarbone with a suggestive smile - it's a little possessive, but then again, you realize you’ve forgotten to let go of the other girl's hand.

“You would be into him,” retorts Kazuha. She laughs softly. “Hi, Jen,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Hey,” Yunjin says, wiggling her fingers, lazy. “Loved the performance."

"Shut the fuck up," snipes Kazuha, rolling her eyes, but she's flushed, halfway to an orgasm that's not gonna happen because everyone is apparently choosing now to puzzle this one out. "Could see you flirting with him the entire time, idiot."

"He's super fucking hot," says Yunjin. "Oh, speaking of which-" She tugs you closer by your wrist - you're stuck, standing still, trapped between three gorgeous women ready to argue over who saw who first.

“Wait,” you manage, breaking free. Yunjin huffs. Xinyu frowns, blinking. Kazuha leans back against the wall.

“We didn’t plan this or anything,” explains Kazuha. “Xinyu just likes what she sees sometimes.” There’s a practised ease in the way she says this - like this has all been rehearsed before between the two of them. "Or, well-" Kazuha lifts a shoulder, delicate, polished. "A lot of the time, I guess."

"Yeah," Xinyu says, not defensive. "So?"

"Well," you say, after a long moment - your mind working furiously to process, reconcile, synthesize - this scene where you're being pulled in six directions at once, trying to put this story together before any more pages flip.

"That's your girlfriend," you say to Yunjin, finally - and point a finger towards Kazuha.

"And yours," says Kazuha, one hand on Xinyu's hip. “Hi,” she adds.

"Yep," says Xinyu. "How about that."

She steps up close to you and bats those dark lashes. Behind her, Kazuha’s gaze catches your glance; it takes you a solid ten seconds to realize she’s trying to place where she’s seen you before - it clicks for her all at once, though it's a lot quicker for you - and then it all slots neatly into place, every cog and screw lining up in an easy motion.

“So.” Yunjin chews idly at the pad of her thumb. "What, you guys met once at the mall or something?"

"Yeah," you reply, realizing exactly how you and yours have come to fall for two of the same type. "We met at the mall."

If you'd like to imagine that this goes smoothly after that - it doesn't. Not really. It's more accurate to say that Yunjin looks at you, your blank stare, the panic - and the three girls just dissolve into laughter, giddy and conspiratorial like they've just pulled off the world's greatest coup.

"C'mon," says Yunjin. She's so good at reading social cues - like, oh, you being totally stunned-silent by the sheer amount of sexual energy suddenly coursing through this alleyway. "You said it yourself," Yunjin reminds you, gesturing at Kazuha, "beautiful, very pretty, nice legs." She brings her lips to your cheek. "You didn't lie about that."

"What?" says Kazuha.

Yunjin just smiles, brushes a lock of red hair behind her ear. "We have taste," she tells Kazuha, confident and poised - and then to you, hushed under her breath, "I'd watch you rail her," she murmurs. Her tongue darts out, pressing wet and warm into the shell of your ear. "Would you like that?"

"That's-" you start. You stop. Xinyu looks over at you, a devious flicker lighting up her eyes - oh, god; if that doesn't spell disaster, nothing does -and the grin she gives you is so downright evil you wonder why you ever dared dream you stood a chance. She looks back over at Kazuha, reaches out a hand to clasp gently at that impossible waist, pulling her in close.

"Sweetheart," Xinyu drawls, tracing a thumb over her jawline. "Doll," she continues, letting the nickname linger. She leans up, pecks a kiss against Kazuha's mouth - but her eyes don't leave yours for a second. She bites down gently on Kazuha's lower lip, tugging lightly at the skin before letting it snap back.

"You know I wouldn't ever get jealous over sharing something with you," Xinyu murmurs. She says it like a proclamation; something binding, solemn - a pact signed in ink, wax-sealed and pressed into the skin of Kazuha's collarbone. They're practically the same height. It makes your throat run dry. "You get me," she says.

Yunjin laughs, but not meanly. "It's cute how you pretend you aren't selfish," she says to Xinyu, rolling her eyes. Her lips curve upwards. "Tell me something I don't know." And then - you feel her fingertips trail delicately over your waistband, slipping her thumb below the hem of your jeans. "Hey, Kazuha?"

Kazuha drags her focus off Xinyu with visible effort, snapping back into the conversation.

"Wanna ride his face?"

Xinyu is grinning like a lunatic, gorgeous and predatory.

Kazuha gathers her hair off her neck. “He seems like the type who would want to eat pussy for hours."

"I wouldn't complain," you croak out - and Yunjin laughs. It’s genuine, unpracticed, the sort of thing that shakes her shoulders; it fills you up.

"Why don't you sit back down against that wall," she tells you, nudging at your ribs. Her touch feels electric. "Relax."

Oh. She says it like an order, and you realize that she knows full well what it'll do to you. She's still smiling, though it's sharper now, sharper, hungrier - like the glint of fangs that'll tear you apart. It's really no wonder you ended up exactly where she wanted you - but then you realize Kazuha's looking at you, and you realize that you're not entirely sure whose team you're on or if there even are any teams here. It's not like you can complain. The most you can manage is a grunt of acknowledgement, sitting down slowly, trying not to trip over your own feet and ruin everything.

"Good boy," Yunjin quips, quiet enough to feel private, intimate. You blink up at her, still holding her hand in your lap as you sit down, staring like she holds the key to all seven wonders of the world in her palm. "Kazuha," Yunjin calls over her shoulder, patting your arm. "Get over here. Come meet my new friend."

And that's sorta how you wind up in some kind of...what-the-fuck situation? Some otherworldly thing you shouldn't even hope to explain - some alternate dimension shit with two beautiful women pressing you back against some dirty-ass brick wall in the alley behind your usual haunt, a third one laughing hysterically at all four of you. You feel like the dumbest motherfucker alive, especially when Xinyu whispers something in Yunjin's ear, and it earns a resounding laugh, but mostly just because your girlfriend's hands are everywhere and Yunjin's sitting back and watching like it's prime-time television.

That - and also because Kazuha's decided she needs your face buried in her cunt ASAP, and frankly, you can't even muster up the energy to disagree.

-

First things first: the bar is packed - oh, wait, no: it's always packed. But especially so on the nights where you're trying to navigate this stupid situation, you got yourself into where three fucking goddesses have you on rotation, like clockwork. 

You're collecting coats and closing tabs, doing your absolute best not to bring any more attention to how Kazuha's wobbling on both legs because she can't quite walk straight anymore.

Yunjin - your current distraction, clad in the most perfect shade of red lipstick, clinging onto your favourite girl like a lifeline - keeps leaning over to Xinyu, whispering frantically in her ear, and it's like the more they talk, the more amused Xinyu gets.

"I told Yunjin your apartment's the closest," Xinyu says to you, eventually, a small smirk forming on her face. "Think she wants you alone for a while. Sounds like she thinks you could really, uh-" She nods toward you, gesturing pointedly towards your belt. "Blow her back out, is how she phrased it."

Oh. Well, then. Yeah, no, you'd be perfectly okay with that.

When you glance back over at the rest of your - you don't have a word for it - entourage, all three pairs of eyes are locked on you, expectant and eager. Jesus fucking Christ. You make brief eye contact with Yunjin; her smile grows impossibly wider. This was meant to be a casual night, wasn't it? A nice outing at the lounge bar where you down drinks and enjoy the scenery - that was how it started, right? Then Yunjin had shown up, demanding all your attention like you owed it to her just for existing (and honestly? You kinda do). It'd been an excuse to look at Kazuha's tits, and then another to press your mouth all over Xinyu's - but the way your girlfriend's looking at you makes it abundantly clear that that ship's already sailed. 

Kazuha raises a water bottle to her lips, looking cool and confident as ever (oh, you know better).

"Didn't mean to invite everyone over, but." Xinyu preens, adjusting the hem of her skirt and checking for signs of wear. She knows exactly what she's saying, exactly what you're thinking - there's an intentness to her words. "You wouldn't mind, right, baby?"

"Yeah, sure," you agree, glancing up at all of them with a nod. You've never moved faster in your life; your coat's over your arm, keys in your pocket, the whole ensemble. They're watching you, waiting patiently. Xinyu raises an eyebrow. "Lead the way?"

She beams. She turns, slips her purse strap over her shoulder. "Alright," she chirps - and the four of you take off into the night.

-

It's funny, you think: Xinyu's also had a weak spot for Kazuha, probably since the first time she saw her perform. (That's the part that sticks out in your brain.) But then again, maybe Kazuha knew about Xinyu too; they seem pretty damn cosy for this being their first interaction with each other, though you suppose you can't judge - you were practically aching for Yunjin within an hour of meeting her, weren't you?

But whatever. Your cock is in Yunjin's hand, and your mind is very much not present right now. That's the important thing.

By the time you finally unlocked your front door, all four of you stumbling in - everyone tipsy, aroused, dying to get their hands on someone's skin - Yunjin immediately glued herself to you, pushing your coat off your shoulders. She'd gotten your zipper undone in record time. It's not the first time, obviously: she's got this ghost of a grip around your cock already, a knowing stroke, this way of handling your arousal that feels almost proprietary in its control.

There's an island in the kitchen; you're washed up on its shore. Fingers spread across the marble sand as the edge presses against your lower back. "Drinks are in the—"

"You can skip the fanfare." Yunjin is stroking you, her other hand at the nape of your neck to pull you down, kiss her; your mouth meets hers, hot, messy, too hard. Pick up where you left off sort of thing. Some unheard conversation must have planned this, on the street or in the hallway or the elevator—they'd figured out some secret plot, who got what, how they would split up, and it starts here.

It's in your periphery that you see them cross, hand in hand, watching you come undone by the vixen in red. Xinyu is taking the lead, and you can see her mind working overtime to figure out what would drive you the most insane right now. She stops at the couch, centre-view, perching herself on the back of it to pull the other girl against her. Kazuha giggles in the high pitch, something that sounds too sweet to come from someone whose job it is to get men going—and maybe she does that on purpose: the look over her shoulder accompanies a feigned innocence.

Xinyu looks past her, gaze falling over Yunjin first: red dress, blood red lips, hair like a hearth-fire, and the hand moving on your cock in your unbuckled jeans. "A head start? How unfair." She rolls her eyes with all the mocking derision she can muster, but her smirk betrays her. She's pushing Kazuha by the shoulder, putting the dancer down on her knees. Even in the most compromising position possible, she looks immaculate: she sinks, legs together, ass perched on her heels. There's not a strand of hair out of place, and even in her lust, Xinyu strives to maintain the fact, so she takes care in the way she pulls Kazuha between her thighs. A gentle, fingertip hold, as she spreads her knees to frame her.

You watch with rapt attention; you can hardly look away. The whole thing is artfully posed.

Yunjin says your name, the first word you've heard from her, and you've only missed it a little. Your gaze moves to her. You expect another comment, snide, but her mouth parts, like the words have been stolen right out of it.

"You good?" You're trying to be a gentleman, if not an asshole—and it works, too; it spurs her back. She bites the corner of her lip and hums.

"Yeah, you know." A half-shrug accompanies her words as she lets you slide a strap from her shoulder. "Still waiting for you to blow my back out."

Oh. You laugh, hoarse. Yeah, that's—that's on the agenda, for sure.

It's just—the show, right across from you, has started.

Kazuha, in her performance, has Xinyu's skirt pushed up around her waist, face against her thigh, breath hot on her skin, fingers splayed over her knee to press her legs even wider. The most natural seduction; the effortless allure that laces every part of her. Her lips against skin are soft and pink, moving against the curve of the muscle, mouthing up higher. You know how that feels—travelling the vast expanse of Xinyu's long legs in search of something to bury your face in.

"She's in for a treat," Yunjin whispers.

"So am I," you return, placing a hand on Yunjin's now strapless shoulder and putting just enough weight into your hand that she knows she's going down.

"Can't promise I won't bite," she warns, in the tone that makes your throat dry, in the way you think she just might. But you've also had the image of Yunjin's head bobbing in your lap the whole cab ride home.

If there's a heaven, you'll find it in a mouth like this one: soft-lipped, warm and wet, tongue on you. You reach for the back of her neck, feel the silk of her hair under your palm as she sucks hard enough to make your hips jerk. Then there's the gentlest of grazes—her teeth on your shaft, and it makes your jaw tighten. She's all smirk and smoulder, eyes coming up to see what kind of face she's making you pull.

"Oops," she laughs.

"Fuck," Xinyu gasps, the loudest sound in the room. There's the slightest shift of Kazuha's shoulders, the way her back bows when her tongue drags from slit to clit; nose pushed up tight.

Xinyu, still leaning over the back of the couch, turns her gaze toward you, then, heavy, desperate, and dark: an intensity that hits right in the base of your stomach and twists like a dull knife.

Xinyu trades pleasured gasps for a coy remark. "Look at her go. Eats pussy like she'll starve to death without it." It's like she needs to comment on it, all casual, as if there weren't someone between her legs, making her thighs tense.

Yunjin pulls back just long enough to say, "Tell me about it." Then she goes deep enough that you see your cock hit the back of her throat. No warning. You cough out an obscenity. It's good, and it's better because of what you're looking at.

"Yeah?" Xinyu says. "Be pretty easy to cum like this, you know?" The implication hangs in the air, unaddressed.

Just like Yunjin before you, you agree. "Tell me about it."

Your girl, on the couch, her body twists again. Kazuha is making her work to keep the upper hand in all this, if there's such a thing, and she has to put conscious effort into keeping her words steady. Her focus is on you, on your face, on how your mouth opens every time Yunjin sinks her mouth to the hilt.

"Do you wanna cum like this?" Yunjin says to the underside of your dick, her hot breath against your length.

You look to Xinyu for a final answer: her head's back and her chin tilted high in a groan that fills the room, an arcing note in a rising song that starts between her thighs. Her hands grip the cushions.

"She's close," You say off-handedly. An easy observation. It doesn't answer her question.

"Could finish you so easily," Yunjin hums. You feel her words against the crown. She swirls her tongue, and you clench your fists.

"Faster than Kazuha?"

"Much faster." Yunjin grins like she's just thrown down a challenge. And you get why it works: competitive to a fault.

"No chance," Xinyu manages. There's sweat on the skin that shimmers with highlight, her chest heaving with every laboured breath, "absolutely—" Kazuha presses forward, and the rest comes out a curse. She grits out the words. "Impossible."

"Bet?" says Yunjin, her nails dug deep enough into your skin that it leaves little crescent moons.

Xinyu's head lifts. There's a smile on her face that's just shy of wicked, "I'd say winner takes all."

There are very few bets that Xinyu won't take and fewer stakes that she won't gamble with, but she's got confidence in Kazuha's ability, and time is a-ticking. Even with how wound up Yunjin's got you, watching them, it's still an even race at this point. Kazuha has a lot to prove: this is a test to see if her pretty lips and clever tongue can get her girl to the finish line faster than anyone else.

And, oh—she can taste it, can't she: Xinyu dripping wetness to her chin, her folds spread and cunt eager. The dancer's a performer of many skills: her fingers slide inside, her mouth locked in place and sucking hard until Xinyu is fucking her mouth with the back and forth of her hips. In a moment of indulgence, she presses Kazuha's face deeper, harder. It's rougher, meaner: she pushes her up tight enough that her air might just get cut off, if it weren't for the moans that slip from the singer's mouth. "God—" You think she says, and then nothing but sharp inhale and the jolt of her hips that has Kazuha's nails in the flesh of her inner thighs.

Yunjin's picking up the slack on you. Maybe to wipe the smirk from your girlfriend's face, or maybe she just really wants your cum down her throat. That's fine. You're not opposed.

Mouth briefly replaced by hand, strokes hard and tight, so she can talk and please. "Better cum in me soon. You'll lose." She winks. She's not wrong, and she sucks in her next breath like she knows it. That mouth on you again.

Let's be real. Let's not get it twisted. You win. You always win.

Xinyu will cum first. It's one of those facts in life. Death, taxes and Xinyu's climaxes.

It starts in her chest—a hitch that becomes a heavy rise and fall, a moan from deep in her throat. Her body follows it: every limb taut like strings in a bow. Tension: her head back to the sky and the arch in her back like a crescent. Her legs start to shake. It's there that you feel your blood thrumming, the adrenaline that starts that climb before your fall, and Yunjin takes her cue to speed things up on her end as Xinyu tumbles over on hers. Her thighs tense, tight, trembling.

"Oh—oh fuck—Kazuha." Xinyu moaning another woman's name always has a certain kind of kick to it, even more so with you down Yunjin's throat. She's never shy about this. Never timid. Always, unabashedly, the way it is with you and how she'll scream and cry for it, for the orgasm that wracks her like an electric current.

Kazuha has no interest in easing her down: the pads of her fingertips work her open, pumping inside, tongue flat to lap against the pulsing heat, riding her through each wave and crest, drawing them longer, higher. Xinyu's shaking with the overstimulation, hands in hair, but not pulling back.

"God. Fuck, Kazuha—" This time, there's the edge of desperation to it, so close to pleading for it to stop.

There's a moment when you lock your eyes. Xinyu looking through the strands of her dark hair that stick to her cheeks, and the sweat that glosses her forehead, the flush on her skin, her lipstick smeared in places. And that smile, her wicked grin in full bloom. Her breath coming in shallow heaving puffs. Kazuha is slowing. Stilling.

You've been teetering close to that razor's edge, the precipice of it, but there was only ever going to be one winner. Yunjin pulls her mouth from you and she has no idea just how close you were, just how cruel the denial, as she stands.

You say her name as a question: why would she ever fucking stop?

Her mouth to your ear, and you feel her smirking again, her teeth against the shell: "You lost," she murmurs.

"You lost," Xinyu echoes from across the room. She pushes Kazuha away, legs still unsteady, as she slides from the couch to her feet and straightens out the fabric of her dress. You watch as Kazuha touches the gloss of her lip and sucks it off her finger. Her smile is soft and warm when she gets to her feet. It's like a stage; everything posed: Xinyu and Kazuha, standing side-by-side and arms entwined.

"Second place," says Xinyu, looking you right in the eyes.

"I get it," you say. Your cock stands at full mast. "You don't need to remind me."

"Oh," she grins, leaning against the dancer, "I absolutely do." Her hand touches Kazuha's chin and lifts, kissing her deep, tongues dancing against one another's. When Xinyu's teeth drag along her bottom lip, you know she must be able to taste herself. "She's real good. Though I do wonder what her girlfriend is like," she whispers as she eyes Yunjin.

Kazuha speaks up. "She can definitely make a girl cum." She speaks with such nonchalance as if she's discussing the weather or what brand her shampoo is and not the way she's had Yunjin eating out of her cunt.

Kazuha is a professional; it's no surprise to hear she knows how to get a girl to see god, and it's no surprise that anyone she lays with has to be on top of their game. Xinyu knows, too. She grins, and she laughs, and she holds her waist like Kazuha's some sort of prize, and it's just so Xinyu, this display. "Lucky us." She touches a hand to the dancer's hip. She says to Yunjin, "We oughta try her out."

"You're going to leave him hanging?" says Yunjin, running a hand down your chest dangerously low before taking it back, a gentle press of lips on your jaw. "That's not very fair."

"He can help you out, right?" Xinyu offers, gesturing in your direction with one of those looks in her eyes. You know that one. "Make us cum." And her hand slips to the swell of Kazuha's breast, groping greedily. It's a demand that comes out as a suggestion.

Kazuha whispers something inaudible to Xinyu's ears and it must've been good because the woman hums, intrigued, the smile on her mouth turning wider and more mischievous by the second. They both take a step, both reach out, Kazuha takes your wrist and Xinyu takes Yunjin's. Wordlessly, they take you away from the kitchen and to the window: the massive wall of windows that line your apartment with the city behind.

"I want the world to see," Kazuha explains. "To wish they were you."

"Sounds a little cheesy," you quip.

"Sounds hot," Xinyu retorts as she places her hands on the glass. She bends forward so that the swell of her ass pushes out against the hem of her skirt, and against Yunjin, who is standing right behind her. "Don't you think, babe?" she teases Yunjin.

"Very," Yunjin says. She moves her fingers along the seams of Xinyu's body, finding their way underneath her top. You hear Xinyu breathe out through her mouth. Yunjin moves closer to Xinyu's ear and bites it. "But the only ones that'll actually get to touch you, to taste you... that'll be us, huh?" She moves her fingers along the waistband of her skirt.

Xinyu turns her head back at her, smiling. "They'll be able to see how well I can take it, too. You'll let them see, won't you?"

Kazuha perches in front of you, spreading her fingers out against the glass, lowering her shoulders, arching her spine and lifting her ass to the sky for your taking. In an instant, you're on your knees and appreciating her for everything she's worth. "You don't need to be a gentleman. Just go for it. You already had the courtesy earlier," she tells you as you move closer.

"Can't I take a moment to appreciate you first?" you reply.

"Do you have to?" Her laugh is half a moan, and she's pulling up her own dress. "Are you so infatuated by the sight of me? Because, believe me—" and her words are cut off as you sink your teeth into her cheeks, your fingertips pressing tight into the skin at her hip— "you've seen more than most get to."

You run a hand up the expanse of her thigh. "Savouring every moment," you hum into her skin.

"How romantic," she laughs. There are the smallest noises in the back of her throat that come with your touch as you caress her ass. Fingers into flesh, gentle pressure until you feel her roll against it. The perfect ass. The kind people would kill for.

You hear Xinyu gasp, the sharp breath: Yunjin's got her face pressed hard between Xinyu's spread thighs from behind. "Y'know—" your girl manages between moaning pants, "wasn't sure what to expect. This isn't how we usually do things." She's trying to hold the conversation together while Yunjin works to make a ruin of it. Xinyu braces herself against the glass. "Two girls at once is a pretty good score."

"I'd call it that," you hum in agreement as you pull Kazuha's delicate panties down her thighs.

"The two of you do this often?" Yunjin asks between licking Xinyu's dripping cunt and then slapping an ass cheek hard, enough to sting. It leaves an angry pink imprint on the flesh of her. Xinyu hisses, her fingers curling against the glass as she struggles to hold herself steady. Kazuha arches her spine to give you better access.

"See them all the time," Kazuha gently laughs, the breathiest moan breaking her sentence up, and she rocks herself back against you. "Taking someone home before my show even ends."

Xinyu's eyes open, and her vision is clear. She looks over her shoulder. Her hips are slow, riding the tongue that pushes deeper inside. Her voice is steady, and she's trying hard not to let Yunjin catch her completely, though the pressure on the glass betrays her. "Been keeping an eye on us, hm?"

You're dragging your tongue against Kazuha, circling around the wetness between her legs. You taste the sweet musk of her, and then you drag the flat of your tongue along the folds. She hums with a laugh that sounds a little breathier, more strained. Your tongue moves deeper, dipping into the parting of flesh, to taste the soft, velvet feel of her, the slick heat that comes with her arousal.

"You're not exactly subtle. Hard not to notice."

You push a little firmer, face into her ass, tasting the deepest parts of her and as she shifts on her knees, she lowers a hand to your hair and grabs a handful of it, keeping you where she needs you, fingers curled around the strands and the sting that follows. You hear the noise she makes, the way she shivers under your attention. It feels good.

"We have a fan," Xinyu jokes, but her laughter is cut off by a moan as Yunjin sucks harder on the soft folds between her legs. "Maybe two." There's the sound of skin hitting skin, and then a gasp. You know the sounds of Xinyu when her skin is slapped, or her flesh is bit.

Yunjin's hands roam her body freely. They're everywhere: touching, teasing. Her nails scratch and drag, and Xinyu groans when teeth meet her inner thigh again.

Kazuha is dripping against your chin now. Every lick sends another jolt up her spine, and every circle against her sensitive clit has her moaning. You squeeze her ass. She rocks forward. "Mhm..." Her lips part, and her jaw goes slack.

"What a pretty fucking mess," you hum against the wetness.

Xinyu takes Kazuha by the chin, pulling her into a kiss, and there's no way for anyone else to appreciate how beautiful they look against each other. Xinyu runs a hand up into Kazuha's hair, and her hips are still grinding, still pushing down onto Yunjin's mouth. "I'm gonna cum if she doesn't stop."

"Cum with me?" Kazuha says. It sounds desperate, almost needy in its demand: an urgency to share this. To do it together.

It doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

"Not stopping," is the last thing Yunjin says as she continues to feast. You think she might have a point to prove, but if that means she wants to eat a pussy that good, then so be it. Your mouth works Kazuha faster: you spread the folds with your fingers and go to work on her clit. Your teeth catch the sensitive flesh, and she shakes with it, thighs threatening to tremble and tense, a strangled cry falling from her lips that she smothers by moaning it right into Xinyu's lips.

The taste of Kazuha on your tongue is something you'll never get tired of. Her sweet juice spills over, and when she arches, she cums harder, cries out louder until finally, her knees start to shake. That's how it starts, and with her orgasm comes Xinyu's too. There's a moment when the two are tangled together, when the sounds that fall out of them echo each other's. Their voices meet, their moans mix, and their tongues clash in their kiss, like they can't bear to keep any distance from one another. It's intimate, even amidst the other mouths on them. Even as Yunjin and you coax them through it. When it passes, the two cling onto each other, holding each other up, both of them trembling with the aftermath of a shared bliss.

Kazuha falls first: with a slow slump she sinks down to the floor, falling away from your hungry mouth and onto her hands and knees on the hardwood. She pants, heavy breaths, her head bowed, her hair in her eyes. There's a contented hum to the room as it all begins to settle down. Kazuha turns to you: there's that gorgeous smile, as she pushes back hair from her face. Her makeup is smudged. Her lipstick's a mess.

Xinyu follows after, but not without first stroking Yunjin's hair and kissing her, thanking her. Xinyu falls into Kazuha's embrace, the two of them holding each other up on the floor. Their heads are on one another's shoulders.

You lose your balance to a hard push. Your ass hitting the ground hard, sitting flat on the hardwood.

"Your turn." Yunjin grins, a hand pushing at the centre of your chest, keeping you from rising.

"You're going to do that right here?"

She grins at you. "Right now."

From here on out, it's just an inevitable, sordid decline into depravity. There is no message here, no moral, no meaning beyond the mindless, the reckless. There's nothing profound about the way Yunjin slips the other strap off her shoulder and pulls the material down to her waist to expose her braless chest. There's no wisdom in the way she moves into your lap, arms hooked over your shoulders.

No revelations come from how her bare pussy slides against the head of your cock. No matters of the world solved by the way you grope her tits in your palms. Nothing poetic about the sound that slips between her pretty red lips when you enter her cunt. This is just the way things are. This is barely a footnote on the night, not an epic climax. It's not a resolution or a denouement. Just another impending orgasm. You're just lucky you're at the centre of it all.

"Give us a show, won't you?" Xinyu murmurs.

Yunjin's got a smile on her lips that says, sure, sure, I can do that. She puts her hands on your chest, pinning you against the ground, her hips lifting and rolling as she slides you in and out of herself. "You think we should thank them? The people in the toilets?"

"Why's that?"

"Well, we'd have gone in there." Yunjin pushes her hips down hard onto you to punctuate her sentence. "We'd have fucked." She's taking control here: riding you in the centre of the hardwood floor. "You'd have cum." Another roll of the hips. "In me. On me." She gasps, moans. "That would have been that." It's all being said so nonchalantly. "But now, it's like this."

You laugh a little as you watch the woman ride you for all you're worth. "It's fitting," you say as you push yourself up from the floor, sitting face-to-face with the woman riding you. "Because you deserve so much more than a quickie on a dirty toilet." You wrap an arm around the small of her back. "And I'd much rather take my time with you." You buck your hips up into her, commandeering the rhythm as your pace starts to climb. You drive into her, pounding hard, as you bury your face between her breasts.

There are the smallest of noises that break free from Yunjin: the whines that get trapped behind her throat and the moans that slip between her teeth. She lets you handle her, and the only sound she makes is that soft whimpering and that sharp hiss when your fingers grip tight at her skin, and when her body slams down against your cock, you feel her tense and then shake around your shaft, squeezing and clamping down hard. She stifles her sounds.

"You good?" you whisper. She doesn't answer. At least, not at first. She gives herself a moment to catch her breath, as her nails drag across your shoulder blade.

She moans out a reply. "Oh yeah. So good. I'm so—" her words trail into a hiss of a breath.

You push her onto her back, pinning her to the ground as she laughs, arms above her head and eyes on yours, as you pick the pace back up again. "Show's still on," Xinyu says, somewhere on your peripheries.

"He fucks like a..." Kazuha whispers, unable to find the right words.

"I know," Xinyu laughs, before leaning in to kiss at Kazuha's jaw. "Doesn't he just?" The words are barely a whisper in her ear.

There's this shift in your periphery, Xinyu taking a place on the floor, her hand behind Kazuha's head as she spreads her legs again. It's rare you've found anyone who can keep up with Xinyu, but tonight's proven to be the exception. Kazuha's on all fours, leaning in for another taste. The sight has you groan.

Yunjin laughs at that, pulling your face back to hers, her legs wrapping around your hips, locking behind your back as she pulls you into her. "Don't get distracted now, honey," she says. Her fingertips trace along the muscles in your shoulders. Her lips curl up into a smile as her body shivers underneath yours, and you can feel it: that sweet clamping down of her pussy around your cock, and you know that she's close to coming again.

"Got an idea," you whisper.

"Wait, wait—" Yunjin claws at your back, holding you closer, tighter. "Just let me—" and you feel it. Her wet heat coating your length, pulsing. You roll her into it, feel the slick mess as her hips twist against the hardwood. She shakes, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut, and lips parted. "There we go. Now, idea?"

"Come here." It's seamless, the way you move her around and behind Kazuha, positioning her face right against her girlfriend's ass. "Doesn't that look so good?"

"Beautiful," she says.

"Bet you eat that ass every chance you get, I know I would."

"Me too," Xinyu chimes.

"Yeah?" Yunjin says as she traces her hands along Kazuha's hips and curves, the lines that make her. She touches her thighs, and then she moves her fingertips to the cheeks of her ass. "Well." A kiss on the flesh of it. "You know. She does have such a pretty ass," she whispers.

"You both do," you reply as you mimic Yunjin's touches on her own ass.

She smiles into the skin, pressing more soft kisses along it. Her fingernails dig in gently as her mouth presses a little harder against it. Yunjin drags her nails over it, making marks. Yunjin moans softly, burying her mouth deeper between the cheeks. Kazuha arches with a moan of her own, rocking back. Yunjin sinks deeper, eating her girlfriend's ass like it was the last meal she'd have for days. The sounds are wet and hungry. Her moans are muffled as her mouth does its work. "God..." Yunjin groans into the flesh. Her hands roam up to Kazuha's sides, and she digs her fingers in and holds her, rocking the woman's hips against her face. It's like she can't get enough, and the taste must be so fucking intoxicating.

You're back inside Yunjin, the end of the train. She shivers again, moans again. Her nails drag up the small of Kazuha's back, marking the line of her spine with the gentle red trails. Her teeth scrape against Kazuha's skin, and she presses the pad of her tongue between her asscheeks again.

Yunjin's dress is still bunched at the waist, you bunch it and then hold it firm: it pulls tight across her toned stomach and gives you a handle, a grip to hold. You thrust into her, hard. She groans into Kazuha, and in turn, Kazuha gasps into Xinyu.

You hear Xinyu moaning, a note that arcs and echoes and then tapers off again. Kazuha is humming, soft and quiet, and Yunjin groans deeply. When the three of you all start to sync up, to fall into one steady beat, it feels right. It's everything falling together. Waves on the sand.

Xinyu is gasping; her head is back, and her throat is exposed, and her body is writhing with pleasure. She has her fingers buried in Kazuha's hair, clutching at it desperately, as she rocks back onto her tongue, onto her mouth, her hips bucking erratically. You're fucking Yunjin in slow and deep thrusts that have her moaning and shuddering, her fingers gripping hard into the dancer's thighs, and she's eating that ass with hunger, her own body responding to each motion of your hips in a ripple of a wave that runs up her spine, one after the next after the next.

This was never meant to last. There is no way.

You're on edge. Xinyu's on the precipice, and Kazuha is shaking.

There is no way, you say it again, and that's how your mind feels: unsteady, untethered, and it's in that haze that you slip your free hand to Yunjin's hip and guide it under her, have her press two fingers into the slickness that's so familiar, that she knows so well. You tell her. "Make your girlfriend cum." It's not an order. You've no authority here, in the mess that this has become, but she does, doesn't she: she's the only one who could get someone to sing for the world to see.

It's just seconds after when she slips the digits up inside that the woman is shaking, her back arching, and she's moaning in tandem with the way her hips roll back on you. Yunjin's fingers plunge deeper inside, and Kazuha shivers in delight. And then there's the smallest cry of a sound, and she's spilling wet onto the hand that keeps pushing her down. "You're so beautiful, Kazu," Yunjin murmurs, the words muffled by how she's buried her face between those cheeks, she's so damn close to her own climax. Kazuha is trembling, shaking. She moans out her release into Xinyu's wet cunt.

Thighs clamp hard on Kazuha's head. "Yes—" Xinyu cries out, as her hips rock upwards, bucking on Kazuha's mouth as she rides the orgasm hard, hands at her own breasts, groping greedily as her tongue drags her bottom lip under white, teeth bared: it's like a growl, almost, or a snarl, her eyes open wide, but staring right through everything.

And that's what pushes you over. You grab hard onto Yunjin's hip, the bunched fabric of her dress. Your fingernails drag against her flesh as you rut into her, hips thrusting again and again. She can't help the gasp, the sound, as your nails scrape deep into her thigh. She's so sensitive. The skin so soft and so receptive to touch. That noise turns into a moan. You know the sounds of her now. She doesn't need to tell you. You know. The pace of her breathing changes, and you hear the breathy little whimpers. When she gasps and when her cunt flutters, you can tell that she's close. And you know, when she cums because of the shuddering that runs up her body, the tensing of her muscles and that moaning that starts low and quiet before it grows, and then it explodes out of her in a sudden burst, like fireworks.

Xinyu's curling a finger. A beckon. You have a place to take, kneeling over her, and a finish that she demands.

"You know what to do, don't you?" she teases, a laugh on the tip of her tongue: that sharp and mischievous smirk, and the eyes that gleam in the light.

"I do."

She turns her gaze on the couple on the floor, the girls who've sunk onto one another. You can hear Yunjin laughing. Kazuha's fingers trail over her face, tracing the outline. "Go ahead," Xinyu says to you: not permission but expectation.

She presents her face as if it's a canvas and, yeah, sure, maybe you've done this more times than you can count, but you've still got your hand on your dick and the other on the back of Xinyu's neck, rubbing like it's the first time, and—

There it goes.

"God," Yunjin groans, "that's pretty."

Kazuha's contented hum agrees. They both reach a hand out to run their fingers across the mess of your cum, spreading it across the smooth expanse of skin, painting their art of Xinyu. There are no lines, no patterns, just the abstract swirl and the smearing that follows.

"Should take a photo," Kazuha suggests. "For posterity's sake."

"Too late," Yunjin mutters as she leans in to lick at the slick of white on the woman's cheek.

Soon, they're both at it, cleaning your girlfriend like she was the world's finest delicacy. And she basks in the attention. The centre of it. She's used to that kind of spotlight, though you don't think anyone shines as bright as her.

Yunjin takes a mouthful, opening to show the white on her tongue, and then her lips collide with Xinyu's. The cum is passed, tongue-to-tongue, a kiss shared. They share it with each other, a kiss that is truly sordid. You hear Kazuha's moan of excitement before you even realise what's happening: she joins in, making the kiss a trio. Three mouths passing your cum back and forth and the sound of their soft moans of delight.

It's hard to fathom that this is only the beginning. It's almost as difficult to comprehend just how far it's already gone, and the truth, as you see it, is that it doesn't need to make sense. Some nights are destined for excess. Nights like these. With a trio like this. You're not asking for any answers: all you're asking is that the four of you sink deeper, lose yourself to it.

The girls break the kiss, and Xinyu says, "You know, he has this walk-in shower. The big kind." You can hear the smirk in her tone like she knows just the kind of trouble she'll cause with her words.

"Yeah? I bet we could all fit in it," Kazuha hums, and there's that look of hers again, a little devious but mostly playful: a look of a girl who just wants to please everyone she comes into contact with. She can't seem to get enough, and she's just dying for a taste of more. Her hands slide along both women's waists, pulling them in a tighter embrace. Xinyu looks at you.

"You did always say—"

"I did."

"And, honestly, there's no better—"

"I know," you tell her, climbing to your feet and holding out a hand. "Come on."

[kashverse]

Can we get some lore on Toji and mamaguro?

megumi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilts his head and asks the question of the century.

“how did you and papa meet?”

you pause. toji’s eyes immediately gleam with something absolutely devious. and you know—before he even opens his mouth—that he’s about to ruin it. “ahhh, great question, kid,” toji sighs, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to tell the most important story of all time. “see, once upon a time, i was young. reckless. sexy. a lone wolf prowlin’ the streets—”

your head snaps toward him. “what.”

“—and then,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “i met this woman.” he jerks his chin toward you. “absolutely feral. scary as hell. deadly, too. had this whole mysterious cat burglar thing goin’ on.” megumi’s eyes widen. 

“like catwoman?”

“exactly!” toji claps his hands. “but hotter.”

you squint. “i took one look at her,” toji sighs dramatically, clutching his chest like a man struck by fate. “and bam!” he slaps the floor for emphasis, making megumi jump. “love at first sight.”

“…you were on the floor at first sight,” you correct. “because i threw you there.” toji grins. “same thing.”

megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “why’d you throw him?”

toji hums, tapping his chin like he’s recalling some grand tale. “well, kid, your mama wasn’t always the sweet, loving lady she is now. back in the day, she was a real menace. sharp, deadly, no-nonsense.” you roll your eyes. “and you were an idiot.”

“a charming idiot,” toji corrects, leaning back with a smirk. “but hey, you wanna hear the real story?” he gestures for megumi to sit closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “lemme tell you how it really happened…”

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

toji should’ve known better than to touch you. but in his defense, he had really just wanted your attention. it wasn’t every day you saw someone move like that—fast, sharp, deadly, with the kind of ease that made seasoned killers look sloppy. you had just wiped the floor with half a dozen guys and hadn’t even broken a sweat. so, naturally, toji thought it would be real cute to tap your shoulder. 

“yo, sweetheart, what’s your—”

before he could finish, his back slammed against the pavement, skull bouncing off the concrete. you stood over him, eyes sharp, unimpressed, like you were deciding whether or not to finish the job. “touch me again and i’ll break your arm,” you said. toji, lying there with a grin stretching across his face, thought, damn.

toji was relentless. “shiuuuu,” he whined, draping himself over the back of shiu’s chair like a dead weight. “c’mon, man, just once. put me on a job with her. please.” shiu didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “for the last time, no.”

“why not?” toji huffed. “we’d be great together.” shiu sighed. “no, you’d be a menace. i don’t have time to deal with you getting distracted and showing off for your crush mid-mission.” toji crossed his arms. “what? i would not.”

shiu finally glanced at him. toji looked away. shiu raised an eyebrow. toji grumbled, “okay, maybe a little.”

shiu shook his head. “go away.” but did that stop toji? absolutely not.

the man campaigned like his life depended on it. followed you around whenever he saw you, made a damn fool of himself trying to impress you—sparring without a shirt (useless, you didn’t even blink), dramatically taking down targets in the most unnecessarily flashy ways, dropping the occasional sweetheart or princess just to see if he could get a rise out of you. nothing. you remained cool, detached, frustratingly uninterested. 

until one day, when you finally looked at him and said, “if i agree to work with you, will you shut up?” toji lit up like a kid on christmas. “yes.”

“fine.”

“wait, really?”

you shrugged. “shiu thinks you’re useful enough to keep around, so i’ll give it a shot. but if you slow me down, i’m leaving you behind.” toji grinned. “babe, you’re gonna love working with me.”

(you did not love working with him. at first.)

the first mission together was a disaster. not because it went wrong—oh no, everything was executed perfectly. but because toji spent the entire time trying to get you to laugh. he was muttering jokes over the comms, making faces when no one was looking, even tossing out ridiculous one-liners mid-fight just to see if he could crack your composure. nothing. you were focused, professional, as if you didn’t even register his antics. 

until the job was done, and he caught you, just for a split second, hiding the smallest smirk. toji nearly died on the spot. "i knew you had a sense of humor," he said, triumphant. you rolled your eyes. “if you mess around too much, you'll get yourself killed.” toji grinned. "nah. gotta stick around. haven’t won you over yet.”

(he did. eventually.)

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

megumi listened like it’s a live-action soap opera. “and guess what?” toji smirks, elbowing your side. “it worked.”

“against my better judgment,” you mutter, crossing your arms. megumi tilts his head. “but you like him now.”

toji grins, looking smug. “yeah, mama. you like me.”

you stare at him. then, with a perfectly measured swing, you whack the back of his head so fast that he blinks in shock. then, suddenly, something in his face changes. the slow grin. the slight daze in his eyes. “damn,” he breathes. “that’s exactly why i fell for you in the first place.”

megumi makes a disgusted face. but toji, still caught in whatever lovestruck spiral he’s in, just stretches and leans back against the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “it’s true, y’know,” he hums, reminiscing. “with other people, i was a cold bastard. with your mama? blubbering puppy.”

megumi looks at you for confirmation. you sigh. “unfortunately, yes.”

megumi squints. “prove it.”

toji’s grin widens.

somewhere, in an alternate flashback—

“alright, asshole, you got three seconds to start beggin’ before i blow your damn face off,” toji growls, pointing his gun at some poor soul tied to a chair. the guy trembles. “p-please, i—”

“not you, dumbass, him,” toji grunts, jerking his thumb toward his colleague—shiu, who is standing off to the side, looking like he has an unfortunate headache. “toji,” shiu sighs. “just finish the job.”

“nah, nah, lemme enjoy this.” toji cracks his neck. “c’mon, big guy, scream f'me.”

footsteps. and before the victim can even register what’s happening, toji suddenly changes. in half a second, he goes from “demonic assassin ready to pull the trigger” to—

“BABE!!”

his voice shoots up an octave. the victim stares. and then he watches—in real time—as the fearsome assassin fushiguro toji throws his loaded gun on the table and immediately goes soft. “babe,” toji beams, turning toward the door. “didja eat yet? you sleep okay? what’s up? what’s goin’ on?”

the victim blinks. you walk into the room like nothing is out of the ordinary, sipping a bottle of water, giving the scene a quick glance before meeting toji’s gaze.

“you forgot your lunch.”

you hold up a neatly wrapped bento box. toji gasps. "awww, babe, you love me.”

the victim gapes as toji practically skips over to you, completely forgetting he was in the middle of a goddamn interrogation. the target, still bound to his chair, is on the verge of tears. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING—”

back to the present—

megumi, jaw slightly dropped, slowly turns to his father.

“…you are pathetic.”

toji grins. “nah. i’m in love.” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “you were in love. now you’re just embarrassing.”

megumi nods in agreement. toji scoffs. “y’know, if this is the kinda disrespect i get in my own house—”

“—you can leave,” you and megumi say in unison. toji groans, flopping dramatically onto the floor. but secretly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hahashifts]

Villain POV

Well this was unexpected. Not at all how I'd expected this night to go. The hero of the city, bleeding and broken on my doorstep, because this was the only place they could think of to go that would be safe.

I surpressed the warmth rising in me, strange sensation - probably mere indigestion from dinner. Regardless, the bane of my existence was in my arms and I was putting her on my sofa. I could hear the men who had done this to her racing straight for my home.

Good. They will taste my wrath and I will dwell out the vengeance for the fallen hero they defiled with their wretched hands. I'd relieve them of the damned appendages before I ended their miserable life's. Make an example of them for any others that may try to follow in their footsteps.

Being a villain, sewing chaos and disorder and fighting against the system is one thing, but cruelty and vileness for the sake of it was a disgrace that couldn't be forgiven.

The little heroes light was out, her magic somewhere far away. It would return to her or they would suffer all the more for it. But she was stable enough for me to deal with the trash quickly approaching my doorstep. No need to sully the furnishings with their blood.

I stepped over the threshold of my domicile and closed the door just as they approached me. Three men, all clearly drunk.

"Good evening, gentlemen." I sneered as I smelled her blood on them. I saw red. "It appears you put your hands on something that doesn't belong to you," and in one smooth motion my sword was out and had sliced through each of their wrists like slicing butter and their screams pierced the night air as they realized, stunned and eyes bulging, as all 6 pairs of their hands fell from their wrists to the cobblestone streets. "You do know the punishment for assault and rape, I presume? Good."

I kicked the man in front of me, reeking of ale and her blood, his kneecap shattering from the impact and wrenched his head down into the stone beneath me hard enough to shatter his teeth and crack open his skull. It was easy to pick him up and throw him across the courtyard, as if he weighed no less than a rabbit.

The next man had bruised knuckles and more of her blood on his shirt and neck, so I removed his jugular and tossed it toward one of the alley cats that had snuck nearby, hearing the commotion. Sputtering and attempting to grasp at his gaping neck with the stubs of his bleeding arms he fell to his knees and it was a simple thing to twist his neck and end him.

It wasn't on purpose, of course, but his head was a full 180° when I let him go.

The third man was screaming and attempting to run away, the coward, but he slipped on his friends blood and fell with enough force that he bit through his own tongue, severing the appendage so I didn't even have to go through the effort of doing it myself. I loved how fate often worked in this way.

He, however, had clearly touched the precious jewel that was bleeding all over his vintage velvet sofa, and for that he needed to suffer.

There was a fountain in the middle of the courtyard, but that was too good for the scum. No, he would need - Perfect.

Grabbing him by the collar it was an easy thing to drag him to the nearest puddle and shove his face into the muddy, disgusting city water, keeping my boot pressed tightly to the back of his neck so he could struggle and kick but with no hands and his severed tongue it was only a matter of whether he would bleed out or drown in the shallow puddle.

It didn't really matter to me, so long as his death was painful and as humiliating as she must have felt fleeing through the streets half naked with torn clothes and a bleeding temple.

Red swarmed my vision again and the maggot beneath me was still squirming, so I snapped his thigh with my other boot and put all my pressure on the back of his neck, killing him soundly.

It was a simple call to some of my guys to have them come clean up the bodies and the blood, and I left the cats to lap at the blood pooling in the streets and the bodies left for the rats.

My men knew not to bury them, but leave them out somewhere for the animals, for that was the only fitting end for them.

When I returned her breathing was shallow but some of that inner light was beginning to shine through, just barely pulsing with her heartbeat like a constellation of silver glowing freckles, dim, but there.

I sighed with relief.

She'd... Trusted me. Trusted me when she was at her most vulnerable. It was an odd feeling, one that I hadn't felt in... I'm not even sure when.

Decades, if I had to guess.

I quickly cleaned the blood off me and whatever other remnants were left of the maggots, then got to work on cleaning and bandaging the damaged girl on his couch.

Enemy, he tried to remind himself.

But looking at her, the way she'd looked at him when he opened the door as if he was her salvation...

That stirring and flickering of warmth in my chest flared up again. Had I been poisoned? Surely not, it was just her presence, of course. I'd felt this way around her since we'd had our first run in two years ago. Some reaction to her innate inner magic, I'd assumed. It was proof of how powerful she was, part of what made her such a fantastic adversary.

But what had been done to her tonight... What had she been doing on this side of the river in the first place? Alone?

Nobody was to lay hands on her except for me, everyone knows that. Everyone in the underground knows, everyone on the river knows, everyone in the city knows she's mine. Doing this to her, especially those nobodies? They'd be lucky if any of their crew made it to see tomorrow.

She was in rough shape. She had a black eye, split lip, nearly broken cheekbone, cut on her temple that had stopped bleeding, finally.

Damn head wounds bleed so much on these half linggs, I had nearly forgotten. I covered her with a blanket when I'd first brought her inside and laid her on my couch, partly for her sake, partly for the sake of my dear quiet corner of this shit hole of a city.

I was fairly certain they hadn't gotten as far as they had probably hoped, but I'd never seen the kind of fear in her eyes as I did when I opened that damn door tonight. She was terrified. And she'd probably never admit it. But I'd seen it. And she'd trusted me.

In this, I wouldn't break that trust. There were few things I bothered to do right these days, but I did have a code, and it was no hard feat to fit protecting her - my enemy - from her enemies and those that would do her harm.

The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

It started with a headache. A deep, pulsing one that had been building for weeks, maybe even months as the weight of your marriage slowly cracked under the pressure. You loved Alexia. Loved her more than anything in the world. But love wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the distance.

You’d thought, hoped, that retirement would mean more time together. More time as a family. More time with Harper and Valentina, who missed their mamá so much it physically hurt to watch. But instead, Alexia had thrown herself into coaching with the same relentless intensity she had as a player. Late nights, early mornings, barely there conversations. Your roles as wives had faded into co-parenting and logistical planning. And the worst part? You weren’t sure she even saw it.

So when your colleague invited you out for drinks, you said yes. Not because you wanted to be reckless, but because you wanted -needed- to feel like you still existed outside of being a mother and a wife to someone who barely looked at you anymore.

You weren’t even drinking. Just laughing, chatting, unwinding for the first time in what felt like forever. And then you felt it -the weight of eyes burning into you.

Alexia.

She was across the bar, surrounded by her coaching staff and some of the players, all celebrating a win. But she wasn’t focused on them. She was focused on you.

You saw the moment her expression shifted, the moment that carefully crafted wall of composure cracked just enough to let something dark and possessive slip through. She muttered something to someone at her table, stood, and crossed the room with the kind of determination that made your stomach drop.

Before you could even greet her, she was wrapping a hand around your wrist. “Vámonos.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Her jaw clenched. “Vamos. Ahora.”

Your colleague raised a brow. “Everything okay?”

Alexia barely spared her a glance. “She’s leaving.”

You scoffed, yanking your wrist from her grip. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t get to pull me out of a bar like I’m some teenager sneaking out past curfew.”

Her eyes flashed. “No actúes como si no supieras por qué estoy enojada.”

“I genuinely have no idea why you’re mad right now.”

Her nostrils flared, her voice dropping into something sharper. “Te ves tan feliz con ellos. Más feliz que conmigo.”

You gaped at her. “Are you serious right now? Alexia, it’s just a drink with a friend!”

“Un amigo que te está mirando como si quisiera algo más.”

You exhaled sharply. “You’re being ridiculous.”

She didn’t argue. She just grabbed your wrist again, firmer this time, and started pulling you towards the exit.

“Alexia-“

“Coche. Ahora.”

You sent her the most scathing glare possible as you once again yanked your wrist out of her grip, grabbing your things and storming out of the bar.

The car ride was a disaster.

Alexia gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, her jaw clenched hard enough to crack. You sat beside her, arms crossed, fury radiating off you in waves.

“You don’t get to be mad at me for having a life outside of waiting for you to come home,” you snapped.

Her fingers twitched on the wheel. “Eso no es justo.”

“No? Because it’s true?”

She inhaled sharply, but didn’t deny it.

You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “God, I can’t believe you’re jealous. Do you even see yourself? You barely touch me anymore, Alexia. You barely look at me. And now you’re acting like I’m cheating on you?”

She didn’t respond.

“You know what? Fine. Since you’re so interested in my ‘friend,’ let me clear it up for you -she’s married. To a man. Happily.”

Alexia’s grip faltered. “Qué?”

“Oh, now you want to listen to me?” You scoffed. “Yeah. She has a husband. And two kids. And she invited me out tonight because she saw how miserable I looked this morning after you left before the girls even woke up. Again.”

Guilt flickered across her face, but she didn’t speak.

The house was dark when you pulled up. The only light came from the living room, where the nanny sat on the couch.

“They’re upstairs,” she said quietly. “Asleep.”

You forced a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you. You can go.”

She nodded quickly, grabbing her things and slipping out without another word.

The second the door shut, you turned back to Alexia. “I hope you’re happy.”

Her brow furrowed. “No estoy feliz.”

“Good.” You kicked off your shoes, already heading for the stairs. “Because neither am I.”

You were halfway up when a small voice called out.

“Mamá?” You froze, turning just in time to see Valentina standing at the top of the stairs, rubbing her tired eyes. Harper peeked out from behind her, clutching her stuffed bear.

Alexia inhaled sharply. “Bebé, ¿por qué no estás en la cama?”

Valentina pouted. “Estaban gritando.”

Guilt stabbed through you.

Harper toddled forward, reaching for you. “No pelear.”

Your heart broke. You scooped her into your arms, kissing the top of her head. “We’re not fighting, baby. Just talking really loud.”

Valentina crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Parecía una pelea.”

You sighed, reaching for her hand. “It’s late, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

She hesitated, looking between you and Alexia.

“We’re okay,” you promised. “Go on, I’ll tuck you in.”

With one last wary glance at her mamá, Valentina nodded and followed you upstairs.

By the time you settled them back into bed, exhaustion weighed heavy in your bones. You barely had the energy to change before collapsing into bed, and just a few minutes later, the door creaked open greeting you with the sight of Alexia stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, regret carved into every inch of her expression.

“Lo siento.”

You sighed. “We can’t keep doing this.”

She swallowed hard. “Lo sé.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and unyielding. Then, finally, she moved. Crawled into bed, curled into your side the way she always did when she needed you but didn’t know how to ask.

You exhaled, running a hand through her hair. You knew something had to change, because whilst love may not be the problem, if you kept going like this, it definitely wouldn’t be enough to save you.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[aealzx]

As Sonic slammed through the enemy’s weapons Knuckles slid to a stop next to Shadow and threw his body protectively over the black hedgehog’s smaller form, a hand resting on Shadow’s head, and face turning to snarl at the soldiers. Only when significant damage had been done did Sonic skid to a stop, standing between the soldiers and Shadow with his arms spread wide, blue lightning rippling off his form. The quiet that fell over the field wasn’t complete, but it was still numbing. “Stay down, new hedgehog. I’ll keep you safe,” Knuckles spoke quietly to Shadow when he tried to push himself up despite the form over him. He smelled of blood mixed with ash, and Knuckles could hear the slight wheeze in his painfully heavy breaths. It was a simple command, but Knuckles was uncertain if the way Shadow’s form relaxed after a moment was a good thing or not. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

____________

“Mr. Wachowski. Care to enlighten me why you’re here?” Commander Walters returned the greeting. “Well, I live here,” Tom answered with a brief smile. “Green Hills is right over there, in case you weren’t aware. We’d appreciate it if the military wasn’t firing off weapons so close to town.” “A minor incident. We have it under control, and will be leaving shortly.” Sonic snorted and opened his mouth to shoot a bitter reply, but Tom stopped him with a hand. “Great! Well then, I’ll just pick up my kids, and we’ll pretend this never happened. We can tell the town you were cleaning up a rogue Eggman drone?” Tom suggested brightly. That got Commander Walters to crack a fake smile. “Ah. Yes, that should do nicely.” “Cool! Keeping it simple. I like it,” Tom breathed, clapping his hands together and turning slightly. “Honey, is kid number four safe to move?” “Four?” Commander Walters spoke in mildly confused protest. “Uhhhhh yeah. Two right here, and then two over there with Maddie makes four,” Tom returned easily, pointing to Sonic and Tails near him, and then Knuckles and Shadow as Maddie reached them. Commander Walters cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Mr. Wachowski, there seems to be a misunderstanding. Project Shadow is property of G.U.N.. I can’t allow you to take it.” “Huh,” Tom voiced, forcing a pause. “That’s strange. I thought slavery was illegal in the United States.” “You know what I mean.” “No, I actually don’t. Care to enlighten me how kidnapping a lost child and subjecting him to experimentation and indefinite imprisonment is something the government does?” Commander Walters’ expression twitched, and Tom started nodding his head. “Yeah, we figured some things out,” Tom confirmed the unspoken, possible question. It prompted Commander Walters to change tactics, shifting his shoulders and drawing a breath for a new conversation. “We’re simply containing a dangerous weapon. It’s standard procedure.” “Excuse me? The only dangerous weapon we’ve had to deal with recently was that moon slicing cannon your people built. The one that my kids stopped, because some nutcase stole it from you. Remember that?” “Didn’t he almost kill you in the process?” “Because he thought I was you!” Tom snapped. ”And seeing what you've done to him now I can see why his first reaction to seeing you was to fight!” “He's dangerous-” “He is a child!” Tom bellowed. “And if you would treat him as one, as a person, instead of a weapon he may have come to like you instead of wanting to kill you the moment he saw you! Now are you going to take my suggestion and get the hell out of here without a fuss, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

____________________

“I think he passed out.” Maddie faltered for a moment, but then pushed through, somewhat reassured since they were already in the clinic. “Alright. That’s okay, bring him over here,” Maddie directed, pointing to a shallow bathing station. “We need to get him clean. Can you get his gloves and shoes off?” she gave for further instruction before turning to her three boys. “Knuckles, take your brothers to the front room and call Uncle Wade to come help watch you three.” “But I wanna help!” Sonic protested, already having been dancing around their feet staying out of the way but also trying to stay as close as he could. “I know, but this is a little more intense than I’d like you to have to deal with,” Maddie assured, running her hand over his head. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen.” “No, Sonic,” Maddie stressed. “I’m gonna have to do surgery to fix his ribs, and I don’t want any of you to see that. Okay?” Sonic’s eyes went wide, and Maddie raised her hands to steady him if needed. It was a little blunt, but she didn’t have time to keep trying to convince him. “It’ll be okay, boys. I’ll take care of it. So just be good for Wade, alright?” “I’ll watch over them, mother,” Knuckles assured, moving forward with Tails already clinging to him and putting a hand around Sonic. “Come. Let us contact our Uncle, then construct a plan to welcome Shadow home.”

__________________________

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Iiiiiii have a lot of scattered incoherent thoughts about Shadow getting adopted that I cannot figure out how to string together in a straight story, so I'm just doodling and writing the lil bits that pop into my head. 8 |

Something about Shadow trying to find his inhibitor rings again, but he only gets the 2 for his legs and G.U.N. finds the other 2 first, which leads to Shadow trying to steal them back but inevitably getting worn down by them and his own chaos energy beating him up. So he gives in and goes to Green Hills to find Sonic for help because "I thought that...since you wouldn't kill me… even after all I did, all I said, I thought that maybe…. maybe… you could help me"

This all took long enough that the Wachowski fam had enough time to talk things over about everything.

This also might be the 'I may have beat Shadow up a lil too much haha whoops' headspace 'cause he ended up with this list of injuries by the time the fam got him:

2 displaced broken ribs on the right (stabilized by Maddie with pins to be removed later)

broken right arm

broken left leg

injured right lung (causes wheezing mostly)

large laceration on right torso and right thigh

I'm still not sure if I want Walters to be the one there chasing Shadow or if it should be the other military lady and Walters helps stop them and let Tom and Maddie take Shadow 8 |

anyway post is getting way long so * finger guns and leaves ya'll with this *

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Some sort of hive mind thing

Written for the Kissing Booth bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Body Swap

Rated: T

Words: 975

Tags: POV Dustin Henderson; Body swap; Secret relationship; Coming out; Implied sexual content (very brief, very vague); Crack and humor

“Okay, the others are on their way.” 

Dustin puts the walkie back on his bedside table. The alarm clock tells him it's a little after four in the morning. When he tries to tug on his hat to ground himself, he realizes he isn't wearing one because he's still in his pajamas. Biting back a yawn, he snatches his Thinking Cap from its hook on the wall and puts it on. He feels like he's going to need it. 

“While we wait, walk me through this again,” he says, turning back to the two miserable figures sitting side by side on his bed. “Steve?” 

“Yeah?” says Eddie. 

Dustin blinks. He can practically feel his brain whirring in his skull as it recalibrates. Sweet mother of all that's logical, this must be the fourth-most bizarre thing that ever happened to him. 

“Oh, wait,” says Steve. “If you say Steve shouldn’t I answer? Wouldn't want half the town to find out about this. I've barely even shaken the satanist allegations. Better not add body snatching to the list.” 

“The fuck?” Eddie hisses. “First you steal my body and now you're taking my name, too?” 

Steve grins, wide and toothy, fluttering his lashes exaggeratedly. “Let's table the discussion about who's taking whose name for later, big boy. We've more important stuff to figure out right now.” 

Okay, make that the third-most bizarre thing. 

“You both went to bed as usual,” Dustin says over the ensuing string of bickering, wondering not for the first time who's babysitting who here. “Then, a few hours later, you woke up to discover that you're stuck in each other's bodies.” 

Eddie-who-looks-like-Steve snorts a laugh and Steve-who-looks-like-Eddie elbows him.

“Quit it! Be serious about this!” 

“I’m trying to, but he said stuck in-” 

“Did anything happen last night?” Dustin asks. 

They both flinch. Eddie attempts to pull a lock of hair in front of his face but grasps at thin air. 

“Did anything- … I have no idea what you- … Nothing happened! Nothing at all!”

Dustin raises an eyebrow at him. Eddie starts chewing on Steve’s knuckles.

“Really? You sure? Nothing strange or out of the ordinary? I need you to think real hard about this, it could be important.” 

Steve shrugs, raking a hand through Eddie’s hair and frowning when his fingers get stuck in the frizzy mess. “Dunno, man. Our life's pretty much an endless string of freak incidents, so it's kind of hard to say what qualifies as- Gross, dude, stop chewing on my nails.” 

“It helps with my anxiety, and you have mine,” Eddie grumbles, but he still stops chewing. 

“Which is why it's crucial,” Dustin shoulders on, “to look for patterns. There must've been something that caused this, and there must be a reason why it happened to the two of you. Oh, you think it has to do with the bats? You're the only ones who got bitten, so maybe that's the connection. Maybe it's some sort of hive mind thing.” 

He has started pacing up and down in front of the bed, but at the corner of his vision, he can see how Steve squints Eddie’s dark brown eyes at him. 

“But that was months ago,” he says. He’s still wearing Eddie’s rings, Dustin notices. Eddie has pulled their hands into his lap and started fiddling with them, muttering something about how they won't fit Steve’s stupid, giant saucer hands. “Why would it happen now?” 

Dustin snaps his fingers. “Something must've triggered it. There must've been some kind of dormant connection the entire time, and one or both of you must've done something to activate it.” 

He stops pacing and turns to them, only to find they’re not looking at him anymore. Instead, they’ve ducked their heads together and started muttering among themselves in hushed voices. Dustin catches the words oughta tell him, and wrinkles his brow. 

“Tell me what?”

“Okay!” Steve screws Eddie’s eyes shut and pinches Eddie’s nose. “You know how you asked me to drive you to the arcade last night?”

“And you told me no because you had this big, important date?” Dustin rolls his eyes. “Sure. What about it?”

“And how you called me after?” Eddie says. He has started pulling on the ends of Steve’s hair now, and it seems to be getting frizzier by the second. It looks a bit like regular Steve put his fingers in a socket. “And I said I’d love to chauffeur you, but I couldn’t because I had already made plans?”

“Yes,” Dustin deadpans. “You were both completely and utterly unhelpful and I had to cycle all the way there in the dark and the wind, thank you for reminding me. Now what does this have to do with any-”

“Dustin,” says Steve. He looks at Eddie, then down at their entwined hands. Pointedly. Dustin feels his jaw drop. 

“Oh,” he says. “You mean you were- … You both couldn’t make it because you were each other’s- … Oh! Oh my God, please don’t tell me- … Were you two making out?” 

Silence drops. Somewhere outside, bicycle tires crunch on gravel, heralding the arrival of the Party. 

“Sure,” says Eddie. “Let’s call it making out.”

Dustin groans, turning to open his window. 

“Let’s try to keep this between the three of us,” he hisses. “The others don’t need to know this.”

“What?” Steve grumbles. He’s always blushed easily, but now, with his newly acquired pale complexion, he looks like an Eddie-shaped lava lamp. “These kids have dealt with interdimensional monsters and telepathic wizards, you’d think they’d be able to stomach two guys kissing.”

“That’s not it,” Dustin says, and now it’s his turn to break into a smug grin. “But Max bet me twenty bucks you wouldn’t last until Christmas, and I'm broke, so I'd appreciate it if she wouldn't find out just yet.” 

More Steddie bingo

[the-kr8tor]

A Regular Spidey Valentine's day

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Hobie's valentine's day plan goes awry when Spider-Man duties call.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, CW suggestive, CW food mentions, lovestruck! Hobie, canon typical violence, fluff.

Requested by @thesevenofstaves -- had to double check the master list but i don’t think there’s one similar to this? but if there is feel free toto discard—hobie trying to have a great valentine’s day with his partner, but everything keeps going wrong. we’re talking villain attacks, we’re talking culinary failures. you get the idea!thank you love you 🥰

Navigation

You open your eyes to a cold valentine's day morning. But the cool wind barely nips at you when you've got your very own furnace holding you close under the thick blankets.

Hobie embraces you from behind, soft snores escaping from his parted lips as he finds his place on your nape. You feel his breath fanning across your skin, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he lets out an exhale. You wonder what he's dreaming about, you only hope it's good things as his arms subconsciously squeezes you in his sleep.

His legs are tangled with your own, socked feet rubbing along your cold leg as you feel him stir when the light from the windows beam through the curtains. His hands wiggle their way under your night shirt, holding your stomach and letting his warmth ebb from his palms. Smiling, you hold the back of his hands, thumbs running along his knuckles as a soft and gentle way to wake him up.

“We need new blinds.” Hobie murmurs against the back of your neck, lil piercing brushing along your raised skin. His voice is still deep and rough from sleep, it single handedly makes your heart flutter.

“Good morning to you too.” You chuckle, voice soft amidst the early morning fluttering of dust. “Maybe that'll be your valentine's gift from me.”

He laughs, a deep rumble in his throat that reverberates through you. “Make it blackout, love. ‘m startin’ to think that people can see through and see our nightly—” you crane your neck to give him a side glance as a warning, only to find that he has already cracked an eye open, waiting for your reaction. “—Activities.”

Humming, you're satisfied by his use of the word.

“‘m talkin' ‘bout makin’ love, by the way.”

“Hobie!” You giggle, and the sound immediately has Hobie moving to detangle himself away from you and lift his body atop your own in quick succession and fluid movement. His lopsided smile has your words stuck in your throat as you look up at him through wide eyes.

“Hearts day today, hm?” He pokes your cheek, arms enclosed around you and legs trapping your thighs together. “The most capitalistic time of the year.”

You try to tamp down a laugh but can't help giggling when he tilts his head and tries to look all flirty with you when he's still wearing his pink silk bonnet and with crusts still in the corner of his eyes.

“That's true,” lifting your hand up to rub away the sleep in his eyes gently, he closes his eyes whilst you do it. “But you always go all out during the holiday.”

“Yeah, but it's for you.” He leans against your touch, sighing longingly as if you're across the sea from him. “And only for you, love.” Dropping down, he places his head on your shoulder, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck as he gives small pecks on your skin. Your heart feels full in the moment as you hold him close and tangle your legs with him. “Says you who made me a whole bloody outfit from scratch.”

Laughing, he continues to kiss your neck and up to your jaw. “And I loved making it for you,” you say breathlessly as he kisses deeper and you move your neck to give him more space to cover. “Just say you love the holiday, Hobs.”

Hobie pauses from his barrage of kisses, lifting his head up to look you in the eyes. He fixes your unruly brows that still bear sleep, and rubs your cheek lovingly with his knuckles.

“No.”

“Is it because you have to go on patrol today unlike last year?”

“The world is tearing us apart, lovie.” He leans in, kissing the corner of your lips, cheeks and the tip of your nose.

“Maybe just London, Hobie.” You gasp as he presses a sweet kiss on your lips. You reciprocate wholeheartedly, hands balling his pajama shirt and smiling through the kiss.

“London can wait a few more minutes.”

—

“Hobie, be careful, please?” You hug yourself tighter, wrapping Hobie's cardigan around you. “I have plans for us tonight so please come home in one piece.”

Hobie, in his full regalia of spandex and leather sits in-between the window sill as if he’s thinking whether he should stay or go.

“You know I always will, love.” Holding up his arms, you park yourself in the space as he curls himself around your form, face scrunched on your belly, and with you hugging his head. “I'll be on time, hm?” He whispers against you, placing a heavy kiss atop the cardigan that you both share.

“I'm not worried about that.” Craning your neck, not worried about the crick you're about to surely have, you kiss his temple sweetly. “Just come home, okay?”

Hobie reluctantly lifts his head away from you, smiling up at you. If he doesn't leave now, he'll never get out of the flat. “You want wine for tonight?”

“If you're coming home all beaten and battered, you better have something stronger.” You joke as you caress his cheek.

“I'll get you the good stuff, hm?”

“Anything from you is the good stuff.” Leaning down, you kiss him on his waiting lips. “Now go, the city needs you, Spider-Man.”

Hobie gives you one last smile before placing the mask on his head. Now face to face with the famed vigilante. Taking your hand, he kisses your knuckles and lets you go to jump off the window and swing away into the bustling city.

Watching his form retreating away, you sigh and start preparing for tonight's meal, that's for sure would be so bountiful that it would send the vigilante to a food coma.

—

Hobie heaves in place as the lizard lays unconscious by his feet. It's barely noon and he has stopped seven disasters already. There goes his plans to swing by and hand you a bouquet that he gathered himself that's now slowly floating down to the dust covered pavement. Fragrant flower petals come down from the sky, and a few people stop by and watch as the colourful flowers grace the cold London street.

“It's a Valentine's miracle!” A bystander exclaims happily, dancing around the floating petals.

Hobie shakes his head, rubbing a gloved hand across his masked face. He should've seen the lizard coming but he was too enthralled by his own mind that was playing what your reaction would be after he gives you a visit and hands you the flowers.

“Fuckin' hell.” He stretches his aching shoulder, already thinking of a faster route to gather all the flowers he needed to make a new bouquet. Whilst he thinks, a fire alarm blares in the distance, making his senses go off. With a sigh, the flowers have to wait.

—

You swirl the final touches on the red velvet cake you just finished. Smiling happily at the result even though it's your first time baking one. As you check the time, looking over to the clock on the wall, you have plenty of time to finish up dinner. Now with dessert out of the way, it's time for the main course.

You wonder what Hobie's up to and if he has eaten lunch yet.

—

“You wanker! That was my lunch!” Hobie screams at the cackling Rhino. Real fury in his veins whilst he glances at the sandwich you packed for him this morning that's now flattened under the villain's metallic foot.

“Oh poor spidey lost his sandwich?” The Rhino mocks while doing a crying motion at him. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Hobie cracks his neck, jaw tightening and walking slowly at the humongous suit of armour. He has no quip nor a joke, just silence; making the Rhino fear for his life.

—

“Shit!” You yelp, dropping the smoking metal tray into the sink. Opening the faucet, the tray hisses and lets out steam whilst the whole kitchen is covered in smoke. “Damn it.”

Maybe taking a short nap while the oven is on wasn't such a great idea. Good thing you have a plan b just in case something like this happened.

Checking the time, you're starting to worry that you won't finish before Hobie comes home now that it's well into the afternoon. With a groan, you start again.

—

“No, Ned, not a bloody yellow one!” Hobie yells into the phone's receiver, which he only uses for times like these. He's on call with Ned who owes Hobie big time and whom he asked for help in buying ingredients from the store. He dodges the Scorpion's stinger, balancing on a metal railing just near the end of the docks. “Not blue either! It'll look like it's for a baby shower—!” The stinger gets too close for comfort. “Do you fuckin' mind? 'm on the phone.”

“Drop the call, Spider-Man!” The scorpion says in his scratchy tone as he hangs upside down on a lamp post. “What's more important than saving the bank?”

“The bank can fuck off for all I care!” Hobie jumps and webs the stinger to a building. “It's the hostages you've got inside, you knobhead—! No, not you, Ned!” Groaning, he has had enough and quickly somersaults over the second stinger that was aimed for him. “What's up with you animal themed villains today? Got no dates?!”

“That's harsh.” The Scorpion's shoulders deflates sadly.

“Guess it's hard to find a date when you dress like that!” He pounces, punching the guy right on his jaw.

Hobie looks at the sun slowly setting on the horizon and he focuses on the task at hand. The faster he defeats the Scorpion, the faster he can get to you.

“Pink or red only, Ned, and get the good chocolate and please don't forget the thing I told you.” He closes the call and tucks the phone back in his vest pocket. Cracking his knuckles, he hones in on the villain. “Maybe you'll find a date in jail, yeah?”

—

You set up the dinner table all pretty like with red roses, a fine tablecloth, and gilded utensils that you got a deal on at an estate sale last week. Looking around, the pretty string lights and the strawberry scented candles have you smiling and patting your back for a job well done.

Your phone pings on the kitchen counter, and you race towards it to check if it's Hobie telling you that he's on his way. Your brows knit together when it's Ned asking you when your birthday is and if you're allergic to nuts. A weird combination of questions but you still open your phone and answer him.

—

“C’mon, blackcat, not today.” Hobie sighs, the marks from the previous fights is evident on his soot and scratch covered suit. The sun has fully set, and the clock ticks close to seven pm as he stands on a rooftop with blackcat, who's carrying a duffel bag full of jewellery.

“Why? Got something to do, handsome?” She says in a sultry tone, sharp claws glinting in the moonlight. Hobie subtly tilts his head in annoyance. Nothing seems to be going his way today. “Oh, I get it, you've got someone waiting for you tonight, hm?” Her heels click on the rooftop as she walks closer to him. Hobie smacks his lips together, fists tightening.

In the distance, the famous jewellery shop she just robbed empty has its alarms blaring loudly. Sirens go off around the area, and Hobie just wants to go home.

“Y’know what?” Hobie starts, exasperated. Blackcat tilts her head, her silver eyes under the domino mask narrows at him. “That place was owned by an arsehole, go.”

She blinks in place, a smirk slowly appearing on her painted lips. “Really? Just like that?”

Hobie nods, “promise not to tell anyone what you deduced and give thirty percent of the money you get from that to a charity and I'll let you go.”

“Shit, Spider-Man, why didn't you say so in the first place?” She chuckles, reeling her claws back in.

“Fuckin’ say it, Felicia.”

“Damn, you don't have to call me by my government name, man.” She rummages through the bag and tosses him something shiny which Hobie catches effortlessly. “Here, for your special someone. And I promise, spidey. Cross my heart, hope to die.” She draws a cross over her chest.

“I'll know, don't lie to me.” His voice falls into a dangerous timbre.

She visibly stiffens from the threat, not forgetting what he did to Osborne a few years ago. “As if I'd lie to my favourite spider.”

As blackcat tumbles away, leaving Hobie alone, he opens his palm to see a shiny diamond tennis bracelet. Maybe he can detach the diamonds and make something else.

“Shit!” He needs to get to Ned’s real quick.

—

You've been sitting pretty on the dining table for four hours now. The candle is dwindling and the food is getting colder while the clock ticks on the wall. For the umpteenth time tonight, you fix your clothes as if there's even a crease or a speck of dust on it. You don't mind waiting for him when you know the nature of his work, but you're starting to worry when his last text to you was hours ago. You've even turned on the telly in the background just in case he pops up in the news.

With a yawn, you decide to lay your head on the table. “Just closing my eyes.” You mumble to yourself as you drift in between slumber and wakefulness.

Hobie's heart breaks when he sees you asleep on the table with your head tucked in your arms. The candles are fully melted on the candelabra, and the smell of food is fading away. He's sure that it might've smelled heavenly hours ago, if only he got there earlier.

He quietly takes off his heavy boots by the door, the crinkling of the paper bag has him cringing. But when he glances at your sleeping form, you're still sleeping soundly. He curses himself internally as he roams his eyes around the living room and the decorations you've put out. You've even got new pictures of you together with him inside pretty frames to place around the shared place. The flowers on the vases are still fresh and blooming, and you look absolutely stunning.

Gently placing the paper bag on the table, he kneels next to you, hand grasping your bicep while he wakes you up.

You stir, sniffing the air as you lift your head up. Your face lights up when you see him smiling softly at you.

“Hi.”

“Hello, love. Sorry ‘m late, let me carry you to bed, yeah?” Hobie rubs your thigh lovingly, chest feeling heavy and guilty. “I tried.”

You immediately know what he meant. “I know, Hobs.” Reaching for his cheek, you let your touch warm him. His face still feels chilly from how he might've run to get to the flat. “You okay?” He nods, eyes shining as he moves closer and places his head on your lap. “Bad day?”

“A shite day.” He hugs your waist, face nudging you.

“Sounds like you need a Valentine's meal, hm?”

Hobie lifts his head up, palms holding your hips. “It's cold.”

“That's why microwaves and the stove were invented.”

A smile curls on his lips until he's laughing against your stomach. You giggle with him, fingers kneading in between his shoulder blades.

“What did you make?” He asks, still holding you in place and in turn holding him down to the present.

“Baked chicken with lemongrass just like how you like it.” You whisper to him while the pads of his fingers draw circles on the small of your back. “Some mashed potatoes, so many buttered vegetables.” You chuckle and you feel his smile atop your skin. “Fish fillet—”

“With the garlic and cream sauce?”

You nod, gazing down lovingly at him. “With the garlic and cream sauce of course. Some tomato soup, and cake.”

“We feedin’ a whole town now, lovie?” He smiles up at you, stomach rumbling from the menu.

“Yeah, you,” you joke, earning a squeeze from him. “I rarely cook for you these days so I went all out.”

He beams at you, eyes gazing at you lovingly. “I got you flowers.” He says in a small tone. Your heart flutters. “It's all over downtown now though.”

Your laugh is music to his ears. “I bet it made someone's day though.”

“There was a bloke who looked like he was in the sound of music.” He places his chin on your thigh, staring at you with heart shaped eyes. You laugh, hands cupping each of his cheeks. “I made you chocolates, but Neddy got coconut fillings in most of ‘em. And the sprinkles are green, sorry.”

“Is that why Ned asked me if I have any allergies and when my birthday is? He helped you make them?”

“I can't make it ‘ere when you were cookin’ up a storm. Wait, he asked you? Idiot.” He curses Ned's name and you giggle. Hobie bites his lip, suddenly nervous. “And he was askin' when your birthday is so he could get your birth stone.”

“My stone?”

“I just told him to pick it up so I could set it myself and the wanker forgot when your birthday is just because I just said your birthstone.” You squeeze his cheek to stop his nervous rambling. He sighs, rummaging through his jacket pocket and procuring a simple bamboo box. “Made and designed by yours truly.” He chuckles nervously as he opens the box, revealing a simple platinum necklace that has your birthstone set in a guitar pick shaped locket. “Sorry that the stone is so small. The old lady who owned the place got me a good price though.”

“Hobie,” you softly sigh out, tears prickling your eyes. “You could get me a candy necklace and I would still love it.”

“Should've gotten that then.” He laughs, mirroring your smile. “I thought, ten fuckin' years together, ten Valentines, I have to get you somethin' nice. You deserve nice, love.”

“The chocolates and the pavement flowers were nice too. Anything from you is nice, Hobie.” You don't hold yourself back anymore, leaning down and kissing the corner of his eye as he holds onto you. “Amazing even.”

“You like it then?” He says as he gets a barrage of kisses.

“I love it. Come stand up and help me put it on like in the movies.”

Hobie reaches for your cheek, a calloused palm holding you close and keeping you warm. “Kiss me like in the movies then.”

So you do.

Banners by @/cafekitsune

Photos from Pinterest

[e-dubbc11]

Truce

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F! Hunter Reader

Warnings: Couple of swear words, fluffy ending

Word Count: Little over 1K

Summary: Before going on a hunt, you and Dean get into an argument(a very stupid one) and are giving each other the silent treatment. On the way back from the hunt, Sam can’t take it anymore and wants the two of you to talk it out.

A/N: This is the same reader as Between a Rock and a Hard Place. My darling friend Dove @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend had the idea of me writing more for these two so this idea popped into my head and I rolled with it. It is quite ridiculous but I feel like this is something these two would argue about. Rambling again…sorry ☺️ I hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Baby’s powerful engine whirred along the quiet open road with the sound of her tires spinning against the cold pavement. The windows were cracked open slightly, allowing the wind to zoom past your ears as you fumed with anger in the back seat while Dean did the same as he drove in silence and Sam rode shotgun.

You watched his hands as they tightly gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles appeared white while he continued to drive in silence, apparently still angry about what happened earlier tonight. His summer green eyes shot you a warning glare in the rearview mirror and you returned the glare as you angrily folded your arms across your chest.

Dean had spasms of irritation as his memory drifted back to the moment when it happened and you couldn’t understand why he was so upset with you. It was something you had wanted, something you felt like you deserved, and it was so close you could practically taste it. So you took it. No big deal.

He didn’t even put any driving music on, he was so angry. Sam had reached for the knob on the radio and with flared nostrils and a tight jaw, Dean raised one finger and shook his head. Sam put up both hands in surrender and then continued to stare out at the same scenery he had been looking at for the past hour.

And finally, after what seemed like days of silence, Sam decided he was going to try to get you and Dean talking to each other again because he had had enough of the quiet and the tension.

“Are you two gonna at least talk about what happened?” Asked Sam.

The only thing you could hear was the purr of Baby’s engine. You didn’t want to talk to Dean. He’s the one that was overreacting to all of this.

“NO!” You and Dean said in unison.

Sam rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together in a straight line.

“You guys can’t stay mad at each other forever; you sleep in the same bed.” Said Sam.

Dean’s deep voice sounded extra loud inside the close confines of the car.

“The hell I can’t!” Shouted Dean. “She never thinks about the consequences to her actions, Sam!”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, Dean!” You shouted back. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done!”

Sam was doing his best to diffuse the situation like he had done so many times before when you and Dean would argue about, well, anything, like who’s to blame for getting pinned together in a tunnel while looking for a wendigo, or which one of you embellished more when retelling a story, if something went wrong during a hunt, arguing about who’s turn it was to buy food or put gas in the car, or the old “I shot him first…no, I shot him first…no you didn’t, I did!”

You were very much in love with one another but you also could be very immature like you were being right now.

“Really?!! You had no right to take it, baby!” Dean said.

Your eyes met his from the back seat as you replied, “You took all the others, Dean!”

“They only put them out once a year!” He yelled.

Tonight, before going out on the hunt for a vampires’ nest, you saw the box of them sitting on the kitchen counter. It was a white box with red lettering that said “Paczki” which were Polish donuts. Yes, you and your boyfriend were fighting because you took the last of his favorite type of donut. It was probably the dumbest fight you’ve had to date and yet the most intense, also incredibly childish.

“And I’ve never had one! I wanted to see what the hype was about!” You replied. “So I took it. Stop being such a baby, I’ll get you some more.”

“By the time we go back, there may not be anymore, y/n!” Bellowed Dean.

Sam had had enough. “Alright! Enough! I don’t know which is worse, the two of you not talking or yelling at each other. This is really dumb, you guys can agree on that, can’t you?” He asked.

One corner of your mouth curled into a slight smile. Trying your best to hide it, you replied to Sam, “Ok, maybe it is a little stupid.”

“Dean?” Asked Sam.

His reply was dripping with spite.

“She took my donut, Sam!” Growled Dean.

“Dean?!” Said Sam, matching Dean’s intensity. “You really gonna be that mad at her over a donut?”

“It was the last one.” He replied in a somewhat whiny tone.

In a stern tone, Sam said, “Are you REALLY gonna be mad at her over a donut?”

Your eyes met in the rearview mirror again as his lips curled into a smile. Inching toward him, you snaked your arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Sam’s right. This is really stupid. I am so sorry, sweetheart.” Muttered Dean, trying to keep his eyes on the road.

You began to run your fingers through his soft brown hair and gently nibble on his earlobe.

“I’m sorry too, baby. I shouldn’t have taken the last one. I’ll get you another box, I promise.” You said, kissing him on the cheek again.

Sam knew his work was done so he slumped down in the seat and went to sleep.

“I don’t need any more, baby. I gotta know one thing though.” Said Dean.

You purred into his ear, “What’s that?”

“It was REALLY good, wasn’t it.” Dean said with a sly smile.

You and Dean may fight over some really stupid shit but you loved each other just as fiercely and you would buy him a thousand boxes of donuts if he wanted them because that’s how much you loved him. You frustrated the hell out of each other but there was always more love and laughter than frustration.

You chuckled, kissed his temple, and replied, “Best donut ever, baby. Best donut ever.”

Tag List: @munsonownsmyass @gijos @stoneyggirl2 @vaguekayla

Others that might enjoy: @k-marzolf @jvanilly @fluffyprettykitty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @deans-spinster-witch @savorxe

If you would like to be added to(or removed from) my tag list(s) for this smexy Winchester, just let me know!

[mxrcusflint]

like a dog at your feet

hangster | soul marks au with a twist | written for Top Gun Happily Ever After 2025

“Can’t believe people still believe in soul marks.” Bradley sighed. “I think that’s because you don’t have one.” “Well, it’s one thing to believe,” Jake cracked a few of his knuckles. “Another to use it to whore around to your heart’s content. Ain’t that right, Rooster?” Nobody could blame him for using the tools at his disposal. Bradley was in no rush to find a matching counterpart. There were years left in his rolodex, and too many good-looking people from base to base.  And Jake. Who never admitted to anything, but let Bradley in whenever he asked. 

Read on AO3

[my85volvo]

Prompt!

Okay so I reblogged this a few days ago and accidentially posted the unfinished version instead of saving it in my drafts, then accidentally deleted it, which is embarrasing but whatever. So here it is again. I didn't follow the prompt exactly but I was so inspired by all this angst!

Thanks @faladrast for the inspo!

"I...didn't think you'd come," Stiles whispered to the ground.

He was still tied to the iron chair that was bolted to the floor, his wrists and ankles burning from the tightly bound rope. The dead bodies of 3 hunters lay across the dimly lit cellar, and Derek stood over them with his claws unsheathed, soaked in blood. His eyes were glowing a deep Alpha red, brighter still against the contrast of the poorly lit room.

"Of course I came," the wolf spat out while striding toward Stiles. "Why the hell wouldn't I?"

He seemed...angry. Derek moved behind him and cut through his restraints.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said, voice shakey.

When Derek came back around to face him, he was still panting from the effort of ripping the captors apart. Stiles could tell he was concentrating on pulling back his shift, because he took a few breaths to close his eyes and sheathe his claws.

Once Derek opened his eyes again, they were back to the hazel green that Stiles remembered. Derek moved his hands to cup Stiles' face and rest their foreheads together.

"What the hell were you thinking? Don't ever run off on your own again. I thought--" Derek choked on his last words, choosing to gulp down the rest of his sentence rather that say it aloud.

When Stiles felt the pain in his aching muscles and raw skin start to fade, he pulled away from Derek's hands.

"I'm okay, really. You don't have to."

Derek scowled, but he stepped back to let Stiles stand on his own. He was a bit shakey at first, then managed to take a few steps with only a slight limp. What hurt more was knowing Derek came here and risked his life for someone he didn't even want to be with anymore. Stiles was glad that Derek still saw him as a friend, but he chastised himself since all he seemed to know how to do these days was be a burden on the wolf.

"Come on," Derek said, heading toward the door. "Stay close, there's probably more coming."

Stiles followed dutifully up the stairs, measuring his every breath, trying with all his willpower to just be good. He wanted to crack a stupid joke about being a damsel in distress or hug him so tight that Derek's stubble would imprint on his cheek. Honestly, he was so damn happy to see him that he almost forgot how much Derek must hate his rambling and clingy-ness.

Suddenly, Derek stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head to listen for something, then reached back and grabbed Stiles' hand to pull him along. The pair moved silently the rest of the way up the stairs, through the kitchen, out a sliding glass door, and into the dark tree line past the back yard. Derek didn't let go of his hand, and he didn't speak a word until they reached Stiles' rental sedan parked on a dirt path 20 minutes later. He noticed that his duffle was packed and tossed in the backseat. Derek must have found it at the motel, where it was left behind when Stiles was taken.

Refusing to hand over the keys, Derek sat on the driver's side and waited for Stiles to buckle himself in before speaking.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek asked with a frown. "Why did you just leave?"

"I just thought that it would be easier for you, if I left. I'm sorry that I...I'm sorry you had to come all the way out here."

"Why the hell would leaving make things easier for--" Derek stilled, his knuckles going white around his clenched fists.

When he turned toward Stiles, his face was blank. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something but must have thought better of it. Stiles waited, expecting more anger or annoyance or disappointment or all three. Instead, he stared at Stiles with an unreadable expression for several moments before finally speaking again.

"I see," replied Derek.

He started the car and slowly made his way down the muddy dirt path, eventually hitting a narrow, paved road a few minutes later. Stiles had no idea where they were, somewhere inland in Nova Scotia based on the lack of the salt-brine smell in the air, and they rode the entire way in silence. Derek would flex his hands and occasionally growl under his breath, but otherwise kept his eyes on the road. Stiles let quiet tears fall while he looked out the window, grateful that Derek didn't comment it.

Derek drove extra carefully, seemingly unconcerned that they would be followed, and ended up taking just over 3 and a half hours before pulling in front of a small cottage. It was going to be awkward staying here together, after everything. Stiles made a mental note to find an alarm and wake up early, so they could get out of here and to an airport as soon as possible. When they were parked, Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt but made no move to get out. Derek just sat there, staring straight ahead, frozen with a clenched jaw and rigid back.

"Just tell me what you want," said Derek.

"What?"

"Do you not feel safe with me? Do you need more space? I won't climb in your window anymore, if you want. I can also get you an apartment--something that's just yours, without me or your dad. I'll hire a coven to ward it, too. We can even install mountain ash frames if you need them." Derek turned toward him, his stern eyes transformed into ones of hope and longing.

"No, Derek, that's not--"

"Were you afraid to talk to me? Did you think I would get violent? Because I would never, Stiles. I would never hurt you, no matter how angry I got." Derek reached out to grab Stiles' hand, but withdrew before the touched. "I can go to therapy, or we could go together if that would help. I know I have a hard time talking, but I'll be better. I can learn, I can be better for you."

"Derek, you're fine. You don't have to keep trying. It's okay, really."

"Maybe it's okay for you, but it's not okay for me. Please, Stiles. Just tell me. Tell me what I have to do to get you to stay."

Stiles didn't want Derek to stay with him out of pity or obligation.

"Derek, you..." he started, unsure of how to continue without breaking down into sobs. "You deserve happiness. You don't have to stay with me because you think it's the right thing to do."

"...the right thing to do?"

"Look, I won't run off on my own again, okay? I really wasn't going after those hunters, I just needed to get away for a while and see the aurora borealis, but I guess one of them saw me at a bar and thought they could score some points with the Argents. So, if you want to be with someone else... I won't let it affect the pack. I just needed a bit of time to, you know, adjust to the idea."

"Stiles, what the hell are you talking about? I don't want to see anyone else. I want you, and not out of obligation. Because I--I love you."

They had only been together for a few months, and Derek never even said he liked him. Never said anything close to that, really. They just sort of...fell into bed together after a particularly close call with a pack of chimaras, and when Derek kept sticking around, Stiles thought they could be something more. But then the phone call, and the date, and...it made more sense that Derek would find someone better.

So, when Stiles heard those 3 little words come out of Derek's mouth, his heart felt like it was trying to leap out of his chest. He made a noise somewhere between a gasp and sob, and then the tears came. Derek dove across the bench seat and held him, pressing his face into the crook of Stiles' neck.

"I'm sorry," Derek said. "I'm sorry if that was too much, we don't have to be anything you don't want us to be. Just stay, Stiles. Please. I'll be whatever you want me to be."

"B--but," Stiles stuttered between sobs. "You s--said I was t--too much, and--and that woman, she--you looked so happy with her."

"What woman?" Derek pulled back to look Stiles in the eyes. "I never said you were too much, why would I ever say you were too much?"

Stiles wiped his eyes and looked at Derek. He seemed so vulnerable, so broken, and Stiles was only just beginning to realize that it was his fault. He was so, so wrong.

"I heard you on the phone talking about me. You said, 'He's too much, all the time, and I don't know what to do with him,' remember? Then I saw you on a date, smiling at some woman... you barely even smile at me, so it just seemed like... you were happy with her."

Derek sighed and rubbed his forehead, letting out a light chuckle.

"The thing that was 'too much' wasn't you. It was my instincts every time you left. Did you know I had to stop myself from following you home every time you walked out my door? Obviously I kept failing, because I was at your window every other night."

Derek lightly held Stiles' hands and looked straight into his eyes. Stiles listened in disbelief and tried to tamp down the constant flutter in his chest.

"And the woman? She was a party planner. I don't know how to... I wanted to do something nice for your birthday. Something you would really love. So she asked me to tell her about you. Our meeting was supposed to be 30 minutes, but I spent nearly an hour just talking about everything you like and how amazing you are."

"I'm sorry," Stiles threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around his back and clutching onto the leather jacket as tightly as he could. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--I love you, I love you so much, and I thought you didn't want me anymore, and I didn't want to be a burden, and I was so miserable since I left, and I couldn't find a decent burger anywhere in that stupid little town, and I just thought of you the whole time and how I missed your cooking and the smell of your loft and how you liked to hold my--"

Derek stopped his rambling with a kiss so desperate that it had Stikes reeling. It wasn't gentle by any means, but it still felt like he was pouring every single ounce of love and want and need into his lips. Stiles melted under him, letting his mouth go lax as Derek held onto his jaw and guided his tongue where he pleased.

When he finally pulled away, they were both a little out of breath.

"If you ever thought I didn't want you, then that's my fault. One I will remedy immediately. And frequently," Derek said as he slid back to the driver's side and opened the door.

The slam was a bit excessive, but Stiles had no time to dwell on it because Derek actually leaped over the hood to open the door for him, then grabbed him around the waist and headed him over his shoulder.

There were many playful protests on the way into the cottage, but Derek didn't set him down until they were in the bathroom. He stripped him, somewhat rudely, and herded him into the shower. Derek removed his own clothes to join him, and he spent the next 20 minutes gently scrubbing every single inch of Stiles' skin. When Stiles made a move to turn their shower time into something much sexier, Derek pushed his hand away and continued to clean like he was on a mission, despite the very obvious growing situation between his legs.

Derek barely let him take a step the rest of the night. He got him dried and dressed, then bundled up and fed, then tucked into bed. If Stiles had any doubt about Derek's desire for him, it was squashed that night. The wolf spent hours worshipping his body with slow fingers and measured licks. He marked his pale skin with little bites and bruises covering his neck and shoulders. When they finally, finally made love, Stiles cried and begged and melted into him, and Derek whispered a never-ending stream of 'I love you' and 'you're perfect' and 'you're mine.' They didn't the little cabin all week.

I love misunderstanding fics.

Teen Wolf Sterek Prompt:

Stiles and Derek are in an established relationship. Stiles then overhears Derek on the phone, saying something like “I don’t know what to do about him.” Stiles assumes Derek is talking about him, and decides to surprise Derek during his lunch break and change his behavior because he assumes Derek is getting sick of him, when he sees Derek laughing with some girl. 

Stiles assumes Derek has been trying to break up with him/was cheating on him, and so he leaves Beacon Hills to go to Europe for a while, leaving just a note for Derek that says something like “Be happy.”

Derek is freaking out, not understanding what is going on, (because he wasn’t cheating and wasn’t talking about Stiles on the phone)

Nobody can get in contact with Stiles, but finally someone finds out where he went and Derek goes after him. 

There are a few just misses of almost running into each other. Maybe Stiles is practicing his magic or research skills with the packs he is running into or something. 

Then they meet. Maybe Derek saves Stiles’ life, and its super confusing what Stiles is talking about while they are still fighting the monster, before Derek figures out what happened, somebody kills the dang monster, and then there is lots of comfort and fluff and better communication all around. 

[nero-vanderwolf]

"catch me i'm swooning"

-carter after partitio cracked his knuckles in that one scene

LITERALLY ME AKSDHDBKSK AAAH

[rassicas]

i have one video i've been wanting to make about a certain splatoon lore topic so badly for some years now and i wanna do it soon. but every time i think about it i can feel myself going insane. there's so much i need to say. how do i structure this in a way that makes sense. does it even make sense at all. to me? god help me

[a-shade-of-green]

do you think it was weird for mike to go to california and experience his first byers family dinner in months just for it to be far too similar to wheeler family dinners

[papiliotao]

indirect #18: cracking my knuckles because i have quite a bit to say. although we don't talk as much as we used to, i still consider you someone who's made a large impact on me. there's no way i would be where i am today if it weren't for you. as you already know, i'm not really the confrontational type, nor do i actively seek out change, and that's why i really love our friendship. i feel braver with you around. i can't thank you enough for giving me the strength and courage to face certain issues that i was dealing with head on.

i keep repeating myself, but there are genuinely so many people who owe some of their most important friendships to you. it's truly incredible that you were able to create such a tight-knit community, especially at your age. you're so skilled, and you're another mutual of mine who works super fast. lightning speed but still high quality!!!

you're also wise beyond your years, despite being a bit skibidi brainrot sometimes!! every once in a while, you'll say something extremely insightful, and i'll just pause for a moment because i still can't believe that you're younger than me. you sound so experienced and mature whenever you give advice, and i love that about you. i think your outlook is something that i generally agree with too, so that's why we get along!!

okay so. you already know how much i love your themes and fics, so i'm just going to reiterate briefly before yapping a little more!! your writing was always great, but seeing you improve and become better and better with each new post is so satisfying to me. you deserve all the recognition you're getting and more!!! and themes... omg. your themes. i want to eat every single one you've ever had.

lastly, you're so thoughtful and sweet!! you always go out of your way to do wholesome things for people, and you're so interactive with your mutuals! ILY AND THANK YOU FOR BEING SUCH AN IMPORTANT PERSON IN MY LIFE!!!

hopping on the trend! mutuals like this post for an indirect!

(please don't be shy! doesn't matter if we've only interacted a handful of times i swear i have nice things to say to everyone <3)

[sengoku-nadeko]

[hershelwidget]

sorry i just went on an deep dive. it would cost like. 5 or so billion dollar for the octonauts to function. either inkling has pockets as deep as the ocean or there’s some highly illegal behind the scenes nonsense goin on here