#idk how to tag i need to go lay down i have a FEVER

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Also, bike ride + colour change + Bella and Jake if you want to <3

my dear sasha, you sent me this prompt a year ago (a year ago, so embarrassing) and for whatever reason, i decided that right now, with a fever and a dozen mugs of tea littered around me, was the time to fill it. luckily, it's autumn once again, so i hope you enjoy it.

click here if you prefer to read on ao3.

The conversation about bikes had broken something in Jacob's brain, clearly, because we'd just been sitting there in the shed-turned-garage—me, flopped on the couch, as usual; Jake, hunched over a project, as usual. And we'd been talking in that perfectly comfortable way we had, where we could be saying absolutely nothing of value and neither one of us would care, because we were just like that. As usual. 

And then. 

"You're kidding me," he was saying—repeating, actually, for about the fifth time. "You seriously don't know how to ride a bike."

It was hard not to feel defensive in the face of such obvious, gaping awe. Crossing my arms over my chest, I shook my head, letting my hair fall over my face—anything to hide the blush crawling up my neck and coloring my cheeks. I was probably redder than the maple leaves that littered the roof of the shed.

"You're kidding me," he said, again.

"You're acting like it's this crazy—like, thing, when it's not! It just... never really occurred to me," I insisted weakly, "and Renee wasn't exactly a hands-on kind of parent, so… I just never learned." Shrugging, I kicked at the tire of the repair job bicycle that had inspired my off-handed comment—"You know, I should probably learn how to ride one, one of these days..."—and completely failed to avoid his slack-jawed gaze.

Which, to my chagrin, spread into a sunshiny smile. One of those wide-cheek-white-teeth Jacob smiles that was so bright, astronauts could probably see it from the International Space Station. 

One of those smiles I was completely powerless against.

"You know what this means, right?" he asked, sounding so damn pleased with himself. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a kid in a candy store.

Unfortunately, I knew exactly what it meant.

☼

The autumn wind whipped my hair into my face, trapping it between my chapped lips, and I tried to blow it out—shake it off—to no avail, finally having to push it out of my face with both hands. 

Which, of course, meant nobody was holding the bike.

"Shit, Bells," Jacob muttered, steadying the handlebars while I attempted—attempted being the operative word—to straddle the thick-wheeled bicycle and pull my hair back at the same time.

Jacob said it was for off-roading or something. A mountain bike. Though why anyone would want to take a bike up a freaking mountain was beyond me. 

"No wonder you had such a bad time with the motorcycles."

I flashed up a hand as if warding off the memory. "Don't remind me," I groaned. 

The Motorcycle Incident of 2006 was decidedly one of the most embarrassing days of my life: the day I braked too hard and flung myself off of one of Jacob's newly-repaired bikes—two fixer-upper summer jobs—ultimately bashing my head and putting my wrist in a splint. 

It was the event which had firmly put an end to our daredevil antics. For a while, at least.

It had also been just generally humiliating from start to finish. After I passed out in his arms, Jacob was apparently so worried for me that he'd nearly driven my truck into a ditch on the way to the hospital, and he'd gotten pulled over by a cop. A cop who, predictably, knew Charlie.

Who predictably freaked out and grounded me for an eternity.

And to top it all off, later that night, I—hopped up on a dosage of painkillers that could've knocked out an elephant—had allegedly told Jacob he was "sorta beautiful."

Which was pretty much objectively true. But still mortifying.

Jacob chuckled and put up his hands in momentary surrender before my wobbling forced him to grasp the handlebars again. It seemed that he really was the only thing holding it upright—kickstand and my own two legs be damned.

"So, it's a pretty basic concept. The hardest part, really, is just keeping your balance."

"Great," I snarked. "That's definitely one of my more developed skills."

"But the other part is the pedaling," he went on, rolling his eyes at my griping. "I've already got it in the right gear for you, so you just need to get used to the motion. It'll probably take a few tries, but you'll get the hang of it." 

When he gave me one of his bright, encouraging smiles, I could almost believe him.

"And the brakes—"

But I stopped him with a squeeze of the brake lever, shaking my head to stifle a laugh. "I think I've got that part down."

"Right." 

He wrinkled his nose at me, and I could only hope this didn't end in another trip to the hospital—because goodness only knew what I'd say about him under the influence now.

☼

Three days later, the forest whizzed by me on both sides, bright against the overcast sky. 

The colors were still in the midst of changing—sunset gold and rusty red leaves spotted the treeline, like gems tucked in among the evergreens, but I was moving so quickly I could barely grasp more than just the impressions of beauty, of brightness, before I sailed by.

It had taken me the better part of the past three days to keep the bike from totally falling over beneath me, and even that had been mostly a wash.

Which was why I'd been so surprised when I showed up at Jacob's house this morning and saw a shiny, cherry red bike sitting out front.

With a helmet. Two helmets, in fact. 

And these weird, sticky-outy things on the back tires that Jacob referred to as "pegs." It was apparently a hand-me-down from somebody or other, but it looked as clean and sleek as if he'd bought it himself.

It had me instantly on guard.

"Throwing in the towel, Instructor?"

"No," he answered, too quickly for me not to grin. "You'll still technically be riding a bike. You'll just be standing up, and holding on to me." He paused. "And I'll be doing all the work."

Since standing up on a bike seemed to be a feat reserved for circus performers and free-spirited teenagers in movies, I think my suspicion was warranted. But Jacob—eternally persuasive, and the most reliable person in my life these days—had given me those big, deep brown puppy dog eyes and sworn on his life—on the Rabbit—on anything I liked that he wouldn't let me fall.

And maybe it was down to some fundamental lack of common sense, but—for better or worse, I believed him.

Because that was the thing about Jacob: he'd never let me down yet, not in all this time together. Our summer of misbehavior had faded into fall, but Jacob's place in my life was evergreen. I couldn't imagine not needing him anymore, or going back to how things used to be before we'd stumbled back into each other's lives.

My head was full of these thoughts as the landscape smeared on either side of me, my arms slung around Jacob's shoulders. 

A sudden dip in the dirt road jarred the bike, and I gave an undignified squeal as the prospect of tipping over raced through me, the adrenaline singing a familiar song in my veins. Jacob just laughed, big and booming and drifting back to me over his broad shoulder. Apparently, the bumps didn't seem quite so dramatic to the one on the bike seat.

My hands gripped fistfuls of his shirt, and I scrabbled to hold on even tighter. "Jerk!" I cried breathlessly.

"Admit it, Bells," he called over the sound of the wind and my panicked breathing, "you love this."

I turned my head up to the sky, gray and heavy with clouds. Soon, the rain would come and soak the brightly-littered forests into brown mush. All the shades of red and gold would start to moulder and fade, and we'd be led into yet another dreary Forks winter.

But for the moment, with Jacob sitting flush in front of me—warm like the sun itself inhabiting human form—and the freedom and cold air all around, I knew he was right. 

I'd been so alone for so many years of my life, feeling like the world would always be intent on passing me by, that there was no place for me in it.

But there was a place: there was here. There was us, together, however ridiculous a pair we made.

I dipped my head and tried not to knock out helmets together, just long enough to kiss the wind-burnt skin of his cheek. "Fine, I admit it," I told him. "But don't you dare drop me, Jacob Black." 

I felt his fierce smile against my cheek, and he began to pedal harder, and there we went—tearing off in some new direction, down a road best taken together.

[cosmiclatte28]

Long Flight (Taeyong x you x jaehyun)

SUGGESTIVEEEE YAHOOO (sorry idk what’s with me, I made this into suggestive fic and the idea started when I took a long flight across Pacific Ocean) 

tagging @neopalette and @yutahoes

a/n : do not proceed if you’re young (innocent) other than that, just go lol i know we’re all thirsty. daddy dom and master kink 

jae is your colleague cabin crew (and your daddy), Taeyong is a famous designer taking first class flights who happens to get you as his stewardess and oh a fun night is about to happen in this long flight 

UH AND IT’S A LONG ASS RIDE

Long flights are a literal pain in the ass. For lee taeyong, long flights are inevitable especially with his business trips that require him to fly from Korea to the Free land of the United States. He is lucky as a designer to be called from one runway to another. Attending photoshoots, ending the runway of his collections and of course after parties.

Though he is never fond of the jetlag and morning flights plus the 12 hours butt pain, he finally meets you. From one of his shittiest flight. He needs to rush to New York but his plane got canceled and that’s how both of you meet. You're in charge of the first class passengers and importantly, him. You're trained to give the best service, making sure his seat is comfortable and his bed ready if he really wants to lay down.

“A long flight ahead sir,” you greet him after keeping his suit on the hanger and helping him with his stuffs.

He looks coy with his fitted bomber jacket and eye glasses. His fragrance reminds you of the forest with deep musk coming out from him.

“Yes and my flight got canceled. I was moved here.” He rumbles, though he is sort of happy because he got upgraded to the first class. His invitation earlier was only for business class but here he is now on the second floor with a nice personal stewardess and of course a bed.

“I am so sorry about that, but i'm here to help you enjoy your flight.” You smile nicely to him.

“For now do you want some drinks?” you take out the menu sheet you’ve prepared.

He takes a glance and smirks “Surprise me? I’m in for an enjoyable flight with you (y/n).” Taeyong winks to you.

You blush, “My pleasure, Lee Taeyong-ssi" you bow before leaving him to take the drink and calm your heartbeat.

You know him, he is famous for his designs and cool godly handsome face. Gosh he really looks handsome!

Your light steps bring you to the bar in the lounge and your fellow mate, Jaehyun, is already busy making orders for the other passengers.

“What may I help you with?” Jaehyun playfully smiles at you and winks. You're used to it, you share almost all of your trips with Jaehyun and you won’t lie, both of you share some nights together.

Your eyes scan the liquor collection and hum while you think “I'll just get him some gin and tonic.”

Jaehyun nods “Who is the special guest tonight?”

You gulp “Lee Taeyong, the famous designer.”

Jaehyun smirks, “Lucky you! Guess I'll be alone tonight and the night after.” He steps out of his cubicle and playfully slaps your ass. You glare at him but he just pushes you the drink and kisses your cheek “Goodluck, heard he was a bad drinker.”

You professionally go back to the narrow hallway and stop just in time to see Taeyong taking off his jacket.

“Here's your drink and please let me help you with your jacket.” You reach out your hands and he gladly passes it to you.

“Hmm gin and tonic, simple but best for me.thanks" he winks and gulps down half of the drink.

His face turns red and you clearly knows tomorrow an apple juice might be a better option.

“Did I turn red?” he asks with big eyes while touching his forehead and cheeks to check his heat.

You nod “A bit sir, but you still look great.” You blurt out and turn shy suddenly when he smiles and runs a finger over your arm “Aw thank you, heard that a lot but it sounds better from your red lips. I wonder why you don’t end up on my runway but here instead in this small airplane!”

He sure is not hearing himself, you know he's more humble than this. Must be the drink.

You just smile and nod “Well, I am glad I can serve you tonight. Now, we'll take off soon. Please fasten your seatbelt and ring me up if you need anything. Enjoy your flight sir,” you bow before returning to your seat so the plane can take off.

Taeyong keeps his eyes on you as you exit the aisle and he can’t help but bite his lips when he sees how perfect you walk in a heel and how beautiful your legs are.

“I should probably start making stewardess uniforms.” He giggles to himself before feeling fuzzy and closes his eyes to sleep.

--

“So, any sign he's into you?” Jaehyun asks after the plane is steady in the sky and you're not called over yet. You sit on the stool and lean your chin on your arms.

“What? No way. He's out of my league.” You look to your arms and feel Jaehyun staring at you.

“Huh? Don’t you see how he looks at you when you leave him?” Jaehyun asks while his hands are still busy making drinks. The bar is empty, the passengers are still mostly sitting on their compartments.

You raise a brow “You were stalking me?”

He wiggles his brow “Gotta make sure you are working and not flirting with him.” He pulls your chin and blows over your lips “I know how naughty my little baby can be.”

You feel heat creeps into your core and cheeks. If both of you are not in duty, you'd play along and ask for drinks already.

“Stop teasing me, I am working.” You cough and try to remain professional though Jaehyun's deep stare is not helping you at all.

“We’re going to stay in New York for two nights, where do we wanna go?” Jae traces random lines on your arm and you hold your breath “I don’t know, guess we can have a night of sleep and the other one for fun.” You wink and his smile blooms “Fun? Are we thinking of the same fun?”

You want to answer him but a bell chimes and you glance to the intercom to see Taeyong's request for your assistant.

Jaehyun sighs “Tough competition I smell here.”

You tap his shoulder “Aw don’t be sad. I'll be right back, promise.” You blow him a flying kiss and tidy up your uniform before marching to Taeyong.

“Yes, how may I help you?” you nicely check on his stuffs, and he looks at you with clouded eyes. Gosh how many alcohol did Jaehyun put earlier? Is Taeyong this light headed?

“I- I want some snacks.” He looks at you with “that" gaze.

You gulp “Oh right, I can do that. We have-" you almost recite him the snack options before he pulls you onto his lap and snakes his arm around your waist.

“Not that snack, come on I know you know it.” He boldly presses his nose on your neck taking a whiff of your scent

You shiver and breathily moan “Sorry sir, I'm on duty.” You remind him but your hands are already touching his hard abs and thigh

Taeyong giggles next to your ear “On duty? baby I saw you flirting with that bartender guy right there. Didn’t you promise me you'll serve me well tonight?” his tone sounds sad at the end and you never like to hear someone sad because of you, so you quickly look around and whisper back to him

“I- I am-" you stutter when he runs his hand closer to your core “You're what princess?” he grins smugly

He sure is drunk. But he's super hot and you're super aroused!

“I am Sorry sir,” you whisper and he smiles with satisfaction.

“Good girl, now after dinner when the bed time is near, I'll ask you to prepare for my room and princess, be ready." He presses a small kiss on your nape and you gasp. Taeyong quickly presses his hand over your lips “uh oh we don’t want to get in touble right?”

You nod and when he taps you back, you get up and return to work like nothing happens.

Dinner is served and you notice the first class passengers are just few tonight. Only Taeyong and three other people. You notice Taeyong's bed is also far from the other's rooms.

He requested for a glass of red wine on dinner and when you collect his plates, you notice he finishes all of it. Wow, just how drunk is he planning to be?

**

“Baby, just remember you owe me one fun night,” Jaehyun whispers next to you when he sees you fix your face and tidy your appearance.

You roll your eyes “You look more interested into him, do you want to join us?” you tease him

Jaehyun turns red and he growls “Baby, try to remember all the wrongs you make today. We'll see if you can get as much spanks as your faults, daddy will reminds his baby about her attitudes.” He palms your breast and you clasp your mouth when you see the light for your duty lights up.

“Duty calls, gotta go-" you lean next to his ears “Daddy,” you kiss him quick and walk to Taeyong.

“Evening sir, tired already? Do you want me to prepare your bed?” You ask the standard procedure and he nods.

“Alright let me take you there, master.” You whisper before kissing him quick and following him to his cubicle.

“You're such a good kitten aren’t you? So ready for your master.” He grins when he sees the small bedroom already tidied up and shone in dim lights.

He goes into the room and after making sure no one sees, you enter and lock the door.

“I am glad I got to do this in first class, not in the lavatory.” Taeyong sounds drunk and confused to which you mentally slap yourself.

“Whoops sorry, ruined the mood. Come here kitty, master can show you how great he is when powered with wine!” he unbottons his shirt and you climb to his lap

“Tell me sir, do you want the soft kitty or bad kitty?” your fingers already play with his hairs and you lightly grind on his lap.

He groans when you touch his hardness and from his hooded eyes he makes his request “Both kitty, both.”

“Greedy, but as you wish master. Your words are my command.” You tie your hair up before diving to a deep desperate kiss with both of your hands roaming wildly around each others curves.

Your breathy moans could be heard if anyone is standing right in front of the door, you don’t mind it though. The room is locked, Taeyong rocks you so well and he is wild on bed. It's like having the best wildest fever dream and you're reaching cloud nine on a plane!

He was a great man in bed, a great master who puts you back in place and a great one to teach your soft side more about the wild fun.

You slip out of his hug when you notice he'd fallen asleep. Gently you tuck back your heels and uniform. Your under garments are broken but you'll skip them

With one sticky post it left on the bedside and a kiss, you slowly creep out from his room to meet your cabin crew.

“last night you were both wild and loud.” Jaehyun already greets you on the bar and you pause in track

“You were eavesdropping?” you turn to look at him

He shrugs his shoulder “Someone ordered a drink, I happened to pass by you and your master.” He playfully scans your body.

“Where did your bra go baby?” He walks closer to you and calmly pulls your chin up to face him.

“Look at daddy when you want to answer.” He warns you when you're about to answer.

Your eyes shake as you lock eyes with his fiery one.

“Broken, i'll change into another pair.” You gulp suddenly feeling small and vulnerable to Jaehyun.

“Don’t bother wearing one. I want to see them suffer in cold.” Jaehyun flicks one of your nub and you shudder

“Yes daddy.” You gulp “Anything else?”

“Oh, no touching yourself until I got to be the one touching you. Also, once we land… you're taking a room with me.” He takes your neck and pulls you into his chest “I want all of his traces gone by the time we're together.” He growls next to your ear “Understand baby?”

You nod “Words" he coughs and you mumble “Yes daddy.”

“Good, now don’t forget all the things you did and good luck finishing your errands.” He pats your ass and pushes you lightly.

--

“Good morning sir, how's your sleep last night?” you go back to your daily routine like nothing happened last night.

Taeyong looks sober already and his stomach is rumbling “Good. I had a good sleep, lucky me for I have to catch up a runway this afternoon.”

You nod “Coffee or tea for breakfast?”

He smiles “Coffee, without alcohol okay" he winks and you smile “Alright one coffee coming to you along with your breakfast sir.”

He turns red “calling me sir just makes me turns hot again princess.”

You wink “I'll be right back sir.”

:”Wait!” he holds your hand and you pause in track “Here take this,” he fishes something out of his bag and hands you a nice invitation

“Come to the gala, walk to the backstage pass and meet me for your dress.” He puts on his sunglasses

“I am invited? Well thank you sir, it's such an honor.” You smile widely

He shakes his head and peeks from his shades “Invited? You're my guest of honor. You'll walk the runway!”

You stare at him in disbelief and he quickly taps your arm “Now go princess, prepare me your best breakfast and i'll see you later.”

Oh yeah this will be the greatest experience and oh no tomorrow is gonna be the longest night with Jaehyun.

end, yow any great smut writers if you see this and want to  make the hot scene TAG ME I WANNA READ :D thanks!!

[fanfic-me-up]

Hiiiiiii can I request Bakugou x fem!reader?? (*≧∀≦*) Maybe he has a crush on you who has a healing quirk and helps recovery girl when it comes to helping the injured, like when class 1-A finishes up training and recovery girl normally sends her to deal with it all the time? She can heal people but it drains her energy so when she finished with it she takes naps on the recovery beds? Idk but thanks!much love❤️❤️❤️

This is a really cute idea! Thank you for requesting 💖 

“Shut up and Heal me”

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings: Language (what do you expect, it’s Bakugou lol)

Synopsis: You’re a student at U.A. and Recovery Girl’s apprentice healer. When you push pass your limit to heal Bakugou Katsuki, who knew he cared enough to make sure you heal too.

“Wake up, dumbass.”

Your shoulder is shaken, abruptly waking you from your nap. A muscular silhouette takes shape as you pry your eyes open.

“Bakugou? Is that you?” Your voice laced with sleep. 

“Nah, it’s Batman.” 

You squint your eyes, still half asleep. Is this a dream? Bakugou rolls his eyes at your inability to detect blatant sarcasm.

“‘Course it’s me, dipshit. Get up.”

You check your phone and groan when you find you only got five minutes worth of valuable shut eye.

“You’re here early.” 

“Aizawa-sensei let us out early!” Midoriya pipes up. He’s chipper for someone who looks one step away from passing out. Any trace of sleep vanishes when you assess his injuries, asking him a series of questions to confirm where he needs medical attention and if it’s life-threatening. You usher him to Recovery Girl’s office so he can get treated immediately. Typical Midoriya - always going plus ultra even for training exercises. 

Bakugou’s no better as you take in the numerous scrapes and bruises raking his body. Despite his beaten-up state, the only open wound is on the right side of his stomach - a small pool of blood seeping through his muscle shirt. He’s been pushing himself much harder in training these past couple weeks and you know it’s the life of a hero, but you’re concerned for him as a healer and as a friend. 

��You gonna stare all day or heal me?”

“Sorry, right, uh.. Take off your shirt and get on the bed.” 

The words escape before you realize the implication. Bakugou raises an eyebrow before snorting.

“Tch. Weirdo.”

You flush as he takes off his shirt, laying down on the bed. The wound running down his abdomen is not deep, but it is long. It’ll be difficult to heal, but you’re always up for a challenge. You wash your hands before activating your quirk. A glowing aura surrounds your hands, transparent in color, but before you can focus on changing the color to heal Bakugou - a spaced out Kaminari stands before you with his signature thumbs up. Snot is running down his nose and his eyes have this blank look like no one’s home. 

“hewwoo?” 

“Oi! Dunceface! To your right!” 

“wa-whee-whaa?” 

That’s Kaminari gibberish for “Where?” Being Recovery Girl’s intern and constantly healing Class 1-A along with other students in the hero course has made you quite familiar with the unusual side effects of overusing one’s quirk. You created a book with translations for Kaminari’s most used gibberish phrases so you can treat him more efficiently. Today, you tried placing his juice box and cookies on the table to the right to see if he can find it himself. But he’s having problems finding what direction is right.

“Your other right, dumbass.” Bakugou growls as Kaminari bends down to look for his juice box under a chair. You giggle as you help him locate his snack before ushering him to one of the recovery beds to take a nap. He knocks out in no time, snoring softly. Bakugou grunts, his hand pressing against the wound on his side. 

“Don’t touch, it could get infected.” 

“Tch. I know, but look.” He releases his hold to show you the blood dripping down his abdomen. You curse for not healing him sooner when he was clearly a higher priority than Kaminari. How could you forget the number one rule as a healer? There’s no time to beat yourself up for it so you grab a cleaning cloth to wipe away the blood before activating your quirk once again. You close your eyes, focusing your energy into what you’re about to do which is close up a wound. Red swirls behind your eyelids and you focus the color down your body to your hands. You open your eyes to find them glowing a bright, luminescent red - a stark contrast to the dim lighting in the room. Bakugou hisses at the touch; your hands trailing along his abdomen. You look up to apologize when you notice Bakugou’s flushed cheeks, as red as your glowing hands.

“Are you okay? You’re a bit flushed.” You deactivate your quirk in your left hand to touch his forehead. It’s cause for concern if he has a fever due to an open wound, but you’re taken aback when Bakugou swats your hand away.

“I’m fine! Shut up and heal me.” He looks away, but you catch the persistent redness now making its way down his neck. You return to healing the wound. It’s almost closed, but you can feel your energy draining quicker than usual since you didn’t have enough time to recover earlier. 

“Hey, you good?” 

“Mhm. Al-most… done…” You bite your lip and clench your eyes shut to concentrate the last of your energy into closing the rest of the wound.

“Don’t push it, dumbass.”  Bakugou grunts and despite the harsh tone, there’s a tinge of concern underneath. 

“Heh.. could say… the same… for..” 

You trail off and your hands glow brighter by the second that you can see red behind your eyelids. You feel the wound seal shut and when you open your eyes you see there’s not a scar in sight. This is the first time you were able to completely heal a wound on your own. You smile at your accomplishment. 

“You can take your hands off.” 

You flush before ripping your hands away. The quick movement gives you a head rush, the room spinning in circles.

“Whoa.” Bakugou grabs you by the shoulders and reverses your position so you’re laying down now. 

“My head hurts…”

“No shit,” Bakugou snorts, “What’d I say about pushing?”

“Go beyond... plus… ultra…”

The last thing you hear is Bakugou laughing, a soft smile curling his lips, before your vision goes black.

------------------------------------------------

You wake up to the smell of roasted coffee and cinnabons. Faint voices go back and forth, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. The light streaming in is gone; the room now darker than before. Jeez how long were you out?

“Took you long enough.”

You whip your head to see Bakugou sitting on a chair and nursing a cup of coffee. The bed next to yours is empty. Kaminari must’ve recovered meaning you’ve slept for more than an hour.

“You stayed.”

“Yeah, and? Wanted to make sure you didn’t die ‘cause of me.” 

City lights shine bright, and the hustle and bustle outside suggests the city isn’t going to sleep anytime soon. Live music roars from nightclubs and people laughing on the street would entice anyone to join the party. It’s pretty hard to believe Bakugou would stay behind on a Friday night when it’s common knowledge that you need to sleep after overusing your quirk. But here he is, that same strip of red running along his cheeks and nose like he just got a cute little sunburn. 

“You like laser tag?” Bakugou asks.

You raise an eyebrow at the random question, shrugging when you answer.

“Never played.”

Bakugou balks, shock written all over his face.

“You never - what kind of person - nevermind. If we hurry, we can make the last round.”

Maybe this time you really were dreaming. You subtly pinch yourself to make sure and nope, this is real life and Bakugou is inviting you to hang out.

“Sounds... fun? But I… um…I’m not really part of your squad…”

You didn’t want to overstep. It seemed like they were a pretty tight-knit group and you’ve never hung out with them outside of school. The fear of ruining their night because you didn’t vibe with them twisted your gut. 

“Gimme your phone,” Bakugou says.

Still in a daze, you give him your phone without question. He takes his phone out and not a second later you hear a “ping” from yours, He presses a couple buttons before handing it back to you. 

“Congrats, you’re part of the squad.”

You see that you’ve been added to a group chat called “keeping up with the crackheads”. You don’t have time to contemplate exactly what you got thrusted into as Bakugou is grabbing both of your jackets hanging on the coat rack, handing yours and pushing you towards the door. 

“I- um.. Thanks… I guess...? Bakugou, what’s going on?”

You’re already halfway down the hallway, everything happening too fast without a clear explanation. Bakugou groans, clearly frustrated that you’re not a mind reader and he has to actually communicate what he’s thinking. He grabs your shoulders, gently shoving your back against the lockers, and planting his hands on either side of you. Being this close to Bakugou makes you feel a familiar flurry of butterflies as you’re caged in and forced to look into those crimson eyes. 

“I. Like. You.” He smirks, getting a kick at your flustered state, before leaning away with his hands in his pockets, “And I know you like me too.”

You don’t know what to freak out over first. The fact that Bakugou knows about your crush or that he likes you back. Also, how does he know you like him? You haven’t told anyone about your crush, preferring to keep your cards close to your chest.

“Don’t talk in your sleep if you don’t want me to know how much you wanna run your hands down my ‘chiseled abs’.”

You squeak and cover your face with your hands, too embarrassed at what else you might’ve said in your sleep.

“Chill, dumbass, it’s cute.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, throwing an arm over your shoulder, leading you to a night full of riveting laser tag, making new friends, and first kisses. 💖

[velvetmel0n]

No More Than a Name For Yearning

Summary: It’s a late night at the office when the tension becomes too much.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.5k+

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, vaginal fingering, a threesome (tag teaming?? idk man they take turns), Javier and Carrillo being competitive? penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, egregious use of italics and em dashes, exhibitionism and voyeurism? little bit of dom!Carrillo, Javier smoking as per usual, mutual pining, angst 

A/N: let’s hope I didn’t overhype this lmao. Special thanks to @tintinwrites and her knowledge of musicals for the title💕

@damerondjarin @mandoplease @tintinwrites @poeticandors @darksideofclarke @futzingorchids @pascalplease @glowingpena @ollypopp @yougottakeeponkeepinon @bisexual-space-slut @agentpike @mylifeliterally @pedropasscals @huliabitch @winters-buck @hystericalmedicine @watsonwise @1zashreena1 @chelsfic @halfwaythereroyal @leahsafae @qveenbvtch @maxlordd @acomplicatedprofession @bobafvtt @propertyofdindjarin @milleniumvalcon @the-bird-suit @girlpornparadise @okay-murdocks @slfreya @aellynera @duamuteffe @ah-callie @bookshelvesandteacups @woakiees @himbopoes @shadow-assassin-blix @thedevilwearsvibranium @littleferal @veuliee2 @mserynlarsen @lesqui @softpedropascal @writefightandflightclub @catfishingmorales​

“I’m done.” Steve’s voice, all Southern hospitality and exhaustion, breaks you out of the haze you’re in and have been in for the last two hours, English and Spanish swimming before your eyes and you smile up at him reflexively, grateful for the distraction, however small it is. It had been a bad day for everyone, bad intel and a bad raid and now you’re stuck shifting through mountains of files, looking for where you went wrong and the next plan of attack. “Do you want a ride?”

“I’m good, I want to work on this a bit more,” You say confidently, trying for a tone and an expression that says ‘I’m staying because I want to finish this, not because I don’t want to be alone yet’ while his blonde eyebrows knit together high on his forehead. Your smile doesn’t crack under the weight of the energy he’s putting out, brotherly and almost concerned as his eyes flick towards the only other people in the office with you; Javier and Carrillo. 

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” You snort when Javier waggles his eyebrows dramatically at you over a stack of his own files to go through. “Javi’ll take me home,” You say because he will. You don’t have a car, having wanted to save money and not fully grasping the inherent dangers of being a DEA agent who relies on public transport in the middle of Escobar’s territory before you had moved here. 

You’d started saving the second week of living in Colombia, but somewhere along the way it had become less of a pressing issue and more of an afterthought as you fell into the rhythm of jumping into Steve’s car as he swung by on his way into work or pounding on Javier’s door, just down the hall from your own with some sort of baked good in your hands as the customary bribe. 

“You sure?” He’s giving you another chance, another out, because it’s late and it’s hot and his nerves are probably still frayed just like everyone else’s who aren’t showing it and he no doubt thinks you need a break just as much as he does.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. I’ll be fine,” You turn a page, sending him the message that yes, you’re staying. You’ll wait Javier out, promising him some muffin or cookie you’d picked up from the store, crumbly and too sweet but he gobbles them down anyways.

“Oh—kay,” He drawls out, sounding unconvinced but he’s picking his jacket up from where it’s been laying on his desk. “You crazy kids don’t have too much fun now,” He digs his keys from his pocket as he walks out and the hollow slam of the door shutting behind him doesn’t shake anyone.

And it takes a moment for the gravity of what you’ve just done to sink into you, how you’ve just stranded yourself on a desert island of paperwork and intel. How you’re trapped between the two men you think about late at night when you’re alone and hungry, now hunched over one singular desk with them and your mouth goes dry.

Your skin prickles and some part of you thinks that this might be better; better than the stress of the day and the frustration that rises in your blood every time you have to ask one of them to translate for you because cartel slang isn’t taught in any class and at least Carrillo tells you. You’ll tilt the paper at him and point and he leans close, brows heavy over his sharp eyes and he’ll say it once in English, only once and his tone is equal parts exhaustion and frustration but it’s enough.

Javier is more of a bastard about it. The way he smirks every time you ask him for anything, smooth and suggestive and asking what you’ll do for him as payment and as much as it gets on your nerves you can’t help but rise to it, batting your eyelashes and threatening to do one thing or another which of course never fazes him. It helps soothe the more ragged edges of your nerves, falling back on the familiar rhythm of your friendship, the push and pull wrapping around your shoulders like a security blanket.

You both know that you’ll each fall apart in your own way as soon as goodnights have been said and your apartment doors have closed, but that’s a problem still hours away. It’s a problem you’ll deal with alone in your bed, hugging your pillow and wishing you had someone warm and solid sharing your bed because you could attach yourself to them somehow you think. Anchor your body to theirs, to reality, so you don’t float off into nightmares.

Carrillo seethes beside you, quiet and his mouth set in a hard line but you still find yourself wanting to reach out to him. It’s stupid but you want to reach out and smooth your hands over him, want to bleed the tension form his body because he carries too much of it and he can’t bury it under innuendos and harmless flirting like Javier can, like you’ve learned to. 

You think about it sometimes, what might happen if you acted on your desires with the Colonel. You know what will happen with Javier if you ever take him up on the offer, one that’s stood since your first week here. You’ll know that he’ll treat you right, that he’ll take you out of your head and take you apart piece by piece. Maybe he’ll even put you back together again and you can’t deny that you’ve been thinking about it more and more lately. 

But Carrillo is a puzzle and maybe that’s why you keep thinking about him as much as you do, maybe you want to take him apart just as much as you want Javier to do the same to you. You want to know what it’s like to have all that energy focused on you, intense and bordering on obsessive. All consuming. 

The next exhale is shaky and you realize you need to stop before you start staring at them, at the way Carrillo’s shoulders fill out his uniform or catch Javier’s profile out of the corner of your vision, the way his mouth twists with displeasure underneath his mustache. You need to stop before you start thinking about what that mustache will feel like against your skin or how tight Carrillo’s grip on you would be. 

You try to bury yourself back in the files and grainy photographs, trying to ignore the ache between your thighs and you realize that you were wrong, that this is worse.

The next hour passes in a haze, steeped in frustrations and stress and an insidious kind of tension, the air plucked taut like a bow string. You’ve untucked your blouse and have already undone the first button but you’re reaching for the next two barely ten minutes later and you don’t know if you’re overheated from the weather or the look you’d seen Javier give you when you reached for your collar the first time, thick eyes slid over to you and following the motions of your fingers. You think Carrillo might be watching you, too— see his head tilt from the corner of your eye, see his fingers still as they turn a page. You keep going, slipping the buttons from their closures and maybe you make more of a show than you should of opening your collar. Of fanning yourself and slipping your hand underneath your shirt to rub your shoulder.

No one says a word and you keep your eyes fixed on the ones in front of you, absently kneading your own shoulder as you wait for their eyes to slide away, for the moment to pass because it feels like it’s clogging your throat. 

“Need a hand?” Javier raises his eyebrows, points his chin at the one you have stuck up your shirt, your fingers squeezing at the knot that’s formed and you snort. It splinters the tension enough that you can breathe.

“In your dreams, Peña,” Because the last thing you need right now is for him to touch you, the rasp of his fingers over your smooth skin with Carrillo watching the entire thing, less than three feet away. Your stomach clenches at the thought, a traitorous thrill forcing its way up your spine and you dig just a little too far into the tendon and a noise slips from your lips. 

You expect Javier to call you out on it, on the way the sound just...flows out, low and keening but pitched up towards the end and you don’t breathe. You don’t know if anyone breathes because it’s like you’re the only three people awake right now. The only three people alive and the glow of the streetlights outside is pulsing and hazy as it slips through the cracks in the blinds and it’s making you feel like you’re in a fever dream, like suddenly all the consequences of bad decisions, of feeding the monster in your gut are going up in the smoke that bleeds from Javier’s cigarette.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t and neither does Carrillo and your breath shakes itself out of you, your fingers smoothing over the tendon you had just curled into and you have half a mind to go home, to try and call Javier off the hunt so you can curl up in your own bed and try to sleep off the stress and the heat, the thoughts that keep rising to the surface.

The sound of Carrillo yanking a drawer open drags you out of the daydream that’s trying to coalesce and you see him pull the bottle out; think that the frustration must be getting to him. You can’t blame him for it.

“I hope you’re planning on sharing, Carrillo,” 

Because there’s something to be said for warm alcohol and the way it burns the whole way down like it’s holding a grudge. You don’t know what it is— it’s something clear and biting that smells like window cleaner when Carrillo unscrews the cap and passes it to you, the bottle half drunk already and the thought is dim in the back of your mind that the Colonel himself must’ve done this dozens of times before, that your lips are wrapping around the very same rim as his must have as you swallow a mouthful and try your best not to grimace. Your lips tingle on contact and you know whatever it is it’s strong, probably enough to fuzz your better judgement.

You’re already passing it to Javier when you see him reaching for it, fingers hungry in the way they wrap around the bottle. He gulps, bares his teeth at the taste and holds it out to Carrillo who swallows a mouthful of what you suspect to actually be paint stripper without blinking. Rinse, repeat.

The alcohol loosens your tongues and before you know it Javier is cluing you in on the things that are said behind your back, when you’re not in the room. Warning you about a young agent who’s been making noise about asking you out, maybe getting you in bed and you can’t help it.

You chuckle and the words rise unbidden to your tongue, spurred on by a combination of alcohol and stress, of sleep deprivation and the oppressive heat. You don’t realize your mistake until a second after the words are out of your mouth and you can feel your stomach drop to the floor.

“I’d rather fuck you grumpy bastards,”

Because it’s just as much about the wording, how you said it as much as it’s about the fact that you said anything at all. You’d rather fuck them. Not either, not one of. You’d rather fuck them.

“What was that?” There’s a change in Javier’s voice, some new chord resonating in the air and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Carrillo drinks slowly from the bottle and you can see his throat working, his Adam’s apple bobbing and he’s looking at you with intent. It makes you want to squirm. 

“I— I just mean if I had to choose, between you and Miller I mean, I’d— I would choose you,” You fumble it and you know it. You’re not looking at either of them, eyes staring down at the files still on the desk because you feel warm and prickly all over, trying to keep your breathing even because you’re spiraling. You’re afraid; afraid of their reactions, if they’ll snort and reject you after all and afraid of what will happen if word gets out. The fear tangles with arousal in your gut, as exhilarating as it is confusing and no one is saying anything.

You see motion out of the corner of your eye, a large hand gripping the back of your neck a moment later and he almost pulls you out of the chair with his urgency to crash your lips against his own— Carrillo. You melt into the kiss, welcome his tongue into your mouth and you’re abundantly aware of the fact that Javier is just on the other side of you, that you’re being watched.

Your breathing shallows and it’s like you have a fever you’re so hot, drinking down every bit of attention that’s being lavished on you between Carrillo’s mouth on yours and Javier’s hands, sliding around your middle and squeezing your sides before you feel him crowding further into your personal space. It’s already verging on too much for you, too many things happening at once and not going to stop until you’re boiled down to a creature of lust and sensation and nothing else. 

Carrillo keeps one hand in your hair while he eats at your mouth, keeping you in place for him while his other drops to your thigh, palming it before he slides his hand down to your knee and holds, stopping you from creating any friction for yourself before you could even try. You whine and Javier’s even closer than before, covering your neck with kisses now and his mustache tickles enough to have you trying to recoil from it, chills sweeping throughout your body and his chuckle dark in your ears. 

Carrillo’s teeth drag over your bottom lip at the same time Javier starts to unbutton the rest of your shirt, his hand deft and seeking as it slips underneath the fabric, his other mirroring Carrillo with the way it grips the meat of your thigh. You whine, trying to grasp Javier’s shirt in an effort to ground yourself or to pull him closer you aren’t entirely sure because all you know is their hands on you and the ache that’s burning you up inside, the taste of the alcohol on Carrillo’s tongue as it sweeps through your mouth. 

Your shirt flutters to the floor in a soft heap and Javier’s attention stays on your chest for what feels like ages, palming your breasts through your bra while Carrillo’s head dips, mouthing along your jawline and down your throat, and in that moment you want nothing more than to feel his teeth. To have him suck marks into the fragile skin that you can look at in the morning to make sure this isn’t some fever dream brought on by the heat and frustration because you feel like you’re being melted down between the two of them and reshaped into something new, something hungry and aching and empty.

A hand trails from your chest and down your stomach while teeth scrape along your neck, your shoulder, and you almost hold your breath when you feel the button of your jeans being fiddled with. A whine builds in your throat, a sharp sound undercutting it and sending a jolt through your body when the Colonel smacks Javier’s hand away before he could slip it inside your pants. Your eyes flutter open for the first time since this all started, just in time to see the way Carrillo’s jaw clenches, hostility or just plain competitiveness you can’t be sure belying the heat in his eyes as he glares at the other man.

It shouldn’t turn you on— you know it shouldn’t, having him snapping over you like that, like you’re a new favorite toy he’s loathe to hand over but you can’t deny the way you squirmed, either, heat curling in your gut at the thunderous look on his face. And then Javier is huffing and for one insane moment you’re afraid that he’s going to give up without a fight, that he’s going to stop.

But then he’s turning your head towards him, wrenching you away from Carrillo so your chest is pressed against his own and he can have his fill of your lips. His kiss is different from Carrillo’s— the bristles of his mustache tickle and it’s less like an onslaught but no less heated, his groan sinking right down into your bones.

Carrillo’s fingers make quick work of your jeans and you almost leap out of your skin at the first touch, thick fingers slipping underneath the band of your underwear and dragging through your soaked folds. 

You moan into Javier’s mouth, the sound ripped from the back of your throat and you hear one of them chuckle— self satisfied and almost mocking and you want to snap at them and call them names, want to regain the edge you maintain so carefully in this line of work but you can’t. You can’t because Javier’s teeth are scraping along your jawline now and his hand is working its way underneath your bra to start thumbing over your nipple, the edge of his nail against the sensitive skin making a chill skate through your body and Carrillo— he’s— he’s rolling the rough pads of his fingers over your clit, using enough pressure to make your thighs jerk and the insults wither on your tongue.

Then it’s your hands that are moving, unclenching from their shoulders to follow the lines of their torsos down, down, down and the scrape of chairs across the floor is loud and disjointed as they’re yanked closer. Half of you wants to take your time, to explore the both of them at your leisure and finally have your fill of each, to run your hands along their bodies and kiss each of their scars but the other half of you is louder. The other half of you is greedy. Impatient. 

You smooth your palms along the front of their pants, reveling in the feel of their cocks twitching through the fabric and how Javier’s breath hisses through his teeth, how Carrillo drops his head to your shoulder and squeezes the inside of your knee, his fingers stuttering against you. It’s heady, knowing that they both want you like this and holding evidence of their arousal in your hands and you can’t help but stroke them, biting down on a grin when a moan works itself from Carrillo’s chest. 

Javier recovers first and pulls you until your body is fully facing him, hunching over you with his fingers working at the closure of your bra, mouth trailing down your throat. Carrillo huffs behind you but he doesn’t pull you away, not yet. Instead he shifts closer, close enough for you to sag into the solid mass of his chest because his fingers are moving again, slipping lower and teasing your entrance, circling and only barely dipping the tip of one inside. At the same time Javier’s mouth is engulfing one of your nipples and sucking, teeth glancing off of it and you don’t know whose name to moan, writhing between the two of them and trying to get a grip on Javier’s hair. 

Your other hand is still over Carrillo’s cock and you squeeze, a whine bursting from your lips because of course the bastard was waiting for that, waiting for just the right moment to slide one of his thick fingers home while Javier laves across your chest, licking and sucking at your tender flesh. “Fuck,” Your voice is high and reedy and you feel like you can’t breathe. It’s the first word you’ve spoken during this entire thing, whatever it is, whatever it’s going to turn into, and you think you feel Carrillo’s lips pull into something sharp that might be a grin against your cheek when he starts to move.

The angle means the heel of his hand is bumping into your clit and his pace is a cruel thing; dark and twisting and somehow it’s too much and not enough all at once and your head is spinning from it. You hear him in your ear, speaking low and soft and his praises are clogging your throat. Encouragements, teasing when he asks you if you want more, can take more because he knows you can, that you want it because you’re good for him, aren’t you? For them?

And Javier is murmuring his agreements against the pillow of your breast, dragging his teeth along your nipple and you think if it’s possible for a human being to go up in flames you would right at this moment, trapped between the two of them with no buffer, with nowhere to go. 

“Need more already?” Javier’s voice is thick like honey, almost gloating as he picks his head up from your chest, taking in how it rises and falls in time with your rapid breaths, shining from his mouth underneath the fluorescent lights. His eyes drop lower and he can’t see you, not with Carrillo’s hand in the way and the thick denim of your jeans still biting into your thighs, but he can hear you, slick and obscene with little whimpers falling from your lips like you��re trying to stay quiet because you are. It’s not working, but you’re trying.

“Javi—” Your voice tilts up at the end, high and whining and you don’t know how much more of this you can take. You feel like you’re melting down, burning up from the inside out and you can’t remember if you’ve ever felt like this before. If you’ve ever felt this on edge, coiled up tight and vibrating with this much tension, if it’s because you’ve been wanting each of them for months now, if it’s because they’re both here with you. Both watching you, both stringing you out further and further and pulling you in different directions. Each trying to get their fill of you before the other. 

And maybe you’re asking for Javier because Carrillo is cruel, working you with his fingers but never giving you quite enough, working you up and up and up. Like he wants to see how far can push you, if he can make the need swallow you whole. You know he can, that for all your wanting to take him apart piece by piece he can do the same to you, is doing the same to you just as you know Javier will show you more mercy.

Javier reaches for you, curls his hands in your jeans and pulls them down over your knees and maybe he meant to pull them off, to get you naked in the middle of the office but his eyes catch on the way Carrillo’s finger is sinking into you over and over again. The way he gives you another and how you still when he does, your breath stuttering.

You almost don’t feel the way Carrillo hooks his chin over your shoulder to watch for himself because you can’t think over how his fingers feel, thick and heavy and buried up to the knuckle and you whine. You whine because he’s just holding them there, seemingly content to just feel the way your cunt is squeezing around them, the way your thighs are shaking and listening to you crying in his ear. 

You hand fists in the material of his pants, your other digging your nails into Javier’s shoulder and you use them for leverage, rolling your hips on Carrillo’s fingers. Someone groans, ragged and strung out and for terrifying seconds you think that they’re going to leave you like this. Leave you to fuck yourself on his fingers without any help.

But Javier doesn’t last that long.

Javier doesn’t last that long before he’s reaching for you all over again, pulling you away from Carrillo and you almost protest, almost call him a bastard for cutting off what little stimulation you’re managing to eek out for yourself but then he’s pressing you up against the desk and you forgive him.

You try to brace yourself on the desk, hands slipping on file folders and you look back, over your shoulder because you can hear his belt jangling, loud against the background of hurried breathing and arousal-softened voices. You don’t see it but Carrillo leans back in his chair, sucking your slick off his fingers and thinking about eating you alive even while he watches Javier line himself up with your weeping cunt, the way his head leans back as he pushes in, the way you go still. The way your chin drops to your chest and how you rock your weight onto your hands, spine curving when his hips meet yours. 

Javier isn’t moving, not yet, and Carrillo almost feels sorry for you because another of those whines is falling out of your mouth, soft and needy and you lick your lips before you speak, begging him to move and so he does. They both do. 

Javier’s hands curl around your hips and he starts to thrust as Carrillo stands, rounding the desk and his lips might pull into something crueler than a smile but pleased nonetheless when you reach for him, a moan on your lips. He lets you fumble with his belt and untuck his shirt with shaking hands and his chest swells with a twisted pride, that you can be filled with another man’s cock and still reach for him.

It goes to his head a little bit while he watches you, glassy eyes fluttering and your hands slipping. Your head drops to his shoulder with a high pitched moan, your hips rolling back, and that’s when he grabs your face, his fingers pressing into your jaw, lifting your head and forcing you to look at him. 

It’s too much, you realize, trying to remember how to breathe while you stare into Carrillo’s face. His nostrils are flared and his eyes are swallowed up by his pupils, and he’s not looking away. Your breath is puffing into his face and you’re trying to keep your eyes open, you are— but Javier’s cock keeps dragging through your walls, catching on something bright and sharp and it’s almost enough. 

You don’t realize that you keep closing your eyes until Carrillo is almost throttling you, tightening his fingers on either side of your jaw, the meat of his palm pressing against your windpipe and tomorrow you’ll feel embarrassed at the pathetic sound that leaves your throat. How you sway towards him, his "look at me” ringing in your ears, soft and biting all at once.

Javier hunches over you then and you feel his teeth in your shoulder, feel the rasp of his mustache on your skin. Carrillo’s shoulders move but you don’t look, don’t let yourself get distracted from the way he’s looking at you like— like—

You don’t know because Javier’s hand is moving, slapping Carrillo’s away before he can touch you and you see the muscle in his jaw tick before you crumple, would have spilled across the desk if his grip wasn’t holding you up because Javier is slipping his hand between your shaking thighs.

Your hands fist in the material of Carrillo’s shirt, your quest to get his belt undone long since falling by the wayside and being replaced by focusing on the way your nerve endings are lighting up under Javier’s fingers, buzzing and firing and the knot in your belly bursts, thick and sweet like syrup. You sob into Carrillo’s shoulder, bearing down on Javier’s cock and he groans behind you, ragged and grating. 

But he doesn’t let you enjoy it, not really. Because the next moment he’s pulling away from you and you feel so empty you could almost cry, shaking yourself apart against Carrillo’s chest, dense and warm and the part of your brain that’s still functioning wishes you could feel his skin on your own. You don’t get the chance to dwell on it, on Carrillo’s hands and his arms, the feel of his torso through his shirt because the next thing you know liquid is splashing across your lower back, hot and dripping and you shudder right down to your bones.

“Fuck,” Javier sounds as wrecked as you feel and you can hear him pant, the air whistling over his teeth but the ache between your thighs isn’t fading away. If anything it’s getting worse as you try to pull yourself back together, trembling against Carrillo’s body because you don’t necessarily trust yourself to stand on your own quite yet and apparently neither does Javier, rolling his forehead on the space between your shoulder blades. 

After a few moments he straightens and you feel his eyes on you as clearly as you do his hand, stroking down your side and squeezing your hip. He starts digging through the desk then, opening and shutting drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, wiping his cum from your skin with what you assume to be an extra shirt Carrillo keeps in his desk, always prepared.

Your fingers unclench from the shirt he’s wearing, sliding over his stomach to pull on his belt because you aren’t satisfied, won’t be until you know what it feels like to make him fall apart right along with you. You mouth at his neck, slipping your palm into the front of his khakis after you conquer the buckle and zipper. 

“You’re breaking my heart, baby,” Javier sits back in one of the abandoned chairs, his voice hoarse and colored with exertion, and if you didn’t know any better you might think he’s serious, that his feelings are well and truly bruising with your efforts to get in Carrillo’s pants, still greedy for more after he had his turn with you. 

“Fuck off, Javier,” You say it without any real venom against Carrillo’s skin and the other man might have barked out a chuckle, bared in his teeth in something that might have been a grin, but the only thing you can focus on is the way Carrillo groans when you close your fingers around his cock and stroke. You want to hear it again and again, want to have it vibrate through you while he’s pressed impossibly close. 

He’s a sight as he pulls himself away from you, his uniform shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, unbuttoned now and his undershirt wrinkled from your fingers, his jaw set and you have to turn, all loose limbed and soft as you seat yourself on the desk, able to finally peel your jeans the rest of the way off and spreading your thighs in blatant invitation. He takes it, slotting his hips between your knees and wrenching you to him and you’re able to wind your arms around his wide shoulders like you’ve been craving to.

You rub yourself against him, your breath catching in your throat from how your sensitized cunt slips across the coarse fabric and it almost hurts, sharp and corrosive in the way it floods through you, dissolving in its wake. But you can’t stop, chasing after the pleasure with a whining moan because he’s just watching you, eyeing the slowly growing wet spot on the front of his underwear because of it and you squeeze your thighs around him, trying to spur him on. 

"Horacio,” The name slips out unbidden, tinged with something you can’t describe and it’s the magic word. He huffs as if he’s coming back to himself, as if he’s realized that he can move, that you really do want this despite the circumstances. Despite Javier watching with rapt attention and a fresh cigarette.

He doesn’t make you let go of him, doesn’t make you pull him out because you’re clinging to him so sweet and nice and purring for him that he can’t imagine it and you’re grateful. Actually grateful that you can keep yourself wound around him, touching and tasting like you’ve thought about for months now, raking your fingers through his short hair and arching against him until you’re balancing on the very edge of the desk, his arms the only things keeping you from slipping right off.

And then you’re being split open. 

You warble something that might have been his name, choking on it and you scramble at his shoulders for a better grip. He groans deep in his chest, rough and filthy as his head drops to your neck and it’s overwhelming. You want to blame it on the fact you’ve already cum, that you’re still overly sensitive from Javier because he’s making you feel better than he has any right to as harsh as he is, as stone faced. As mean.

But then his hand is slipping between your thrusting bodies and he’s anything but, unerringly finding your clit and it’s almost embarrassing. It’s almost embarrassing how hard your body jerks, grinding into his calloused fingers while he breaks you apart, your cunt pulsing around him as he keeps up the onslaught, hips snapping into yours. 

You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, as the pleasure sweeps through you, glimmering and razor sharp and you say his name again, only this time mewling and shattered. And it’s the combination of everything that does him in; your cunt fluttering around his cock, your voice in his ear saying his name like that, you trying to pull him infinitely closer. He grunts as he spills himself within you, the sound strangled and you can’t help but gather his face in your hands to pull it to your own, slanting your lips against his and drinking it down.

Your thighs are quivering as you pant into each other’s mouths, Carrillo almost languidly stirring his cock in you as you both come down. You didn’t expect it— didn’t expect any of this to actually come to fruition, to exist somewhere outside of your mind and the four walls of your bedroom but here you are. The smoke from Javier’s cigarette hangs in the air and Carrillo— Horacio, now, is nosing underneath your jaw, staying right where he is and kissing the salt from your skin. If an ache wasn’t blooming between your legs, in your thighs and your hips you don’t know if you’d believe it happened at all, letting the memories turn hazy in the sunlight that’s only a few short hours away.

But it is and when you blink your eyes open you see Javier looking at you with an unreadable expression, flicking his eyes to Horacio and back again and a different heat starts to suffuse your body, this one prickling and bordering on uncomfortable. That’s when you unlock your ankles from behind Horacio’s back, your heart slipping into a nervous rhythm and you don’t want to press your palms into his shoulders and apply pressure, telling him to move without so many words but you do because you can’t take it.

Can’t take the way Javier is looking at you, can’t take how much you want Horacio to stay, to wonder and find out if he stays as gentle as this when the fog clears from his head. 

You can’t take the way he’s looking at you either as he shifts, following the directive of your hands and you swallow the gasp that tries to burst from your mouth when his cock slips from you. You weren’t expecting this either, how bereft you feel without him filling you up, without him in your arms if you’re being honest with yourself. You can’t even blame it on the alcohol, not really. None of you had drank that much, the bottle still not empty after being passed between the three of you and now on its side, knocked over at some point from your combined haste but miraculously unbroken as it lays there on the corner of the desk, liquid pooling on the linoleum below.

Javier is the one who sees it first and throws Horacio’s crumpled, used shirt on the caustic puddle while you’re pulling your jeans up, dressing as if your clothes could become your shield from the emotions that are trying to flay you alive.

“Are you okay?” It’s Horacio who asks how you are while you button your blouse, his voice gruff and threaded with something that’s going to haunt you.

“I’m good, I promise,” You try for a light smile, like you’re not turned inside out, like you won’t keep thinking about this for the rest of the night and maybe into the day when you have to pretend like everything is fine, that nothing has changed. 

Javier throws the shirt onto the desk then and it hits with a wet plop that makes you cringe. You see Horacio’s mouth thin, any traces of the softness from just moments ago bleeding away and you want it back. 

But it will have to wait for another time, maybe a better time or none at all because Javier is crushing the end of his cigarette into an ashtray and picking his leather jacket off the back of a chair, looking at you expectantly because he knows you can’t refuse him, not without revealing anything. “Ready to go?” And maybe Horacio has some inkling about the arrangement, gleaned from comments that have piled up over the weeks and months but maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he thinks you’re going home with the agent, not bumming a ride to the same apartment building because you were naïve and are now complacent.

You nod, looking again at Horacio and running your eyes over him, as if you don’t want to forget how he looks in this moment despite everything. His uniform a mess, cock tucked back into his pants but his belt staying unbuckled for the moment and for one second, one harebrained second, you think about kissing him. Just kissing him, just a peck— just enough for him to maybe know.

But you don’t. 

“Goodnight, Horacio,” Your lips wrap around the syllables, turning his name into something gentle as you drift towards the door after Javier.

The Colonel nods and you think you might see his lips part but the shadows make it impossible to tell and you don’t know what’s in his eyes either, just know that they feel heavy on your skin. Javier calls your name and you finally look away before you do something even more stupid than anything else you’d done tonight.

The door closes behind you and he knows you can’t hear him but he says it anyways, alone and looking at the door like you’re going to walk back in.

“Goodnight.”

[whumpywhumper]

Worse and Worse

Masterpost

Previous: Trouble

TW: Sick character, face mask, delirium, implied reference to past non-con; non-consensual touch (not sexual); forced stripping (not sexual).

This is a special addition as I wrote this as a Secret Santa gift to the one and only @walkingchemicalfire who is an amazing person and has been such a tremendous encouragement almost the entire time I’ve been writing the Markus/Lucien series. Chem is awesome; and, that’s a fact. All hail the president of the Markus Protection Squad! 

Tagging list: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @quirkykayleetam

Edit: apparently the tags weren’t working, hopefully that fixed it, idk

V***V

Markus woke up uncomfortable, bones aching, his joints tight and stiff. His head throbbed with every dull thump of his heart as it hung heavy in his chest, his mouth dry, tongue thick and cottoned with his shallow breaths through his chapped lips. The tension through his jaw traveled through the pained creases in his face, down his neck and to his back, his spine curled loosely, his arms crossed over his chest and tight in the blankets. 

Turning deeper into his pillow, he searched for any kind of comfort in the soft surface, but it didn’t give it. The fabric rubbed against the delicate skin of his face, and the simple movement felt agonizing, the pain of it traveling through his body, the sensitivity present in every millimeter of skin under the blankets. God, and he was so cold, but his limbs were coated in sweat, and when he shifted, the blanket moved, and he shivered as the chilled air of the room kissed the back of his neck. 

His body felt like it wanted to shiver, and just keep shivering, but his muscles didn’t have anything to give, the hollow, trembling ache of them almost scary in the weakness that encompassed him. Swallowing past the cottoned dry feeling of his mouth, he tried to take a deeper breath, feeling the drive for more oxygen, but his lungs objected, a rough, barking cough ripping against the back of his throat. Ribs cracking with pain, he gasped raggedly, and moaned, the sound cracking wet and bubbling through his vocal cords. 

“Easy, sweetheart, shhhhhh,” a deep, rumbling voice murmured, gentle fingers brushing over his temple and through his hair. The other person’s skin on his was cool, but soothing, and he whined at the touch, the sound cracking in his raw throat as he turned into it. “I know, sweet guy, I know, buddy, shhhhh.” 

His next breath felt like sediment in his chest, and he coughed again, the air catching in his throat, expanding in his esophagus as dense clots that he had to struggle to breathe around. When the fit was over, it was like all of the ribbing holding his body inflated just disappeared, and he sank into the softness underneath him, wishing that would feel better against his bruised muscles. 

“Is he awake?” someone asked, their voice soft but pitched to carry, the sound of bare feet on tile announcing their location. 

“Not really,” the deep voice answered with another careful stroke through Markus’s hair, “what did the doctor say?” 

“Do a breathing treatment, keep an eye on his O2, and see if we can get the fever down. Bring him in if he gets any worse.” 

“His fever is already over 103, how much worse do they want him to get?” Was the indignant response, and he heard a sigh, the sound of scruff being rubbed in exasperation. 

“We’re going to take him if his fever gets any worse, Kin, but I’m going to go and get that oxygen set up, why don’t you get the pulse ox from my bag, okay?” 

There was a frustrated hiss, but apparently they agreed, because the sound of feet on tile came back. Markus whimpered when whatever he was laying on moved, his entire body shifting as the weight distribution changed. His head was picked up, a hand sliding under his nape until he was resettled on something softer than before. “Shhh, Markus, I know baby, it’s okay.” 

His eyelids fluttered, and he blearily looked up at whoever was talking to him. The room was dim, a distant yellow light casting shadows in the otherwise dark room, and it took him second to make out Kincaid’s frame leaning over him, face barely visible. “Kin’?” he croaked, the word barely a mumble. 

The other man smiled, a splash of white teeth, but the expression was worried, and he brushed his hand over Markus’s hair again, his thumb moving gently back and forth over his temple as he knelt by what Markus realized was the couch. “Yeah, buddy, it’s me.” 

His eyebrows pressed together as he blinked slowly, and he swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in his throat. “Don’. . . feel good,” he whispered between rasping gasps. 

Kincaid’s lips pressed together, but he nodded. “I know you don’t, sweet guy, we’re gonna try and get you feeling better, okay? Do you want some water?” 

Markus nodded, licking his dry lips, and closed his eyes when Kincaid moved away. Water sounded fantastic, something to take the pain away from his dry throat. Ridding him of the awful cottoned taste in his mouth. 

Without Kincaid to keep him present though, the exhaustion started pulling him down. He was so tired, eyelids gumming together, burning with the need to stay closed. Sleep prickled at his consciousness and he settled deeper, fingers tingling, body relaxing. Something landed softly on his shoulder, and he jumped, a dry, pained noise forming in his throat, eyelids flickering back open. 

“Sorry, sweet guy,” Kincaid whispered, “here’s a straw, just small sips, okay?” 

Kincaid held up a cup of water, the coolness of a metal straw pressing against Markus’s lips. He sucked on it gratefully, swallowing down the cool water, feeling the cracked tissue of his throat soak up the fluid. When he was finished, he made a small appreciative sound, and released it, breathing shallowly, fighting the urge to cough and clear his throat again. His ribs hurt already, and he didn’t want to cough again.  

“Okay, Markus,” Kincaid rumbled, his voice passing through Markus’s chest and soothing him, “I got a pulse ox here that I need to clip to your finger, so I’m gonna need your hand, alright?” 

He blinked, nodding slightly in acknowledgement, and clumsily tried to extricate him hand from the knit that he’d managed to tangle his fingers in. 

At his grumpy noise, Kincaid chuckled, and peeled back the layers, worming his way into the blanket to free him. “I’m just gonna invade your space a little, sweet guy,” he said, clipping the familiar weight of the pulse ox around his forefinger, wincing in sympathy when Markus started shivering harder as cooler air plundered his warmth. “I know you’re cold, buddy, I’m sorry, but it’s just the fever, alright?” 

“Yeah. . . “ he breathed, the word small as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His next breath shuddered into his chest, and he turned his face into the pillow as a cough erupted, ravaging his throat, crunching his ribs together with an all too familiar ache. “Nnn. . . “ 

“Fuck, baby,” Kincaid whispered, his big hand settling on Markus’s nape, his thumb rubbing gently against his sensitive skin. “Yeah, we need that breathing treatment. Ben!” he called, voice not particularly loud but definitely worried. 

The sick witch didn’t really even hear him, his lungs struggling for air as he hid his eyes in the pillow, shaking. He could hear movement and voices, but he didn’t try to focus on the words anymore, exhausted, just wanting to sleep, more coughs wracking his frame, making him hurt even worse. “. . . really low. . . “ 

“. . . getting higher?” 

“…breathing treat—. . . bath. . .” 

“Yeah. . . —up” 

Markus was rolled onto his back, and he moaned as the ache in his joints protested, his head bobbling when an arm slid under his shoulders and knees, lifting him into a bridal carry against a broad chest. He wheezed a little, eyelashes fluttering as he shifted, anxiety thrumming through him when he realized he couldn’t move, his arms trapped against his chest. 

“Shhhh, I gotcha, baby,” lips pressed against his forehead, and that glimmer of magic spread through him, making him settle slightly as those frantic memories of helplessness receded. 

The surface he was placed on was soft, or it should have been, if his miserable body didn’t turn every experience into anguish. His whine as he was settled was met with a matched pair of shushing noises. Another pair of cool hands brushing across his overly hot cheeks. There was an overwhelming kindness there, in those hands, and something deeper, blossoming, something that felt familiar but not

at the same time.

But then there was something cold and wet laid over his throat. 

Panic made him thrash, losing the thread of that emotion, with memories of cold tongues laving over his pulse bubbling up and forming into a weak and pitiful struggle that he wouldn’t give up no matter how fruitless. “. . no—“ he managed to croak before coughing again, no, I’m not going back, no you can’t make me, no please, god, no. 

He sobbed when he was restrained, the sound broken and cracked from the film it was forced through, more shushing sounds that did nothing to soothe the new panic that was building, re-surging, in his chest. He coughed again and again, searching for air, fear searing through him with dizziness and pain. 

“God, fuck—“ 

“—delirious. . . . temp down—“ 

“—ere are the dampeners?” 

Hands that felt bruising and rough to his overly sensitive body held him down, easily trapping his arms back in a material he couldn’t fight through, and he couldn’t feel anything anymore other than the cold weight over his throat. His sobbing drew tight into wire thin sounds that barely made it to his mouth, his eyes closed so tightly that the tears were only able to seep free to make their way down the sides of his face as his head tipped back in search of a way to worm his way free. 

The assault didn’t stop. Strong, calloused hands pulling his arms free and wrapping something around first one wrist then the other, dousing him in cold as he was manhandled and the blanket was stripped from him, stealing whatever warmth he’d managed to capture. 

His crying stole the breath from his lungs, and his struggles weakened into panicked wheezes when something was fitted over his nose and mouth, a sweet medicinal taste coating his tongue as hands returned to his skin, lifting his head and tightening a strap around the back of his head. Markus shook his head in weak denial, pleading with small, wet gasps that barely formed syllables let alone words. No, please, I don’t wanna be sick anymore, I wanna go home, please, lemme go home. He lifted his shaking hands, reaching for the mask, but he was intercepted, and, instead, weak fingers clutched a thick wrists, grabbing at clothing as his heels dug into the bed, and he tried to propel himself away. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” a voice slid through the desperate confusion when his grabbing hands were untangled, pushed back so that they were out of the way, and he shook his head again as thumbs brushed over the apples of his cheeks, around the mask. 

“Markus, Markus, look at me.” 

He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to see Lucien or faceless people hovering over him, hurting him, sticking and draining and tearing into him piece by piece as he struggled to put one breath after the other. He coughed, almost retching with the force of it, struggling against the hands on his face. 

“Fuck, Bambi,” the voice bit out, a command for attention, “open your eyes and look at me.” 

His eyelids slid open reluctantly, a burning itching at his glassy gaze, but he focused sluggishly on the figure in his line of sight. Ben’s face formed from the shadows, and Markus sobbed, reaching for him, hiccuping thick breaths as Ben leaned in, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pulling him into his arms. A hand settled into his hair, brushing back the damp strands as Ben shushed him with quick little quelling noises. The wet thing around his throat fell, and Markus flinched with a whimper, clinging to the solid frame that was holding him. 

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, shhhhhh,” Ben murmured, pressing his lips to Markus’s forehead, rocking him gently, “it’s okay, Bambi, we’ve gotcha, shhhhh, just breathe, okay? Just breathe, like me. In... Out....In...” 

His fevered weeping trailed off into pitiful sniffles, his breaths settling the longer he was held, his unconscious struggles softening into minute trembling as he melted into Ben’s arms, against that strong chest as Markus was pulled against the other man. 

“That’s it, baby,” Ben praised, murmuring into his hair, continuing to rock him slowly, “that’s it, there ya go, just breathe, let the medicine do its work, okay?” The plastic on his face was adjusted as Markus’s eyelids became too heavy to keep up, but now he could hear the gentle thathump of Ben’s heartbeat as it lulled him into a sense of safety rather than frantic panic, and he didn’t try to shake the thing on his face off again, a lingering tear tickling his clumped eyelashes. “Kincaid’s running a bath for you,” Ben continued, his voice a comforting thunder against Markus’s ear, “and we’re gonna get your temperature down, okay? You don’t have any reason to be scared, we’re taking care of you, Bambi, shhhhh.” 

Ben kept up the steady cadence of reassurance that mixed with the soft hiss that filled the room, and Markus slipped down into a limp lethargy that let him skim against the surface. His coughs spaced out slowly, the tight bands around his lungs starting to loosen.

He could hear the deep murmur of another voice join in with Ben’s, that rumble against his eardrum switching rhythm to conversation, but he couldn’t help his hitched breathing, the flutter of eyelashes when he felt the buttons of his flannel being undone, more cold meeting his skin with an icy touch. Nonono, please. . . 

The rumbling voices rose with a dangerous edge, but the hands on him didn’t stop. 

“—he’s scared, damnit!” 

“. . .gotta happen—“ 

A sob fell from his mouth, wet and desperately confused as he was undressed, but his limbs continued to be maneuvered and his clothes were pulled from him despite his weak struggles. Ben’s voice came back, gentle, pleading to be understood, but Markus couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want this to happen again. Please, Lucien, no, stop, stopstopstop, nooo. . . 

“—sorry, ba— “ 

“—in the water. . .“ 

Markus almost lost being picked up to his fear, the swooping of his stomach causing a tight swallow behind the mask as his head lolled against a broad shoulder, body limp.  

The second his skin touched cold water, however, he became a live wire, arching away with a hoarse cry and a splash as one of his flailing limbs caught the liquid. No matter how hard he struggled, however, his fever weakened frame didn’t have the strength to fight back properly, and he was inexorably lowered into the freezing water. 

His hoarse cries turned into weak whimpers as he started shivering so hard that his teeth chattered, but there was no mercy to be found as a second pair of hands joined the first, holding his legs under the water as a big hand was placed over his chest, keeping him from sitting up. Markus tried to weakly pry it off, but ended up just holding on to that thick wrist, his fingers pulling at it with pleading that turned into raspy coughs. 

“. . .keep him still, Kin—“ 

“—not cold—“ 

“You’re okay—“ 

“—ght here, ba—“ 

The hand on the nape of his neck, keeping him from sliding completely into the water, was inconsequential compared to the misery he was suffering, but it was gentle, a thumb brushing back and forth just under his ear in a soothing caress. 

He didn’t know how long it took, but, eventually, the teeth chattering shivers settled into weak, body aching trembling, his breaths transforming from tight, hitching gasps into shuddering sighs. The fight to get free, to get out of the water, quieted, and he was peripherally aware of the fact that the hands on his legs went away, that his lungs had opened, and he was able to get more air that didn’t escape into painful coughing. 

The low roar of his pulse in his ears separated from the quiet, soothing reverberation of a deep voice in his ear, starting to make sense again as his brain was removed from the broiling pan. “—’s okay, sweet guy, not much longer,” the voice, that Markus was dimly realizing belonged to Kincaid, murmured, “your temperature’s going down, you’re gonna feel so much better soon, I promise.” Sluggishly, Markus forced his eyelids up to half-mast, glassy eyes looking up at Kincaid as he tried to pull himself from the soupy mire of his feverish mind. He could feel the oxygen mask still over his face, taste albuterol and whatever else Ben had mixed together for him, and he wanted out of the water. 

Kincaid’s red rimmed, honeyed eyes met his, and the bigger man gave an anemic smile, leaning down so Markus didn’t have to struggle to see him against the bright backdrop of the bathroom light. “Hey, sweet guy, there you are.” The hand over his chest lifted from the water with an unsteady pitter patter of droplets, and Markus slightly leaned into the other man’s touch as those wet knuckles brushed over his cheek. 

“Nnn. . .’s cold. . . “ he groaned, swallowing with a dry click, eyes closing again with fatigue.  

“I know, but your temp was way too high,” Kincaid murmured, dragging his knuckles down Markus’s cheek again, “just a little longer, and we’ll get you out of the tub and into something comfortable, okay?” 

Markus nodded, just barely an incline of his head, realizing that at some point he must have let go of Kincaid because he was fully submerged in the water, his hands floating at his sides, and he was completely dependent on the other witch to keep from drowning in the tub. He didn’t think he would have the energy to pull himself from the water, and that should have scared him, but instead he felt safe with Kincaid holding him out of the water. With the gentle touch to his face.

 His brow furrowed when he couldn’t feel Kincaid though, foggy eyes opening back up to look around with confusion. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Kincaid asked, still hovering over him, worry lines prominent over his face. 

He took a deep, wheezing breath, trying to get enough oxygen to be heard through the mask, trying to look around more, gaze unfocused, anxiety spiking as he realized he could feel his magic but nothing else. “. . . can’t. . . can’t feel. . . “ 

“Shhhh,” Kincaid soothed, cupping Markus’s cheek and guiding his gaze back, “we had to put the dampeners on, okay? You were fighting us pretty hard.” His face crumpled a little bit, before firming, his thumb brushing under Markus’s eye. “We didn’t want something to happen on accident, we’ll take ‘em off later, okay?” 

The dampeners made sense. Deanna had made them when he was in the hospital, too weak to have free rein of using his magic without hurting himself or other people if he happened to lash out in fear. Too exhausted to protest, Markus breathed out a hum of acknowledgement and closed his eyes as the door to the bathroom opened. 

“How’s it going?” Ben whispered as he padded closer. 

“Woke up a second ago, seemed a lot clearer. Think it’s about time he got out of the tub?” 

“Lemme check his temp first,” Ben answered. A few seconds later something rolled over his forehead to his temple with a small beep, but Markus didn’t care what it was, still shivering in the cool water, hot tears starting to slip down his cheeks again. I want out. . . ’s so cold. . . please, Ben. . . 

“Okay, 101.5, that’s a lot better. Thank god, let’s get him out of the tub. Markus, are you awake, baby?” 

He opened his eyes again, looking blearily up at Ben, nodding lethargically. “Mmn. . .”  

Ben smiled softly at him, leaning over him with his hand splayed over the wall, his t-shirt dark in places with water splashes and hair sticking up in a wild array. “Hey there, Bambi,” he said, “you look a lot better than you did earlier, that’s for sure. We’re gonna get you settled, okay?” 

Markus nodded again, trying to gather his limbs to get himself out of the tub. He was shaky now, kitten weak, but he could move. His hands, however, were slippery on the tile, and god, he was sore all over. 

“I gotcha,” Kincaid murmured, gathering him up under the shoulders and knees despite the fact that he was going to get sopping wet, “you don’t gotta worry about doing anything, okay?”

Markus whined as he was picked up, the pathetic noise making him feel ashamed no matter how exhausted he was, but the air was like icy sleet against his skin, and he turned his face into the other man’s shoulder. He was sat on the counter, refusing to move his face from the refuge he’d found in Kincaid’s warmth. The oxygen mask was digging into his nose, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten used to the damn things when he was in the hospital, and no matter that the albuterol taste had largely dissipated from the oxygen he was breathing, it still evoked enough memories for him to both be comforted with the fact that he could breathe and freaked out by the fact that he was having to wear one again. The memories of being helpless, unable to take care of himself, yo-yoing with getting sick and getting better, again and again. 

He hated this. 

Gently, Ben dried him while Kincaid served as a leaning post, keeping him secure with a hand on the back of his neck and back. The towel was soft on his skin, and he would normally be self conscious of the still vivid scars over his torso, over the fact that he was naked and hadn’t removed his own clothes. 

But he was too tired to even pretend to give a shit. 

Now that the fever had lessened, he was comfortable with these two men helping him, taking care of him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen all of him before, helping him with hygiene in the hospital, with physical therapy. It wasn’t like he could really do it himself right then, either. 

Markus wrapped his arms around Kincaid’s neck at his gentle prompting, and Kincaid picked him up to his feet, one arm wrapped around his back and the other firmly on his hip. “Lift your foot, bud,” he murmured. They both helped him dress. Ben knelt by his feet and pulled the sweats up his trembling legs until Markus was encased in the warm, soft material, the waistline loose around his hips. When they pulled one of his warm flannels over his arms, Markus realized he was wearing a pair of Ben’s sweats, a pair that he’d commented looked like they were made of clouds. 

“Hmm. . . “ he smiled weakly, half-lidded eyes looking at Ben, “y’rem’bered.” 

Ben grinned, pushing Markus’s towel dried hair out of his face as Kincaid breathed out a laugh as he bent to scoop Markus off of the floor. “Figured being sick was a good opportunity to see if you thought they were as soft as you’d expected.” “. . .s’soft,” he hummed, turning his head back into the crook of Kincaid’s neck. 

“Good, baby, I’m really glad.” 

By the time Markus was laid down on something soft, he was mostly asleep in Kincaid’s arms. With the fever down, his body was crying out for rest, for sleep. But when Kincaid moved away, he whimpered, eyes still closed and reaching for him. 

“Shhh, sweet guy,” the bigger man soothed, kissing him gently on the forehead, “we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

“‘kay. . .” he whispered, breath slowing as he fell closer to sleep, barely aware that a blanket was draped over him. He was safe; they wouldn’t leave him alone. 

Markus wasn’t going to be alone again. 

The low rumble of Ben and Kincaid’s voices in the apartment soothed him, made him settle, and, calm sleep stealing over him. He was pulled out of it a short time later when a large hand smoothed over his hair, soft lips on his forehead. He made a low sound of acknowledgement, but he didn’t open his eyes, until he heard Ben’s huffed chuckle. 

The other man was in a fresh, dry set of lounge clothes, kneeling in front of what he realized was the couch. Kincaid sat on the coffee table, also in fresh, soft clothes, leaning forward with a complicated mix of concern and warm appreciation for the scene in front of him. 

“D’you want us to stay with you, Bambi?” Ben asked, voice sotto, his long fingers softly brushing through Markus’s hair. 

Blinking was a chore Markus wasn’t interested in, and he let his eyes slide closed, licking his lips and taking a deep breath of that damp, humid air before giving his answer. “....please...”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Ben responded, kissing him on the forehead. Carefully, he and Kincaid settled onto the couch next to him, his head in Ben’s lap and his legs in Kincaid’s. The flash of the tv soaked through his eyelids, the murmur of voices and the occasional smattering of a laugh track pressing into his doze, but Markus didn’t think he’d been this comfortable while sick since he was a child. 

The last think he heard, before sleep fully claimed him, was, “Joey doesn’t share food!” 

[emmyrosee]

Morning Sickness (fluff)

@anxiousamandapanda said “Ever see that episode of Friends...” 

honestly that’s all i need for motivation😂

But the rest of the request was “Ever see the episode of Friends where Monica is trying to convince Chandler she isn't sick? Chandler just responds to her all snarky and sarcastic every time she hits on him. Eventually she ends up seducing him by putting vaporub on herself. Idk why but I can picture Roman being Chandler in that situation. Yus, take that and run with it. Silly fluff with a smutty end? lol”

I had no intentions of turning this into a full piece, but I could not, for the life of me, resist. Your prompts always have that effect on me! I also changed it slightly because this got very self indulgent, please forgive me!

WARNINGS: language, sexual themes, sick!reader, Roman’s pretty OOC

Roman Godfrey x Reader; when you fall sick, you’d rather die than give in to Roman. Despite his desires to get you better, you know Roman’s true desires.

This was super cute and I loved it so much. 

“Darling, if you don’t get back in bed in five seconds, I’m carrying you there,” Roman sings at you, his stupid, clear voice mocking you. How he even saw you was a mystery, he was on the chair facing away from the goddamned bedroom.

“I’m not going and you can’t make me,” you retort nasally. In truth, you would love nothing more than to curl up in you nice warm bed and sleep the pounding in your head and face off, but you couldn’t. Things had to be done around the house, Nadia would have to be fed and changed, and it would be a cold day in Hell when you let Roman say ‘I told you so’ in regards to you being sick.

He flips the page in his newpaper, not looking up at you. “One...”

You scoff, “don’t be ridiculous.”

“Two...”

“I am not a child, Roman!”

“Three...” he slowly starts to fold his newspaper.

“W-w-wait!” You stop him. “Why don’t you come to bed with me?” You quickly stride over to his chair. He nods as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, making him suddenly tense up. 

“Come on daddy,” you croon, only being cut off by a cough to clear your pained throat. He quickly shrugs you off and stands up, letting out a nervous chuckle, clearly avoiding you and your illness.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” He wraps and arm around your shoulder and slowly marches you to the bedroom, fighting his natural instinct to embrace the little suckles you place along his neck.

“Sure thing, Doctor Godfrey,” you groan, using your free hand to smack his ass. He jumps in the air with a yelp, glaring at you. “Let’s play doctor.”

“Let’s play ‘going to bed willingly so my boyfriend doesn’t have to tie me to it,’” Roman scoffs, bringing you to the soft mattress you both shared.

You sniff loudly, “oh, you wanna tie me down?” You purr, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.

Roman sighs, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. “I guess I really walked into that one.”

“Yes,” you answer. “Yes you did.”

“You stay right here,” Roman commands, completely ignoring the last interaction. “I’m going to make you some tea.”

“I’ll come help you,” you offer, swinging your legs over the bed. Roman huffs, “no, you stay here. Would you like a sweatshirt?”

“I don’t need one,” you grumble. You stand up but quickly are sat back down by Roman, unable to fight back because of the spinning room.

“Please, do not fight me on this,” Roman practically begs, his hands squeezing your shoulders to stabilize you. You can tell his patience was wearing thin, but you were not about to let him win.

“Fine,” you say in annoyance. He sighs in relief and gently lays the covers back over you before walking to the closet and tossing you one of his hoodies.

“Better?” He asks. You nod, plan brewing in your fever-ridden, spinning head. He plants a gentle kiss to your hair before walking to the door. “Other than tea, what can I get you?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. He rolls his eyes before leaving you alone, and you quickly jump up, ignoring the hard pounding in your head from moving so fast to put your plan into action.

Moments later, Roman’s loud boot steps roar over the finished wooden floor. “Okay, I’ve got some tea with honey and lem-” he stops himself as he enters, looking up from the teacup. You stand on your side of the bed, a lacy bra and panties on. Your visibly shivering and swaying, unable to focus on Roman, but your hair is tossed over one of your shoulders, knowing the exposure to your neck makes him crazy. There’s a glossy substance on your fingers and on your chest, and you know he knows it’s vapor rub, just by the smell.

“This is cheating,” Roman says, swallowing thickly. You tilt your head, “well, I wasn’t going to get it on your hoodie.”

“So you took off your pants too?”

“I have a fever, I was hot.” Your hand dips gently into the valley between your breasts, letting out a raspy, hushed moan. you smile softly as Roman’s Adam’s apple bobs with each hungry, desired swallow.

“Come on, Doctor Godfrey,” you sigh blissfully. “I need you to rub Vapor Rub on my chest. Please?”

“No,” he murmurs, fighting as hard as he can against looking back down his body. He sounds unsure of his answer, and you smile wider. “You should be in bed.”

“And I told you I wasn’t going without you,” you say, hushed. slowly, you stumble over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Come on, Romeo... bring me to the bed.. I’m so dreadfully hot...”

His eye twitches as he fights to keep his composure, teacup shaking in his hand.

“You’re a devil woman, you are aware of this, correct?”

“Eyup,” you answer, popping the ‘p.’ He sets the cup down on his bureau, finally letting his warm hands caress your body. It gives you goosebumps, but there’s no better feeling than having Roman in the palm of your hand.

“Why don’t I go check on Nadia while you get in bed? I’ll be back shortly.” He pushes his hips flush to yours, and you moan so quietly you barely hear it. You nod and release him, crawling on the bed to wait for him to ravage you.

Except.

It doesn’t happen.

Roman descended the stairs and entered the shared room, snickering as your mouth releases quiet snores. Half of your body is on his side, and he can’t fight the fondness in his heart. A gently covers you with what he can of the sheets and his hoodie, before leaving you sleep.

“Works every time,” he mutters to himself, turning out the light and gently shutting the door.

Tagging (new tag list! yay!)💕

@peachesandfern @anxiousamandapanda @rosegoldrichie @hecohansen31 @blakewaterxx @w0nder-marie @babyboy-cody

[i-write-about-anything]

Baby Daddies Part 23

Requested: idk why but i’m having some serious baby fever. could you something with a character(s) of your choosing with kids that’s super fluffy and amazing like the rest of your writing?

(you have two children with two different baby daddies lol bye)

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader, Issac Lahey x Reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22

Third Person POV

“Him or me.” Stiles’ voice was soft. (Y/N) looked at him before taking a step back from him. Sure, she knew eventually this was coming but she didn’t think Stiles would be the one giving her an ultimatum. She looked down at her feet causing Stiles to sigh. “Is it really that hard for you to choose?” Stiles soft voice was now covered with hurt.  

“It’s not that and you know it.” (Y/N) spoke looking at Stiles. “Isaac is always going to be there, he’s always going to be around, he’s Amy’s father Stiles. You know I love you, more than anything in the world. You were the one that made me feel complete again.” She stepped towards him and placed her hand on his forearm. “I love you Stiles and you know I'd choose you over anyone, any day. But no matter what I choose, Isaac is always going to be there, he’s the one that can control me when I shift, he’s the one that can be hurt by me and heal, I can’t do that with you, I won’t. I won’t put you in danger.”  

“So that’s it, you’re choosing him?” Stiles looked (y/n) in the eyes, his eyes already spilling tears uncontrollably.  

“I’m not choosing him Stiles.” (Y/N) sighed.  

“Then who?” His voice was loud causing the door to Isaac’s house to open.  

“My kids. I’m choosing my kids.” She looked at Stiles in the eyes, her eyes filled with pain, she hated the fact that she had done this to Stiles, to Isaac, to both of them. “They’re the ones that are the most important right now.” (Y/N) dropped her hand from Stiles’ arm. “And I think you should take that job; it would give us both sometime to calm down. If you still love me when you’re back then we can talk, but I won’t be choosing anyone, not today. Not ever. I fell in love with you Stiles, with the intent to love you for the rest of my life and nothing has changed. But you haven’t made this any easy either and you need to wake up and smell the god damn coffee. I needed you Stiles, when Amy was home from the hospital, I was alone. We were supposed to be a pair but instead you let Isaac get in your head, sure I could’ve made things easier too by staying away from him but it’s not my fault that my damn werewolf instincts are only controlled by him. But instead of fighting with Isaac you should have helped me, you should have offered to learn from him but that’s the things Stiles, you let your ego get the best of you. Take the job, take your mind off of me.” Stiles shook his head wiping his tears.  

“And how the hell am I supposed to trust that you won’t be here.” Stiles pointed to Isaac’s home. “At Isaac’s house, kissing him, letting him touch you? How do I know you won’t do that?” Stiles crossed his arms.  

“If you think that low of me, then I don’t think we should ever get back together. I kissed him, before you came. But all I could think about was you. Which is why I was prepared to get my space from him already. You giving me an ultimatum was uncalled for and you shouldn’t have done it. But I get why you did; I'd be upset too if you were out there kissing someone like Lydia.” (Y/N) looked down. “I know I fucked up in this relationship, and I'm owning up to it. But I just think that right now what’s best for all of us is for you to go away, Isaac will be here,” (Y/N) pointed to Isaac’s house. “And I'll be at our house with our kids. I will not talk to neither of you unless it concerns our kids. It’s time I focus on them, it’s time we all focus on just them.” (Y/N) smiled at Stiles before walking back into Isaac’s house.  

“Are you really not going to talk to me?” Isaac spoke softly as he followed (Y/N) into the living room.  

“It’s what’s best. You have to trust that I'm doing this for the best, okay.” (Y/N) picked up Peter in her arms before grabbing Amy’s hand and walking out of the house and looking at Stiles who still stood where she had left him. “Come visit them before you leave, I’ll even say goodbye.” (Y/N) smiled at Stiles before walking next door to her own home, the one that held hundreds of photos of her and Stiles. She closed the front door behind her and led Amy to her room before laying Peter down on his bed. Once she made it safely into her room, she shut her door and locked it, instantly sliding down the wall and covering her face with her hands. Her sobs started almost immediately as she felt her heart break into a million pieces. She hated that she had just let down both of the men she cared about but she knew that this was what was best for everyone. Stiles’ feet were glued to the ground as he looked at his own home, the one he hadn’t slept at in weeks.  

“She’s crying.” Isaac spoke causing Stiles to look at him, Isaac’s eyes focused on her bedroom window.  

“Tell me you’ll stay away from her.” Stiles spoke.  

“You know I can’t.” Isaac spoke.  

“Please!” Stiles yelled and Isaac sighed. “I’m begging you Isaac, just focus on Amy. I’ll focus on Peter. Let her be alone, like she wants to be and if when I return, she doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Stiles sighed looking up at her bedroom window. “I’ll let you have the chance you’ve always wanted.” Isaac sighed and Stiles looked at him.  

“Fine, but I’m not doing this for you.” Stiles rolled his eyes before looking at his house again. His heart ached as he walked to his truck and drove off. He had hoped they would resolve everything, that she would tell him not to take the job, that he would have embraced her and kissed her lips that he missed terribly but it all went sideways and now all hope he once had, was gone. 

___

Story tags; @beaiiir

forever tags; @bojabee @imperfect-circle @dakotapaigelove @a-gir1-has-n0-name @riverdalehoeeeeeee @sabertooth-potato @heyitscam99

[evans-addicted]

Heat Protocol a/b/o (Bucky x Reader) part 4/?

Continued in Bucky POV.

Summary: you are a geneticist working in Cuba with Banner when Banner decides to go back to the Tower upon the regeneration of the Avengers after the Tony, Cap, Bucky fiasco.  Reader is Omega in Alpha territory but she wants to change the way this caste system works. Will she be able to make it through a heat unscathed with her and Bucky locked in her room? WHA!

Warnings: Anger, swearing (always, I’m like a fucking sailor), mention of almost rape, sexual innuendos, and idk just 18+ ok.

Words: 1,297

You looked at her desk, cluttered with scientific crap you wouldn’t understand. Pictures of cells and the DNA strand. Hey, you recognized that one from the video on Dino DNA in the Jurassic Park movie you watched with Steve. She had lots of books. Mostly medical and science books. She had a small selection of mystery novels on her bookshelf, along with a few photos of children and her from what looks like from her time in Cuba. She seems to like collecting agates. You’ll have to get her one after this.

You decided to lay down on the cot and try to get some rest. You wanted to make sure you were there for her when she woke up. You dozed off quickly. You woke up to the sounds of Y/N moaning. You sat up and looked over. She was tossing and turning a lot and she was covered in sweat. You ran over to check the monitor she was wearing. It started beeping immediately. Her fever broke the 101 mark. You ran to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth and drenched it in cold water, not bothering to ring it out. You placed it on her forehead and she winced.

“Shhh Y/N it’s ok. You’ll be ok.” You tried to reassure her. Not sure if she can hear you. The damn monitor kept beeping. 103, then 104.

“Mr. Barnes, would you like me to call for assistance” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimed in. “No, I can do this. Can you turn on the AC and vent out the room? I need to take off my mask” you yelled back. “The air conditioning has been on in here for the past hour sir. It is not recommended that you remove your mask as I cannot vent the room enough to remove all the pheromones” she replied.

“Come on damn it” you mumbled as you ran to the bathroom to run a cold bath. You picked up Y/N and took her to the bath.You removed her sweats and then slowly placed her in the water. She moaned in discomfort but still did not wake up. You removed your mask, not caring what happened. All you knew is you had to help her. That’s all you needed to do. This was your mission.

A burst of her scent hit you right away and it felt like a punch to the face. You saw only black and then sparks started appearing until your vision came back into focus. That fucking beeping is still going! You looked at the watch, it read 105. FUCK!

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. get Banner here stat and unlock the door please” you yelled as your eyes started to water. What was going on? Why wouldn’t her temperature go down. You held her head above water with one hand while running water over her forehead with the other until Bruce and basically everyone else came running in.

“What’s wrong?” a disheveled Banner asks.

“She’s burning up and I can’t get her temp down,” you tell him shakily. You hold up the watch to show him the temp is at 105. “Help her” you muster before tears start rolling down your face.

Bruce yells for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to tell Dr. Cho to prepare the med center for a patient and pull the records from her monitor. “What the hell happened? Why is she unconscious?” he asks hurriedly.

“Ya what the hell did you do to her!” yelled Sam from behind Banner, Steve, and Nat.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP WILSON! I didn’t do anything to her.” You screamed. Looking at the doc “I swear I didn’t do anything to her” you pleaded.

“I believe you” as he put his hand on your shoulder. “”Let’s get her to medical okay?”

You nodded and picked her up out of the bath. Nat grabbed the towels hanging on the rack and placed them around her like a blanket.

Steve asked “You need me to help”

“No, I got her”

“Are you sure?”  

“I SAID I GOT HER!”

With that he put his hands up and let you pass, leaving the bathroom and walking past her desk, you nodded towards it “she drank what was in there and said it would help her heat go away faster”.

“Damn it she didn’t!” Banner exclaimed as he motioned for Steve and Nat to “bring all this to the lab”.

Once in the lab, you placed her on the bed as directed by Cho. Her and Banner with a few other nurses got to work quickly placing monitors and sensors on your temples, heart, and wrists. They placed a plastic blanket over her that light up blue. Banner motioned to Steve to pull You back to let them work. You fought at first til “You can’t help her here man, you gotta let the doctors do their thing” Steve interjected.

About an hour later Banner came out of her room. “We got her stabilized and she’s back down to a normal temperature. I’ve done some brain scans to see if there was any damage from the high temp since a person can actually so brain dead from having a temp over 104, but there doesn’t seem to show anything out of the ordinary. We’ll have to wait to see what happens if she wakes up”

“You mean WHEN she wakes up right” You interrupted.

“I don’t honestly know what we’re dealing with yet. Tell me what happened and let me look over her research and then when I know exactly what she took, I might have a better answer. For now, it’s up in the air.

You dropped to your knees and cradled your head in your hands. Steve kneeled beside you placing his hand on your shoulder “She’ll be fine man, I have faith. Come on”

You managed to get up enough to sit in a chair. You told Banner everything she had told you about having done this for 5 years and what it did and that she said nothing ever went wrong. “She said it would be fine.” You needed him to know you wouldn’t have done this had you thought something might go wrong. “He nodded and took off his glasses. He cleaned them on his shirt and placed them back on his face. “I’m going to look at her research and see what I can find. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything” with that he patted your shoulder and went back into the lab.

You stood up pacing from one side of the hall to the other mumbling “One fucking thing. She asked me to do one fucking thing. Just watch over her and I fucked it up” then you punched a hole in the wall.

“Hey Dorothy we’re not in Kansas anymore, you can’t just be hitting things when you get mad….especially not my things” Tony trying to lighten the mood.

For the next few hours you sat in that same spot and you would not move until you knew she was ok. The others came and went throughout the night, trying to tell me it wasn’t my fault and there was nothing I could do. Only Steve stayed the entire time.

About 3 in the morning Bruce came out of the lab rubbing the bridge of his nose. You shot up out of your seat it actually scared Steve awake. “Is she up?” you asked. “No, not yet, sorry. It’s probably going to be a few more hours. But good news if I figured out what exactly she took, how much and what might have gone wrong.”

“So what happened” Steve questioned.

“Well, I want to talk to her about her calculations WHEN… he looks straight at you… ”and make sure before I spit out theories.”

So there you sat. Waiting.

***

to be continued...

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 (soon)

@buckyappreciationsociety @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

If I forgot to tag someone or mistagged someone let me know. I lost my list!!!!

[dongsooks]

Dating Bambam (Got7)

I had this done down to the tags and then Tumblr decided to ACT UP AND CRASH and all of it got lost :) No shade Tumblr but what a bitch move

when he first started liking you

he’d be a dog that barks doesn’t bite y'know?

he’d always tell the other’s about how he’ll do this and that to catch your attention

but the second you come around

he be sitting quietly in his seat

and say a high pitched greeting

one time he got you a drink

but he was so excited about giving it to you he drank it himself

and then when he saw you

he looked down and was like

‘I knew something felt wrong about drinking it’

and whenever you compliment him let’s say for performing so well

he’d take it all cool like

“Glad you liked it haha”

but then later with the members he’d be like

“shE SAiD i diD WELL”

and he isn’t bold enough to make moves on you but if anyone else was

lord he’d get pissed not even at you

but he’d be all petty and you’d cash him ousside and ask if he’s avoiding you

and he’d be like

“idk just didn’t wanna interfere with your special friend”

and you’d be like

“way to be an idiot :/”

and then he’d be like

“shit”

and decide it’s time it’s time to confess

and say sorry and he gathers his strength

and gets you a bouquet of your favourite flower and goes to your place and gives you a speech

“Y/N I’m sorry about being a weird asshole it’s just I like you and I am not a cocky and cool as I always pretend so I was scared you’d like someone else way more than me and that I’m just the weird boy trying to woo you. I am honestly sorry. I hope you can forgive me and accept me and my confession”

and you’re shook for a second because does he have a fever????

where did that serious Bambam come from whut?

But you smile and hug him and tell him you like him too

and he just fist in the air victory screech small wiggle of happiness and then he’ll get blushy like

“I’ll take you on a date tomorrow night okay?”

and you agree and he leaves

and IMMEDIATELY CALLS HIS FRIENDS

“I AM ALMOST A TAKEN MAN I CONFESSED AND DIDNT GET REJECTED”

So that date he asked you to be his and you said yes

the moment you start officially dating his shyness is gone

new Bambam who dis????

he’d come at you with the dirtiest, cheesiest, dumbest pick up lines

and he’d ask his members if they were good

but not Jinyoung a rational member

he’d ask like Mark and/or Yugyeom

and they’d hype him up so bad

so he comes at you like

“Hey, hey Y/N, what do a candle and I have in common?”

“Tell me”

“You should blow us ;)))”

and you roll your eyes and he’d pout and get defensive like

“BUT MARK SAID THAT WAS A GOOD ONE”

“BUT YOU SHOULDN’T DO THINGS IF MARK TUAN SAYS THEY ARE GOOD DON’T YOU LEARN BOY?”

So idk if you knew but Bambam’s second same is skinship

Kunpimook Skinship Bhuwakul

at least in a relatinship

he would be your damn shadow

no even closer

loves showing you off

doesn’t even care if his member will tease him

they probably did at first but then gave up bc

“Uhh Y/N and Bambam kissing, did I see right????”

“Yeah”

he would also like leaving small trails of kisses everywhere

and laying on your chest, butt, tummy

everywhere that’s not normal body consistency but softer

he would seek closeness and comfortability in a relationship

physical and emotional

like if he slept over and you’d be ready for bed cuddling and he felt you were still wearing a bra he’d frown and be like

“Free the nipple don’t be scared. Let your friends out”

and totally would burp and fart in front of you no shame

one time you two went out for a massive meal

afterwards he had an intense case of the shits

and you sat next to him holding his hand and petroleum jelly

and febreze

that’s how close you two are

so you know how when you are pregnant you need to ‘eat for two’

yeah when youu are dating Bambam you need to think for two

bc homeboy surely doesn’t sometimes

one time he asked you if you think it’d really hurts that bad if one applied  Sriracha on their anus

“Kunpimook Bhuwakul do not!”

he called you later that day

“Hey, funny story I just came back from a small trip to the hospital. Yeah I have like a minor burn on my asshole, could you by any chance get some of the prescribed cremes for me?”

when you think of Bambam what comes to your mind?

what is one thing he does??

he dabs

when you two meet

he dabs

when you get him a present

he das

when you take a picture

he dabs

once he dabbed after an intimate moment and you just stared into the void thinking about wether his life is really worth keeping

He would tell you about how he wants to take you to Thailand some day

and as that’s not possible from one day to the other

he would want to teach you a little Thai

you’d ask him to tell you what “Hello my name is Y/N” means

but instead he would teach you “I like the smell of ass, Y/N”

and then five minutes before you met his family for the first time he turns to you and is like

“Please don’t say a single one of the words I thaught you”

And he would show you Thai dishes and if it had let’s say meat in it

it could be beef and he’d tell you it’s duck dick

and then you look it up bc aT THIS POINT TBH

and find out he lied

“Bambam if you don’t stop it’s gonna be your dick let me tell you”

but fun and jokes aside

sometimes

especially when he was homesick, schedule was tough etc

he would just want to be held and cry a little

and if you were ever going through something

he would just hug you and hold you close and listen and advice you

you would really be each others rock

and other times you two would just lay in bed at night next to each other and talk about anythings that comes up

and one of these times you two talked about the universe and all the odds

and how you two were born at the same time and came to the same place and fell in love for each other

and how if you think about that it’s a small miracle

and he turns to look at you and

“I love you”

“I love you too”

for dates he would like chill and comfortable things

and he would like them in the later hours of the day

he would regularly want to take casual but ethereal™ couple goal pictures

that would take a minimum of 58 attemps each time

Overall: A relationship with Bambam would be an expierence to say the least. It would be full of jokes and laughter and he would not mind making a fool of himself if it would cheer you up. But he would have a serious side too, requiring you to nurture him, whihc he would give back as well. He would seek proximity and would let you into his deepest thoughts.