#if it was the water lines the leak would be constant because the water lines are BEFORE the tap

[vuutarros]

The repair guys are here. They've removed a chunk of the ceiling. And turned on the sink taps to try to locate the leak.

"it's both water lines. See?" *Water is dripping down from two holes in the plywood sub-flooring where the hot and cold water lines come through* Yeah... Is it actually the water lines or is it that that is the only place the water has a place to come through the sub-flooring? 🤔

"we're going to have to replace both lines." Do we really? 'Cause from my experience, the water would be dripping from those lines ALL the time if it was them, rather than just once the water has been turned on and is going down the drain.

"we'll have to remove the plywood." "No, we can't do that, there'll be no support left for above." Uh, yeah, don't remove the plywood, please. You're gonna have to go in from behind the bathroom wall, in my bedroom wall.

*opened up my wall* "so it's gotta be somewhere here on these lines." *Lines are bone dry* "maybe the leak is on the other side? We should see if we can open up that side." Uh...

*Water drips from the elbow of the drain pipe* (oh thank god!) Hey, so I just saw water drip from the drain elbow. "What?" *Proceeds to check the top of the elbow* uh.... You can see a big drop forming on the bottom of the elbow... "Oh! Hey, Cait found the leak!" "What? Really?" "Yeah, it's the drain elbow." "Not the water lines?" "No, see?" "Huh... Wow."

They've left to get parts.

[insomni-frog]

Caviar does Caviar things

I have no clue what to title this, this is my first time writing something in a while (so if you see any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors, no you don't /j)

Summary: Caviar goes back into the Duskgloom Sea because Black Pearl has been behaving oddly.

It was a fool's errand really.

No one in their right mind would willingly sail towards the Duskgloom sea if they knew what was good for them—and they would probably vow never to sail again if they knew what lived in those salty depths.

But Captain Caviar was no fool; in fact he would've considered himself an even bigger fool to ignore what was happening in those waters.

That sea witch enjoyed her quiet, and anyone dumb enough to sail in there would learn that rule very quickly; if they didn't end up soggy crumbs first.

So constant rumbling storm clouds and crashing waves—in the usual unnervingly serene waters—was a dead give away that something was wrong: even a landlubber would be able to spy something amiss, so it was even more blaringly obvious to an experienced sea hound like Caviar.

It was the whole reason he even embarked on, what was basically, a one-cookie suicide mission. Braving the briny depths in the Black Shark once more, like a foolhardy idiot, just to perform a wellness check on the sovereign of these waters.

Who, last time he saw her, seemed pretty keen on turning him into a past tense.

And for all Caviar knew he could've been navigating himself straight into a watery grave made especially for him. But he had a hunch it wasn't like that. After all the ol' sovereign of these depths, while having a nasty habit of sinking ships and (at best) marooning their sailors, didn't give chase past the waters she called hers.

So the infernal storm that seemed to keep brewing larger and angrier with each passing day, pulling in ships passing by and leaking out well past the boundaries of her territory, was enough for Caviar to dismiss what ever worries he had about sailing back to this place; however it did open up a completely different set.

Such as what ever it is he was even looking for. He wasn't a doctor, even if he knew his way around a medkit, and he was pretty sure not even Baumkuchen would know how to treat or give a diagnosis to a mermaid larger than a soda whale.

And then there was the angle that it was something not physical affecting the gigantic sea beast. While he didn't know the details, he did know that there was a decades old grudge constantly weighing on her mind; and that wasn't something one could fix with a pat on the back and some well wishes.

But at the same time he couldn't just sit around and do nothing about it. Sure there was a chance that it was nothing, and all he was doing was recklessly risking his dough here. But if it wasn't then he was putting the lives of thousands of cookies on the line by just twiddling his thumbs and hoping the Duskgloom Sea would calm down on its own.

So here he found himself, navigating himself through unsteady waters and into the nest of a crankier—and probably more jamthirsty—than usual mermaid.

It wasn't like he hadn't done it before, it would hopefully be no different than the last time: even if he didn't have the company of one Candy Diver Cookie this time. All he had to remember was the passage of sparkling coral reefs that would take him straight out of the graveyard of ships the sovereign called her playground if things went south.                                     *** He maneuvered past the remains of ships once grand—recognising a few of the makes and models (all though his memories had them in better condition)—creeping deeper into the dreadful lair. By now he thought the sea witch would've made herself known, considering she had been doing that plenty over the course of the week, but there was neither hide nor hair of her.

Which he had to say was impressive, considering he estimated the mermaid to be just about as big as two soda whales from tip to tail.

She could toss around ships like they were toys and here he was struggling to find a singular scale of her. For a brief moment it made Caviar wonder if she had moved on to clearer waters, but that was highly unlikely to be the case.

And it also wasn't like he was going full blast trying to find her: Caviar wanted to find her, not for her to find him. So he was relying on dim lights to guide him, because he certainly could not use sonar (he wouldn't take to kindly to someone blaring a siren into his ear, and he doubted she would as well).                                     *** At this point Caviar was pretty sure he had gone in deeper than he had before, which was easier to do considering there wasn't a raging mermaid on his tail. But that unnerved him more than it comforted him: If the sea witch wasn't here she could be of doing who knows what.

But his nerves were both settled and jumped when he finally caught a glimpse of the territorial mermaid.

She was nestled away in a little hollow made of ship wreckages, a shelter for her slumbering form that would send anything swimming the other way.

Yet here Caviar was, piloting the Black Shark closer inch by inch to get a proper look at her.

The sea beast was turned on her side, chest rising and falling slowly with each breath, and one could confuse it for a peaceful respite if it wasn't for the way her face was contorted into an irritated snarl—which was a common expression for the mermaid, but not in this way. Her eyebrows furrowed, eyes screwed shut, lips curling in the slightest manner and exposing just the pointed tips of her sharp teeth. It wasn't a look of anger that could boil the sea.

It was one of pain.

And Caviar didn't have to question what was causing it for too long; as he watched her try to roll onto her other side just for her to seize up and immediately flip back into her original position.

On the surface there wasn't anything glaringly wrong, no massive wound or missing scales, but as Caviar squinted in the low light and practically leaned against the window of the Black Shark for a closer look—he spotted it.

A bowsprit: It was wedged underneath her obsidian scales and lodged into a softer part of her, becoming Earthbread's worst splinter.

To think something that small and insignificant to the large mermaid was the cause of all this trouble—it was almost hard to believe. But if that was the cause then... Caviar couldn't just leave it like this.

So he did the most foolish thing he had done all day (besides sail into the storming Duskgloom Sea.) He exited the Black Shark to brave the slumbering sea witch head on. It wasn't like he had to worry about going soggy, any cookie with a pinch of salt in their dough could face the waters without much fuss—so for a salty sea dog like him there wasn't much to fear.

Besides the sharp teeth of the sovereign. But even if he turned back now he had a sinking gut feeling that not only would he be seeing the wrath of a restless mermaid, others would too.

He'd rather nip this in the bud before she stormed into a maelstrom so large it could sink the entire Crème Republic in one go; even if it meant the chance he would be reduced to nothing but crumbs in the process. But he'd rather turn to crumbs trying than letting others shoulder the responsibility for his cowardice.

And, as much as he wouldn't admit it outloud, he didn't like seeing the sea witch in so much discomfort.

Caviar treaded the waters quietly, creeping towards her imposing form that wasn't any less intimidating lying down. He kept a close eye on her scrunched up face, constantly checking to see if those terrifying eyes had peaked open or not—but they didn't. So here he found himself floating over her tail and mulling over his next course of action.

He couldn't just grab it while floating and pull it out, he would need to get his footing first. And the only footing in sight was that massive tail of hers. So, with a less than eager heart, he allowed himself to land atop her scales and waited with bated breath to see if she would wake.

She didn't. Her face scrunched a little more, but soon returned back to the disgruntled look of before.

Caviar would've breathed a sigh of relief if he wasn't worried about waking her. So, as quietly as he could, Caviar took a gentle grasp of the bowsprit. He positioned his footing for a better hold, after all this had to be down in one swift move—because he doubted the mermaid would let him have another go.

But as he adjusted his footing, and made sure his grip was firm, he could feel something shift behind him. With an apprehensive glance over his shoulder, he came face to face with the irritated sea witch.

She too was looking at him over her shoulder, those piercing eyes staring right into him with an unblinking stare. She didn't say anything, it was like she was still trying to process what she was looking at. And Caviar wasn't planning on letting her get the upper hand now, so with a quick grin he lurched his whole body forward.

The bowsprit slid loose, and with it so did he. They were both tossed backwards in the water from the mermaids tail thrashing in discomfort.

Caviar gave it a quick once over to make sure it had come out in one piece before dropping it to the ocean floor, the sea witch could decide what to do with it now.

Speaking of said sea witch, she did not look happy.

He tried to turn and make a break for the Black Shark, but she was much quicker. Caviar's whole body was seized in one of her hands, her thumb and index finger wrapping dangerously around his throat as she gave him a squeeze. He could hear the water rush around them, and before he knew it the both of them broke the surface.

Lightning crackled above them and illuminated the mermaids face, who looked about ready to bite him in half with how her lips were snarled. Her fingers clutched tighter around his throat, and Caviar was felt like his head was about to pop right off his shoulders as he squeezed his eyes shut. But as quickly as the pressure came, it disappeared.

He curiously peaked open his eyes to see the sea witch looking at where the literal thorn in her side had been moments prior. While she did that the storm clouds that had been brewing non-stop over the course of the week started to ebb away, allowing thin beams of moonlight to shine down upon the two of them. The waters turned calm too.

Without the feeling like his head was about to explode, he could see in her other hand was the Black Shark, held like it was simply a children's toy.

Her gaze flicked back to him, but it didn't carry the same ire as before: in fact she just looked plain exhausted. With a loud humph Caviar was unceremoniously dropped into the drink below, the Black Shark alongside him. He watched as she receded back into the depths and he was left to float in the waters unnerving calm.

He didn't stick around to question why she didn't sink him right then and there, preferring to get back into Black Shark and leave while the sea witch sunk to have her long awaited sleep.

After all perhaps it was just best to let sleeping mers lie.

                                    *** Black Pearl sunk back into her abyss, exhaustion permeating her entire being. As she curled beneath the wreckages she called a nest, finally able to lie on her comfortable side, her eyes landed on the bowsprit tipped with her jam. She reached out and pinched it between her fingers, like it was nothing but a toothpick.

This thing was the culprit behind all her discomfort, the reason she couldn't sleep. She had tried and tried to dig it out herself, only resulting in pushing it deeper beneath her scales.

Yet that meaningless pile of dough had pulled it out in one go: like it was nothing. It made her grumble and hiss in irritation.

Didn't he know who she is—she's the sovereign of the abyss—and yet he helped her.

She flicked the bowsprit away into the depths and settled down for her long awaited rest.

Yet she struggled to get thoughts of that do-gooder cookie and his stupid smug grin out of her head.

Next time she saw him, she'd sink him for sure.

[cloveroctobers]

DECEMBER PROMPTS 🧊 — 4. NERON “CREEPER” VARGAS

A/N: idea inspired by a required outing for me and encouraged by @darqchilddaydreamz 🤭 this is so unserious but not at the same time? I also don’t like how I learned to appreciate creeper after the fact? This is my first time ever writing for the man with a heart of gold. Smh. Him and Coco deserved better and in AU…Creeper & Coco would be the true besties. This is also somewhat that. Enjoy!

Synopsis: As a pizza chef you’re bound to keep your house just as stocked as your restaurant. However with a ice storm heading your way in two days…you persuade your husband, Neron to take you to the store to grab just a few extra things but soon find yourself in a battle with another shopper, who doesn’t know the first thing about personal space.

ADDED PROMPTS FROM HERE + I’m using: 3.) Shopping + 6.) “You’re really making me wear matching pajamas with you?”

WARNINGS: language + “reader” is given a name but not physically described yet I always have a black or woc in mind. + a sexual/steamy moment towards the end ;)

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙

What was supposed to be more of a in and out kind of thing, turned into at least a thirty minute adventure. Sure Mariatu could blame it on the tasteful playlist the grocery store was playing—currently, “let it snow,” by Boyz II Men & Brian McPetty but she’d take the blame when she got back outside to her husband.

The original plan was to run in and get five items: a pack of mineral water full of electrolytes for Neron, a pack of cocoa powder, eggs, toilet paper rolls, and disinfectant wipes.

With the way prices are in this economy?

Mariatu knew it was probably best for Neron to run in grab everything but he suddenly got a call from Coco that had to do with business—which the founded brothers always stood on—so she did the honors of slipping out. She honestly didn’t mind, shopping was always thrilling to her because she knows regardless of what she picked up—whether she needed it or not—the items would always be put to good use. Mariatu was never one to let anything go to waste, it was something her parents always instilled.

Perhaps that’s why the carriage was getting heavier as she explored every other aisle, ending up in the international section, just for some lady to eye the contents of her carriage before settling her judgmental eyes on Mariatu. Their eyes connected but one was less friendly than the other, which was enough for Mariatu to pick up the speed. The previous aisle was more of a game of “chicken,” since one boulder of a man thought the aisle was a one way, the frozen section had one of its fridges leaking onto the floor and the constant call to, “clean up aisle 21,” seemed to go unheard, and just from entering the store a mother had to excuse herself and her screaming child who thought it would be best to start knocking over one of the displays.

Those should have been enough signs for Mariatu to do what she was supposed to do. Although the upbeat Christmas music was enough motivation to just make this a speed round, Mariatu couldn’t help that she spent longer than expected; even if she had a mental list of what they needed. Soon she found herself making a circle in the store towards the organic and produce section.

Eyeing the pomegranate seeds, Mariatu makes a bee-line for the fruit. Parking her carriage upwards from herself, she picks up the container eyeing the expiration date and then the quality of the red toned fruit. From her peripheral she sees someone leaning by the front of her carriage. She thinks not much of it figuring that they’re simply looking at a item that aligns with the end of her carriage. Silently debating over the snack for a moment longer, she opts for the larger pack instead before adding it to the carriage.

Seconds after, the handle of her carriage digs harshly into her stomach as the customer pushes their hip into the end of the carriage to reach for a bag of jumbo grapes. Mariatu blinks to herself in astonishment as the man holds the bag up to the light and moves his hips to do the same movement again!

This time Mariatu yanks on the carriage and goes around the man but not without muttering, “this is how you say excuse me,” on her way as she continues on up ahead. Eyeing the bag of baby spinach, she decides against it after grabbing a few green juices not long ago and just as she goes to push away from the section, she can hear the irritating sound of a broken carriage wheel pushing behind her.

Ever since Mariatu was a little girl she had great senses. Some may call it a gift while others maybe oblivious but she’s almost always right in judging distances and sensing presences that may or may not physically be there. In this present time as Mariatu is briefly glancing from the cart to make sure she’s not forgetting something and watching where she’s going, she can feel and hear the carriage behind her getting too close for her liking. Just as she’s reaching the corner, she peers over her shoulder to the pale as ice skinned man with a beanie that barely covers his thin salt colored hair and in that moment they come to some sort of understanding.

His shoulders relax, his lips pursed, grip still strong on the handle, he seems to slow down as his eyes connect with Mariatu’s. The side-eye game was always strong and she whips her head back, ringlets of curls bouncing with her underneath her beret as she does, a satisfying smile begins to grace her lipstick painted lips while she gets ready to turn the corner.

That’s short lived as a bump of the carriage from behind pressed into her backside first, thrashing her forward, followed by the knocking wheel which clips her ankle. A yelp escapes her lips, gaining the attention of a cashier who’s handling the handicap section and Mariatu has to exhale the steam that’s probably seeping from her eardrums.

Rubbing at the stinging skin above her ankle socks in her trainers, she glares at the older man who looks sheepish at the fact that his carriage actually interacted with his target.

“What’s your problem? You bump my carriage out of the way instead of using your manners, which you clearly lack and now you wanna play bumper cars with my ankle?” Mariatu questions the man who lifts his shoulders nonchalantly.

“I needed grapes,” the man started, “you could have done what I did and placed your carriage to the right so that way you’re not blocking other items that fellow customers need.”

Mariatu scoffs in disbelief, “well I’m not you and the proper thing to do if you need to get something is say excuse me or patiently wait until I’m done.”

“Sorry…but no?”

“No?” Mariatu felt her eye twitch and just to think, she was having a pretty solid day off, considering it was only twelve in the afternoon but still!

“Yeah,” the man continued, “you’re in my way and I have places to be too. Don’t know if you know this but a ice storm is coming and I need—

“Excuse me, I don’t give two shits what you need. Everybody that’s in here needs something, so honestly you can take that entitlement and shove it up right your ass, Mr.” Mariatu stated to the man without raising her voice but her brows definitely did, which means she meant that shit, “and happy holidays.”

With that she sorta limps from the man, enjoying that she had the last say and that his presence was no longer felt as he scrambles to go to one of the other aisles instead of to the self-check out area, which Mariatu was headed to.

Mariatu braced herself heading back into the breezy sixty degree weather, slowly letting out a sigh to herself as she crossed through the parking lot. She spots Neron waiting outside of her bronco and jumps into action as he looks up in time. “Ten minutes huh?” He teases with a shake of his head as he unlocks the trunk.

She scrunches her nose at him as they maneuver around the cart, taking turns adding the bags into the back. It doesn’t take Neron long to pick up on the way Mariatu is walking different once they get down to the the last few bags. “What’s up?” He asks.

Mariatu shakes her head as Neron points at her leg, “I’ll tell you in the car.”

The hoodie wearing man dips his head and takes the task of bringing the carriage back to its spot after opening the door for Mariatu. Neron doesn’t miss a certain man looking over in his wife’s direction as Neron crosses the parking lot one more. Once he gets into the driver’s seat, it’s Neron’s turn to have his eyes in slits as the strange man starts tossing his bags into his station wagon.

“That man with the pedophile car…you know ‘em?”

Mariatu hums, looking up from her phone to follow Neron’s trail and immediately scoffs, “oh yeah, we got friendly not too long ago. That’s the man who tried to run me over after I told him he basically needs to learn some manners.”

Neron flicks his eyes to his right, “what happened?” He pressed and Mariatu has no issue giving her husband the quick rundown of what just occurred.

He’s rubbing at his lengthy beard in slight irritation but also pride. “Put your seatbelt on,” he commands and Mariatu tilts her head to the side at this.

However the hardened stare Neron shoots her way and then back out the window shield was enough for her to listen this time. The tatted man places one hand on the steering wheel, tightening his grip and sitting up straight—which was always enough indication that someone was about to float their ride…so Mariatu braced herself.

Rightfully so.

As soon as she blinked, they were across the parking lot blocking the man’s path from completely backing out from the parking space.

“Neron,” Mariatu hissed as he pressed his brimmed hat further down on his head then flung the door open, leaving it wide open as he walked in between the cars to get to the man’s driver’s side, knocking on his window.

Mariatu couldn’t exactly hear what Neron was saying to the strange man as he was crouched over, talking to him in a manner that would send a chill down anyone’s spine. Her heart rate picked up as she saw Neron reach into the rolled down window, possibly snatching the man up by the throat and then shoving him forward that his horn announced his face made contact with it.

With that Neron sniffs as he turns back to the bronco, holding a bag now as he climbs back into the driver’s seat. He plops the bag of grapes into Mariatu’s lap and says, “Poe Cramer sends his apologizes. Eat up.”

“Neron, what did you do that for? I thought I told you that I handled it.” Mariatu brings her eyes up from the fruit in her lap to the profile of her husband’s face who begins driving through the parking lot.

Neron dips his head, “and I’m proud of you, Cariño. But he assaulted you so I returned the favor. Roughed him up a bit, he’s lucky that’s all he got and that’s out of respect for my lady being somewhat a witness…that I didn’t take it further. got his name from his license—just in case you run into him again and he decides to start some more shit but I doubt it. I clocked his ass—that’s all. No harm, no foul.”

“I can’t,” Mariatu snorts resting a hand against her edges, “I love you and I don’t need you locked up before Christmas.”

“I’m just contributing to society so I know Santa would forgive me,” Neron shrugs with a slow smirk appearing on his lips.

Mariatu laughs, “Oh that’s what you want to call it?” Before kicking her ankle up and over her opposite knee to examine, “don’t know why some people get so shitty during the holiday season, especially if you didn’t do anything wrong to them! They just feel like it’s okay to take it out on strangers. Like? What you say fuck me for?”

“You don’t even gotta worry about him no more, trust me,” Neron laughs at the joke, “you good though?”

Mariatu nods reaching over to feed Neron a grape before pecking his cheek, “always with you by my side, baby.”

“Likewise,” Neron winks over at the woman he was ecstatic to call his wife, resting the palm of his hand on her thigh.

Back in the gated, yes gated! suburbs of their coastal mobile home after unloading and packing the groceries, the married couple made it their mission that today would be a easy day. They rarely had days off at the same time so Neron and Mariatu wanted to take advantage of this with Mariatu persuading Neron to go shopping today rather than putting it off for the busiest day—Saturday. Now they had the rest of the day just to be up in each others faces, spending quality time together.

She’s in the bathroom, tending to her night time skin routine, already solidifying they were in for the rest of the day, while Neron’s perched on the edge of the bed tuned into the weather channel. The bathroom door’s wide open as Neron says, “you know your pa is trying to get coco and I to come out to Wyoming, huh?”

Mariatu frowns, “that’s where he snuck off to? The hell is he doing out there?”

The woman knew exactly what her father was doing out there. He made it a mission to travel more after the lost of his wife three years ago but…Wyoming? Really? Very Kanye coded but a lot less unhinged.

“Starting a new business adventure. Plans to do something either with construction or a food truck for a rest stop…he’s weighing his options based on how those meetings go.” Neron informed, “he sounds real determined and said he’ll keep me posted while also sending his love to you.”

Neron and Johnny had their own business together that consisted of mechanics and all things restoration, computers and guns, you name it! After things went terribly south (she often found it hard at times that they both made it out alive) with the club, they figured this would be their best option and Mariatu couldn’t be more supportive of the two. In whatever way she was often confused on her father bringing up his multiple business ideas to her husband and good friend. Neron and Coco seemed quite comfortable making their roots here and not all over the place like her father commonly did.

Yet of course she understood networking being a business owner herself…she just couldn’t picture Neron or Johnny elsewhere now that they were secure here and out of the tainted Santo Padre.

Mariatu rolls her eyes at this, loving how Neron threw that in there but she knew this was true with the way her father’s brain was constantly running with ideas. He’s always been a hardworking, successful man but he also didn’t know when to slow down. He was getting older and it’s like Mariatu was always fighting to have time with him, she valued that considering the lost of her mother but perhaps this was all his way of grieving?

You tend to do that sometimes at the end of the year they say.

“Will he back for Christmas? Kwanzaa, maybe?”

Neron wouldn’t lie and he knew how important Mariatu’s relationship was with her parents, which he did not receive personally but he always had his sisters so he understood to some degree, “he didn’t say honey but I’m sure he’ll try.”

“Right,” Mariatu is quiet for some time before starting up her spin brush again for a few minutes before rinsing her face and continuing the rest of her work.

The room is thicker now with Mariatu’s inner feelings about it all but Neron knows not to push it. They were similar in that way, holding everything in but Mariatu was better in letting it out when she was ready while Neron struggled with his own issues of people not hearing him when he did speak. However he knew not to feel that way with his wife, they confided in each other countless of times and felt seen being vulnerable with each other. It’s what drove them forward through the hardships.

Neron’s not sure how long he’s dazed off but a pair of pants smack across his face, followed by a snort of laughter that belonged to no other than his wife. He blinks, gripping onto the printed pants and scowls as he eyes the same print that Mariatu is sporting. Except her’s are shorts and he gets to eye her smooth legs in them.

Licking his lips Neron rubs at his beard, fighting to keep his thoughts clean as she slips a printed long sleeve set over her camisole, “You’re really making me wear matching pajamas with you?”

“Uh huh,” Mariatu nods her head with a smile, “we’ll be cozy and cute.”

Neron mumbles, “And lookin’ like the elves on the fucken shelf.”

Mariatu cackles as Neron shakes his head in disagreement. She stands before him, resting her hands across his shoulders, massaging them while staring down into his tense but loving brown eyes. Neron doesn’t hesitate to wrap his solid tatted arms around her waist, while she gets comfortable locking her legs right around his hips so they’re face to face now.

“I think you need a little more persuading and a thank you.”

“A thank you?” Neron ponders as Mariatu nuzzles her nose against the man’s, who breathes her in.

Mariatu pecks his lips, then trails those kisses along his jaw and up to his large ear, whispering, “for always looking out for me and especially for today. Will you let me take care of you?”

She can feel Neron shudder against her and she knew that Neron just wanted to be loved in return for the love that he gave out. Mariatu had no problem providing that and the confirmation of his fingertips digging into her waist was all she needed to make their lips collide. The scratch of his beard against her chin, the weight of her clung to his body, the force of shoving him back against the sheets, scrape of her stiletto nails that greeted his skin briefly as she helped him out of his tops, kissing of his wounds that were buried beneath his tats, the trick of her tongue against the round of his raised flesh which contained a hooped piercing that always evoked a breathy moan from his lips, the teasing and pleasing to his lower region with only her mouth was enough to bring joy right out of Neron’s heart.

Mariatu took the reigns but Neron couldn’t let that slide without getting his hands on her in the way he wanted and the way they both needed as well. A shower and clean up routine later, both now sporting red festive wear, they’re lounging against the headboard together, container of pomegranate seeds placed in between them while the skies in San Didacus continue filling in with a gray haze.

Neron and Mariatu both meet each other’s eyes after the dark haired man settled on, one of his favorites, “Krampus,” (2015) after finding one of the cheesy romantic Christmas movies to be too corny for their tastes.

“Ready to keep the festive spirit going?” Neron asks, wrist draped over Mariatu’s shoulder while she curls into him, leg tossed over his torso.

Mariatu covers her yawn, “yeah I am, I don’t know about you but I don’t want any demons hunting this house, especially once some kids come along.”

“Nah, krampus don’t got nothin’ on me.” Neron tells with a grin, “he better ask Poe and check my resume.”

“I haven’t even seen that resume.”

“I’m keepin’ it that way. Like I said when we took those vows, you don’t got to worry about nothing on that end. Just the restaurant and the good parts of life that we’re building together only.” Neron reassured in which Mariatu nodded with a smile.

Neron leans forward capturing Mariatu’s lips in a brief kiss before brushing his lips against her forehead then tunes back into the movie.

One thing is true, this holiday, equally the pair hopes this season brings further blessings to their table after growing what they both went through. The little moments mean just as much as the big ones and when they frequently stare into each other’s eyes…maybe in the end they can always say that’s the best gift the universe could have ever gave them.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙

Continue the rest of my~5 days of Xmas~December anthology prompts here.

[thanotaphobia]

torn (like windblown sand)

i'm having feelings about frubbo and q!tubbo like ohhhh my god. his heart is so heavy the weight he bears so great WAHHH

crossposted to ao3

⋆

He’s dripping on the floor.

His clothes are soaked, he’s drenched to the bone, the kind of chill that doesn’t go away even when you stand in the light of the sun and pray for something– anything, even if you have no idea what it is you’re praying for.

His hair is still plastered to his forehead, dread and loss and anger mixing like the world’s worst school dance in his stomach, stamping the soles of shining loafers and high heels and sweaty, uncomfortable emotion turning his stomach over on itself. The floor of Sunny’s train is wet, water gathering in little puddles on the wooden slats and draining slightly away from him, along the dips and cracks of the walls. He didn’t mean to track it in, but he didn’t bother to dry it off either. With his hair covering most of his eyes and the rain still making his cheeks shiny and wet, he at least has plausible deniability for the tears. 

They’ve been a steady constant stream since he arrived at the small funeral setup a half hour earlier. They hadn’t stopped, not even when he’d choked a eulogy out in front of two faceless Federation workers. He’d pushed past the shame of it, because, well– who would they tell? He’s also pretty sure they’d have been crying too, if they had any eyes or tear ducts. Their words had been soft but mournful, their demeanors well-mannered and gentle toward him. Tubbo had appreciated it.

Across from him, Sunny is snoring. She’s still got her tutu on, but her leather jacket is hung over another chair across the room and her sunglasses are folded neatly on the side table by her bed. Tubbo can only see half her face as she sleeps, spread like a starfish over the bed, limbs hanging off the edges and blanket twisted around her like she’s a burrito. She looks peaceful. 

Tubbo puts his head into his hands, grinding his palms into his eyes until he sees stars.

He has a daughter now. And the grief hits even harder then, because he knows he’s lost something like her before, someone like her, someone like Fred. The feelings are indescribably familiar. The tears leaking down his cheeks slot there like they’re just following pre-carved canyons in his face, the warm anger in his stomach eating away pits into the muscle lining it with ease. He knows these feelings, and it scares him.

There is a white-washed wall in his brain, and Tubbo’s a little frightened of what he would find if he went searching for the missing paint. What story would be revealed? Does he want to feel this way again? He lifts his face from his hands in order to look at Sunny again and a wave of emotion washes over him, sending his thoughts spiraling.

Anger. Despair. Frustration. That is the heaviest hitter– why does no one take him seriously? Fred did. Even those workers today did. It’s strange how out of everyone, the Federation seems to be the most sympathetic. They understood his pain, or at least, they went along with it. They didn’t make fun of him or treat it like a game; they grieved with him, patted him on the shoulder and gave him flowers and words of condolences.

He pulls the daffodil out of his Inventory, twirling the stem around in his finger. He watches the petals dance and sway, and he shivers with sudden cold. The flower goes back, and he’s left staring at his empty hands. 

“I can show them,” Tubbo murmurs to himself, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his daughter. She’s a heavy sleeper– he still doesn’t want to risk it and have her see him like this. “I can make them pay.”

It’s a tempting thought, revenge. An apple hanging on a low-lying branch, glistening with morning dew. The crunch would be so satisfying between his teeth.

But there’s nowhere to direct that frustration and revenge towards. He doesn’t know who killed Fred, all he knows is that it happened and it was brutal. He aches to rip into someone himself and get payback, but how can he do that if the payback is only to empty air?

An investigation is in order. He’ll have to do it himself, since no one else will want to help. They probably won’t even care if he mentions it, so he won’t– he’ll keep this one to himself, and start putting out feelers for what happened. A few suspects come to mind first, people he doesn’t exactly get along with on this island anyway, and he grimaces. He snaps back into reality when Sunny moves, shifting in her bed and rolling over with a loud snore. Tubbo lifts a hand and wipes away the tears that have been steadily streaming down his face, now drying up in the heat of his determination. Sunny’s going to wake up soon. The sun is rising, breaking over the horizon and shining through the windows, painting the damp floor with streaks of honey and tangerine.

Carefully, he brings out the daffodil again. It sits in his hand with petals soft and preserved by whatever Inventory magic keeps it alive, and he twirls it again in his fingers. Tubbo reaches up and tucks it behind his ear, neatly between his goggles and hair, still within reach of his Inventory so it stays fresh and alive. He’ll have to change quickly before Sunny wakes up, get rid of his wet clothes, maybe mop up the floor of her train car so she doesn’t complain or question him when she gets up– fondly, he thinks of her pouting face, and smiles. Just a bit.

“Keep an eye on her, Fred,” he says, moving to stand up from the chair, his limbs heavy and sluggish. He’s exhausted. His nails are cracked and his eyes have bags, but he’s got revenge to enact and a daughter to look out for. No more time to grieve. He should’ve left all that behind at Fred’s funeral anyway– it’s bad for him to drag it around with him, especially into Sunny’s space. So he heads for the door, glancing up at the ceiling briefly before he steps out to change into dry clothes. “Keep an eye on her while I’m gone.”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Destroyed (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Teen Warnings: Spoilers for chapter 1081 Characters: Polar Tang, Ikkaku, Hakugan, Heart Pirates My Tales muses woke up again briefly; I've been somewhat dodging them since chapter 1081 because quite frankly, how dare Oda, but while I'm aware I am being supremely hopeful here, I now have a theory... no-one burst my little bubble of denial, okay.

Over the past thirteen years, the Polar Tang had experienced a lot.  From her early beginnings, stolen from the marines by three young teenage boys and an equally young mink to instead be a pirate home, through the years of constant hiding from Doflamingo, to the Grand Line, she had been beaten, battered and bruised by the world.

But she had not broken.

The trembles that passed through her weren’t natural.  She could feel the Sea herself, roiling in anger, but the source had not passed into her reach even as the quakes passed through the waves, honing in on the Polar Tang as she tried to pull her crew safely through.  A creation of Vegapunk she might be, complete with the kairoseki hull that fended away sea kings, but she was not indestructible.

Her crew helped her patch up even as they surfaced, as her captain left her for land and her crew scattered to the waves, and by the time she felt Hakugan’s steady hands at her helm she was watertight again; for a thirteen-year-old ship so beloved by her crew, plugging leaks was child’s play.

She had been repaired from far, far worse than a few leaks.

But the quakes came back, kept coming faster and faster and stronger, and her crew could hold their breaths well, but not indefinitely.  Outside, Penguin and Shachi were running out of air, needing to surface despite the fact the other ship hadn’t sunk yet, and the Polar Tang Knew.

Ikkaku was the first one she showed herself to – not the eldest of her nakama, not her boys who had grown up inside her for the last thirteen years, but nakama nonetheless, her beloved engineer who had always worked tirelessly to make sure her engines were in top condition.

“Go,” she said, her voice the echoes of straining engines, and Ikkaku stared at her, eyes filling with tears much like the Tang could feel the water pouring back in at her stern, as far away from the crew still inside her as possible.  The weak point she left on purpose, so she could buy them more time at the front.

“No,” the woman, the Tang’s only female nakama, sobbed.  Not quite a shipwright, but the next closest thing and one who knew what it meant, to be able to see her ship’s spirit, clad in yellow and proud to match her hull as the black words of her captain ran down her spine.

D E A T H

“No,” Ikkaku protested again.  “Polar Tang, you can’t.”

The Polar Tang smiled at her, all teeth.  Law’s grin, worn when things were going wrong but he wouldn’t let it stay that way, because her Captain was a D and that meant something.

“None of us are dying today,” she promised, because they weren’t.  Not Ikkaku, not Hakugan at her helm, or Penguin and Shachi in the water.  Not Bepo, not Law, not anyone.

Not the Polar Tang.

“Go,” she repeated, a strain of her hull echoing the sound behind her.  “This will not kill me, and I will not let it kill you.”

It was a good thing that her boys weren’t on board.  They would never have gone, no matter how much the Tang pushed them, and it would have killed them all.

Ikkaku gave her engines one last caress, and straightened her back.  “Promise,” she said, addressing the physical body of the Tang and not the spirit standing behind her.  “Promise this won’t kill you.”

It was an easy promise to make.  “I swear,” the Polar Tang said.  “On the flag we fly, by the Seas we’ve sailed and have yet to sail, that this won’t kill me.”

Hakugan was the last one, one of her newest nakama but one of the oldest and wisest, for all they kept it locked down beyond the lure of causing havoc wherever he went.  The Polar Tang put her hands on her own helm – not the first time, but the first time her nakama could see her do it – and nudged them to step aside.

They moved easily, their mask hiding their thoughts but his motions natural.  “Nice hat,” he said, and she grinned, because her hat was nice, fluffy and soft and splodged, just like their captain’s, but where his was white, hers was black, and where his was black, hers was the colour of blood.  “The captain told me to take care of you,” they continued after a moment.

“My job is to take care of you,” the Tang countered, and gave them a nudge on his shoulder.  They were corporeal enough that Hakugan was pushed back a touch, away from the controls.  “This will not kill me,” she assured them, the same way she had assured everyone else currently waiting by the airlock.  “And I won’t let it kill you.”

“It will hurt you,” Hakugan pointed out, and she shrugged.

“Not as much as the death of my nakama,” because Hakugan was right; her hull was straining and while it wasn’t yet as painful as the time Mugiwara tore her apart from the inside out yet, it was clear that the monster at the heart of the quakes had his heart set on nothing less than annihilation, and that would hurt.  “Go.”

“I’ll see you later,” Hakugan replied, and left.  It was the least fuss any of the nakama she had spoken to had made, but Hakugan had always been a little different.  The Polar Tang didn’t know all of his secrets, not yet, but she looked forwards to learning them.

That was one reason why they had to live.

She opened the airlock the moment she felt them reach it, ejecting her crew out to the mercy of the Sea.  Law was the only one that couldn’t swim, and he was on land; the others were all as home in the water as they were out.  They would be fine.

And the Polar Tang could break.

She could hear their despair, her nakama crying out as she surrendered to the forces ripping her to shreds.  Even those she’d been able to speak to, sworn oaths of survival for, shrieked, their pain far sharper than the feeling of her hull tearing apart, the feeling of being in more pieces than any ship had any right to be.

She let herself fade back into her body, shattered and broken and sinking, but not without one last, defiant grin crossing her face.

It would take time, and her crew would have to be strong without her for a while, but the monster with his stolen powers had underestimated her, as she’d known he would.  He might have torn her apart and left her to sink, but she was a submarine.  Sinking was what she did, and as she’d been certain would happen, the moment her hull fractured he stopped, naïve in the way of ships even after all his years at sea.

The Polar Tang was broken, but she was not destroyed.  Thirteen years of nakama that called her home and poured love into her constantly were more than a match for something like this.

She would be whole again, and populated by her crew once more.

And when she was, the fool wouldn’t stand a chance.

[pippastrelle]

(Censoring because I don't want to put hate in the tag) Just watched El*mental and it's a shame it wasn't better. Encanto worked as a smaller stakes character drama and I would have enjoyed one from Pixar. Everyone felt like a slightly dislikeable, one-note type of character and they only ever gave us reasons the main couple shouldn't be together. They only ever gave us reasons each major relationship wasn't making anyone happy.

Emb*r doesn't really respect W*de and there's not much W*de gives her in return. It's cumulated I think by the letdown of two romance staples. "I'm sorry I didn't say it before. I love you" doesn't quite work when she shouted "I DON'T LOVE YOU!" at a party. Listing all the reasons they shouldn't be together doesn't quite work when the only positive he can list is "I love you" (which she refutes). And they put too much emphasis on their true love for such a short timeframe, which doesn't give the relationship enough time to breathe.

Then, the worldbuilding actively got in the way of the story/themes. "You shouldn't let people stop you from doing what you want to do!" doesn't work as well when it's a physical effect. Emb*r burns up foliage while the waterlogged city is a constant threat to her life. Putting boundaries between gardens and fire or water and fire is a safety measure the characters themselves benefit from. It's another fantasy prejudice that focuses too much on a fundemental threat rather than a drummed-up threat.

Overall, the theme of integration and mixing cultures isn't really shown to be a good thing? The earth and air elements were superfluous and no-one really goes beyond what we'd expect from their element. So, there's not much for the characters to correct in their prejudices. It wasn't a film that used its setting. Even the modern design of the cit doesn't add to anything except unintentionally making integration harder.

There's good elements in the art style. I like the colours and line style. But none of the visual interest follows into the rest of the frame or animation. Plus, there's that trend of the main characters needing to be way more stereotypically feminine and masculine in shape than everyone else.

I'd expected Elem*ntal to be unremarkable and it ended up more annoying. I would have loved a cute little romance between a fire and water spirit trying to solve a water leak in Fire Town.

[infinite-orangepeel]

a whumpy af steve harrington excerpt from ch. 2 of my soft dom eddie fic

aka this boy has a lot of unresolved trauma & eddie munson is going to help him heal

(the rest of the chapter that contains the actual smut will be linked below, i’m scared of tumblr shadow banning me again for posting the full thing in here)

READ THE TW BEFORE YOU PROCEED PLEASE !! THIS ONE IS HEAVY !! : angst to the max, panic attacks, self-injurious behaviors, blood, suicidal ideation, vomiting/nausea (as symptom of panic attacks), head trauma/partial memory loss, disordered eating habits, ptsd, heavy themes, smut, lots of emotions & general sadness for stevie

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★

Steve wakes up in clothes that don’t belong to him, struggling to the surface from the dark recesses of yet another nightmare. His linen sheets are drenched in a cold sweat that makes it seem like he was running away from a real physical threat instead of a discarnate mental one. He doesn’t remember the exact contents of the dream.

Only distantly aware that it must have been somehow related to The Upside Down, because his heart is racing, his blood feels thin beneath the layer of blue veins, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck are standing straight up–like that of a cartoon cat spooked by its owner. The need to throw up his knotted guts, to purge the diseased thoughts in his brain, arises before he can even release a proper yawn or check the clock on his bedside table.

He has no idea what time it is, no memory of crawling into bed, no recollection of how he ended up in a faded Judas Priest band tee and navy briefs.

Or, at least he doesn’t, until he’s shaking from the drying sweat on his chest and can’t handle the itchy overstimulation of the tag sewn along the back of the shirt. It scratches ruthlessly against his skin and that’s going to send him into a whole other level of crisis if he doesn’t get it off his body right this instant.

Crossing his arms over his front and pulling at the hem, he frees himself from the prison of thick cotton and inhales as deeply as his shallow lungs will allow him to. Oxygen is apparently in limited supply today–not a total surprise post-nightmare, but still frustrating to confront depletion on a constant basis. Everything about his existence feels watered down, barren, and sapped of purpose–it’s been that way for a while. Never can the glass be half-full, there’s always a leak somewhere or a chip in the side–draining the liquid no matter how many times Steve bends over backwards to patch up the problem.

It’s unfixable.

He’s unfixable.

At that thought, acid burns in the basin of his esophagus and Steve recognizes that it’s only a matter of moments before the ugliness living inside him paints a putrid surrealist scene across his duvet and becomes tangible. Maybe it will be olive or yellow or translucent; that part’s invariably up to chance. Luck of the draw. Anyone’s game.

The act itself is the constant. Eyes flutter open–mechanized by his fucked up circadian rhythm–and then one, two, three pitiful almost breaths are taken as he reenters reality.

On most mornings, Steve’s throat is still swollen and scratchy from his nightly routine. As a boy, he was never scared of the dark–ran past the tree-line in his backyard until the moon was his sole source of light, unbothered by what may lurk in the shadows. As a man, he dreads the fall of the sun, mourns its disappearance like a devoted follower would grieve a lost prophet.

Night is black. Night is void. Night is terror. Night is fear. Night is shame.

The creatures that disturb and haunt his withered soul draw their strength beneath the cover of dusk. The darker it gets the more powerful they become. Naturally, Steve vomits from the torture they inflict. His body attempts to defend from the attack by luring the invaders out from the fortresses they have built between his organs.

It’s no use. Their poison lingers and eats him alive no matter how many times he kneels in front of the porcelain bowl and unearths the truth–that he is useless, loveless, worthless, and so, so very alone.

Through the hangover of fear and loathing–and a generous helping of unresolved blunt trauma to the head–Steve forgets about Eddie’s visit from the night prior. He forgets the whispered confessions and breathless kisses shared on the couch downstairs. He forgets moaning into each other’s wanton mouths and Eddie’s strong hands coaxing him out of his head.

He forgets and forgets and forgets and then–suddenly, dizzily, all at once–Steve remembers.

It’s an out of body experience–automatic by nature of careful practice–pressing his nose to the borrowed t-shirt and breathing in the distinct, musky scent of cigarette smoke and caution thrown to the wind. It’s the sweet, filtered fragrance of risk and flame and ringed fingers gripping his hips. Rolling them down with control onto firm, grounding hardness and delectably licking each whine out from behind Steve’s teeth. Waves of passion and pleasure and belonging and Eddie’s broad chest providing a safe place to land when all was said and done.

Steve remembers and he wants.

There’s a blip in time–like the thin pause of a lucid dream–in which the corners of Steve’s smart mouth twitch up in memory. Beaming golden light from cheek to blushing cheek; like the bliss of the setting sun warming the remains of the day with one final pink hued glow. A last hurrah, a gentle kiss, a bid farewell as childhood horror ensues in the form of shadowless creatures.

Feelings of euphoria and desire are torched by the sudden realization that Eddie is gone. The left side of the bed appears untouched–pillows fluffed, sheets tucked in and—

Oh, there it is again. Hello, old friend.

Acidic vulnerability merges with confusion and tears sting his aching flesh. Every nerve is ablaze with pain and hurt and the abandonment that Eddie promised wouldn’t happen. He’d sworn it up and down, palm practically pressed to the exoskeleton of a Bible with the way he’d taken Steve’s heart in his hands.

I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?

Never, Stevie. Never leaving you again.

He’s out of his mind with the hyperfixated belief that this is to be his permanent script–the character written out of the story the moment act two begins.

Why give lines to the actor who can never seem to speak them correctly? Why write them for the anxious wreck of a man who stumbles on every word and can’t follow a single stage cue without fucking up miserably?

Morning arrives as a stab in the back. A knife that goes from spine to heart, severing connection.

Eddie left. Eddie promised to stay and promised to care and promised to protect and still, he left.

Eddie showed up on his doorstep with the offers of comfort and presence and certainty and still, he left.

Eddie left.

Like Tommy.

Like Nancy.

Like Robin.

Like the kids.

Like Mom.

Like Dad.

It didn’t take long for Eddie to peer behind the curtain and see what everyone else always has–that Steve Harrington’s a fucking mess and cleaning him up is pointless work, because he’ll just ruin the effort and puke all over himself again the second the job is finished.

Thankless and tireless, just like what he’s doing right now. Except, he’s the maid in this version of the tale.

Capillaries break from the force of the raw hurt, as Steve retches into his own lap and coats Eddie’s forlorn t-shirt with the ideation of his betrayal. Vitriol burns and burns and he’s sick to the core.

It’s gross. God, Steve knows it’s gross.

It’s rare that he doesn’t covertly and politely participate in his worst habit these days. Sneaking off to the bathroom when he’s in a public setting and the anxiety strikes. Pulling over on the side of the road to hurl into the bushes when he gets triggered driving by the bones of Starcourt. Rationing the few shreds of dignity he still holds claim to by using the toilet or trash-bin when he’s home alone.

This particular scenario has only happened once before and it was much more excusable back then, because he’d been partially drunk and thus, able to blame the foul mistake on the alcohol. Though, he knew it had far more to do with Nancy calling him “bullshit” earlier in the evening than it did with the cheap beer rolling around in his stomach. Trust issues and self-hatred won out in the end, covering his mattress in vile colors that dripped from the edges of his own mouth.

Why should Nancy have ever wanted to give her love to someone so incapable of normalcy? Someone so incapable of loving himself?

Steve really should get up at this point–to clean, to shower, to toss the filth into the laundry. Washing away his sins is just part of the process. He knows this, he’s accustomed to it. He’s built a new life around it–walls of thick, dirty concrete and bulletproof cinder blocks.

But, as much as he knows he should get on with the day and toughen up—like the man his father raised him to be—Steve can’t. He simply can’t. His body is weak, his heart is empty, and there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from the cruel voices in his head and the poison in his veins.

It follows him, it always follows him. Knows all his tricks.

Steve’s heaving non-breaths and chewing on the guilt he has for merely existing and there’s not enough space between his stupid blood and his stupid skin. He needs to rip open the flesh and crawl out of the body and bury it under the floorboards.

Maybe then he’d be able to greet the pretty sun and her rays without crying, instead of choking himself on the idea that he’ll never be capable of creating such warmth with his own form.

Blinded by an ocean of salty tears, he crashes into the shore of his mattress. Curling into himself on his side and pinching the insides of his thighs as hard as he can. His nails are long enough to tear into the skin and he relishes this fact.

He wants it to hurt, he wants to punish himself for all the things he can’t be– functional, stable, happy.

White hot pain sears his skin, which should be reason enough to stop, but it only serves to egg Steve on. Just another fucked up thing about him. Pain shouldn’t be enticing, but it is to his defiled brain.

Sharp edges pushing deeper and tearing at the seams–only slightly satisfied when drops of red finally trickle down and mix with the rest of the mess. Stains that will take so much bleach and soap and exertion–energy he doesn’t have anymore.

It’s a new low, but he tepidly thinks that maybe he’ll sleep like this tonight–maybe he’ll stay in this rotten bed of expiration all day long. Maybe he’ll lose track of time and melt into the springs and let them slice him limb from limb.

There has to be peace at the end of the tunnel? Right? Follow the light and bleed your last and then you’re free? Isn’t that how it works? Isn’t it?

Blood pools between his legs–gory and without miracle–in a slow, steady stream. His mouth is dry, the bed smells like death, and no one is coming to save him.

He’ll die here–in this house, in this room, in this bed–and no one will be there to kiss him goodbye. No one will jot down his last words for future reference in his eulogy.

Not a bang, but a whimper–that’s how Steve will go out. A tree falling in the forest and no one around to confirm or deny if it made a sound. Blood will color him and his bed the darkest red and that will be how he leaves this Earth.

He just needs to push a little deeper. Maybe a kitchen knife or the edge of one of the nails in his bat. That might work. He’ll go grab one or the other or both once his own hands reach their limit.

Will they even wonder? Will they even care?

No one is coming to save him. No one is coming to save–

Except, well, except apparently, Eddie Fucking Munson.

“Morning!” He sings into the festering room, as if he’s blind to the crime scene and thinks this is the set of some early bird talk show, “I got us coffee and bagels–toasted of course. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to get some caffeine in you too, after last night. Uh–don’t know what you like, so I got two of my favorites. Not to brag, but I’ve been told I have impeccable taste in the–”

Eddie trails off and gasps sharply as he approaches the bed. Steve can’t look up at him, can’t begin to process what’s happening–he’s trapped by his ceaseless pain. His eyes stay shut, refusing to let Eddie in for fear of what he’ll find.

A monster, a beast, an unsightly creature with nothing to live for.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and places a hand on Steve’s trembling shoulder–shuffling around to place the coffee and bagels on the desk, “Are you– Steve –are you okay? What can I do? How can I help you? I want to help. Let me help. Please.”

Steve can’t talk, he can’t find the words to explain what he needs. His tongue feels like a ten ton brick in his mouth–it’s impossible to unhinge his tensing jaw and his teeth feel like overgrown fangs. He doesn’t want to disappoint Eddie. He wants to be good for him, wants to behave, wants to earn his praise and kindness, but he’s as good for nothing as a walkman without batteries.

A bicycle without wheels.

A car without an engine.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

Instead, he groans and rolls towards Eddie–bloody thighs cloaked beneath the sheets. A hideous surprise that would make just about anyone pass out or join him in puking on sight. It’s a lethal picture of a grisly love affair–Steve and the bed he plans to turn into a grave. Forever intertwined.

Honestly, he’s shocked Eddie hasn’t run straight out the door with the bagels and coffee in tow. How could anyone want to share a meal with him in this state?

“Stevie,” Eddie cards a hand through his greasy hair–so gentle and soft, using careful fingers, “If this is like last night–if it's bad again and you can’t talk–can you try another way for me, when you’re ready? We’ll make it simple, something you can do without using any words. You can tap my hand once if you want me to get closer, twice if you’re not sure yet, three times if you don’t want that at all and you’d prefer I leave.”

Hesitation prevents an immediate choice; but only because the slate of options is something that usually intimidates him. Fearful in all instances–mundane and complex–that he’ll choose wrong. But, Eddie’s hand is so warm and kind and safe–cradling him and keeping him present.

And he left, yes that’s true, but it seems he left for good reason. Not for lack of care, but because of it. To nourish Steve and himself. To give instead of take. Maybe it’s okay to trust Eddie. To tourniquet the quiet bleeding and reach for the reprieve of a bandaid in the form of another.

“I swear I’ll shut the fuck up soon, but Stevie-”

Steve loves that nickname. His heart swoons and skips beats at the sound of it in Eddie’s gravelly rasp. Loves the way Eddie brings his name to life like the last line of a love letter or the beginning of a delicate melody.

“Stevie, I’m–I just need you to know that I’m here, okay? I’m here and I don’t want you to be scared. I don’t know if you’re scared actually–but you sure look it–I just, I just really want to make it better. Can I do that for you, sweetheart?” Eddie coos low in his ear and the shackles loosen from Steve’s wrists–allowing him to pry his violent hands away from where they bite into his thighs.

He blinks his swollen lids open, knows this next part is gonna hurt, but Eddie’s so beautiful that the panic dissipates–numbs. The man stands beside his bed–bathed in divine light, like a God of some old world–and pets Steve’s hair in sweet repetition. Coiled electricity lives beneath his skin, bringing color to his pale cheeks and caging angelic concern behind his doe eyes.

Painfully present in the moment with Steve, painfully there to share in his pain and shield him from all that he can.

Decidedly, Steve reaches up to tap Eddie’s hand with one definitive motion. Singular and communicating what can’t be spoken aloud.

Eddie’s face lights up–like Joyce Byers’ living room four years ago–bright and verging on chaotic. Hard to contain in such a limited space.

“Yes! Okay, that’s a yes, right? You want me closer–like to hold you?” Eddie confirms and Steve nods, appreciating how thorough he is–how much he wants to maintain a safe boundary at all times.

“P-please,” Steve mutters and taps Eddie’s hand to reiterate his point, even though it’s somewhat unnecessary now.

He likes the ease of it, the simplicity. Taps seem far less likely to be misinterpreted than words–which Steve tends to jumble by using improper tone or speaking too fast. It’s a more foolproof system than the English language and there’s a large appeal in that. It makes his brain feel fuzzy and coddled, as if there are big earmuffs surrounding the pink matter and nothing bad can get inside. Impermeable.

“Okay. I can do that, absolutely. Just wanna take the covers off and throw them in the laundry real quick,” Eddie says calmly, like the vomit really isn’t all that unappealing, “I’ll be right back.”

He starts peeling back the duvet to clean and Steve whimpers without meaning to. Fresh tears spill down his face and dampen his exposed chest hair. There’s no way this is the same guy that won the superlative for “biggest heartthrob” his senior year. Something must have been chemically or genetically altered since then. Crying, bleeding, covered in his own puke, prepared to die before Eddie provided a welcome distraction—no way.

Eddie notices the sobbing, because of course he does. Pausing in the midst of his cleaning mission, he balls up the duvet and kneels onto the carpet to level himself with Steve. Letting them view each other eye to eye.

“Hey, hey, honey,” Eddie says with compassion, “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Do you want me to put the covers back on? I should have asked you first, before ripping them off the bed. Shit I’m such an idiot.”

Steve sniffles pathetically and snot joins the growing mix of bodily fluids coating his sticky skin. Eddie uses the sleeve of his leather jacket to dab at his nose and cheeks, gentle pressure that brings him strength.

How he’s not disgusted, Steve isn’t sure, but he knows for certain—in this moment—that Eddie Munson is a good man.

A good friend, a good—well, Steve’s not exactly sure what to call him after the way they kissed last night on the couch. Hot and heavy and full of need.

Friends don’t kiss and friends definitely don’t kiss like that.

“Not the covers,” Steve cries and chokes out a breath, “Don’t want you to leave, Eddie.”

A crease forms between the man’s dark brows, hidden in part by his tiered fringe. Steve recalls how it felt to take those tendrils in his hands and pull in desperation. To cling onto the soft curls as pleasure coursed through his body. Eddie’s lap so solid and safe.

“I’ll be right back. I promise. Just don’t want you to lay in this anymore. It’s not good for you and you deserve a nice, clean place to rest. I’ll bring you fresh sheets and then I’ll cuddle you for as long as you like. No rush,” Eddie reassures him, but doesn’t move away from the bed—clearly waiting for a response.

Probably lingering to see how much Steve will break at the suggestion of their temporary separation.

How weak he is, how fragile.

“No,” Steve says firmly and tears punctuate his small demand.

“No, what?” Eddie prompts lightly and sits on the edge of the unkempt bed to further their conversation–somehow he still hasn’t noticed the blood, “No I can’t do your laundry or no I can’t cuddle you?”

“Laundry,” Steve winces as he readjusts his position, the blood is drying thickly between his legs, “Don’t want you to do the laundry, because—because I don’t think you’ll come back.”

There’s no point in scaring him away by explaining that Steve’s little meltdown had quite a bit to do with Eddie’s well intentioned coffee run this morning. That he’d believed Eddie had left him—full stop–without hope of return. That it was a terminal decision that hammered in the final nail in Steve’s coffin.

“Oh,” understanding develops in slow motion over Eddie’s concerned face, “Like my deadbeat dad going to the grocery store for milk? You’re scared that it’s just an excuse, that I don’t actually mean it? Like I’ll say I’m just going to do some laundry, but I’ll run out the door instead without telling you? Is that it?”

Steve laughs a little at the ridiculousness and truth in Eddie’s analogy. He’d known Eddie hadn’t grown up with an overtly present father figure until Wayne, but he hadn’t realized just how similar their childhoods were in that sense until now. Steve’s dad may have been on endless business trips—which was code for having a multitude of affairs—but the absence held a dagger to his heart at the same angle. Aimed at the same vein.

“It’s stupid,” Steve hears himself say in a voice that sounds much closer to the one he typically associates with his public persona, “I’m being immature and you’re just trying to do something nice for me. You shouldn’t have to clean up my mess in the first place. I’m more than capable of doing it.”

No I’m not and I was planning on laying in it for the rest of the time to punish myself, he thinks, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s not stupid, Steve,” Eddie scoots closer to lean against the headboard and gently places Steve’s head in his lap, “You’ve been through a lot in your life, especially these past few years with all the monster shit. Reacting to that—dealing with your trauma—however that may look to other people shouldn’t matter. You’re doing your best to fucking survive and that’s a success in itself. You should be proud of yourself for continuing to push through every day. I’m proud of you, Steve. It’s okay. You don’t have to hide from me and if you don’t want me to leave your room yet, if you’re not ready, then I’ll stay. All you have to do is ask.”

It hurts too much to say it out loud, so Steve taps Eddie’s denim clad leg once and Eddie pulls him closer. Rubbing a hand up and down Steve’s back, like he’s weaving a fairytale to lull him to sleep.

“You can rest, now,” Eddie murmurs and Steve wonders how they got here—to this place of reversed roles, “Let go. Whatever that looks like, I don’t care, okay? You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

[dlnj]

I love that I was diagnosed with nocturia was always a dream of mine to be diagnosed with some kind of incontinence. Right now officially I’m medical records I am a chronic bed wetter who also has mixed incontinence during the day as well. I have doctors orders to wear diapers at night every single night for the rest of my life and/or any other time I think I’m going to need them. Since then I have let the over active constant bathroom break problem of mine go, if I have to go I don’t try and stop the leaking and will still head to the bathroom but the whole time I am secretly hoping I won’t make it. This has happened pretty often lately . I have become very brave I think, being completely ok with loosing all bladder control and making it so. I don’t think it’ll be a hard jump considering I do leak when I caugh, laugh , run , jump or what ever, I do have sudden urges to go, I always leak a little after I go I never fully empty and then sure enough a few minutes after going to the bathroom I always end up peeing on myself a little bit. At this point since I made the decision to tell my doctor and become diagnosed I am loving having these issues and am completely ok with being embarrassed in public when I accidentally wet my pants because I do have real forms of the incontinence I have listed , just not as bad as I said , my hope is that it will be and worse so that I can have zero shame about having accidents in public , and then being in diapers 24/7 on doctors orders for the rest of my life. It’s very much a good exciting and not for nothing I never knew how enjoyable it actually is to have an accident in public where you just completely wet your pants to the point that there is a puddle on the ground or floor. Most recent I held it and held it and didn’t think about having to hold it, I just held it til I couldn’t hold it any more and my body decided it was time to go. I knew I would end up wetting my pants in public I just wasn’t sure when it would happen. I was out fishing and had had to pee since before I put the kayak in the water and was out for a couple of hours before I went back and was unloading my kayak and then reloading all my gear into the truck when I had a couple little leaks when extending to do something or lifting the kayak (only 44 pounds but with some stress incontinence it was more than enough for a couple good leaks lol) then as I was lifting my kayak onto my little suv I felt it coming , I was able to get it strapped down just as I felt myself completely wet my pants , and there was someone right there just sitting in a lawn chair watching me load up then have an accident with a huge puddle forming at my feet. That was awesome and very authentic. I think I’m going to keep it up til I have absolutely nothing to do with it and it just happens . Then maybe my wife will ask some employee somewhere if we could use the bathroom in order for her to get me cleaned up and into a diaper. I’m actually really excited for that day in public when she asks to use the family room in order to change her husbands diapers. I just think it would be the best to be able to be so free and open with it. I really think we should be coming out the closet a little bit more than we are. The LGBTQ community is out there why can’t we be? Or maybe they can add us in on the letters maybe?? LGBTQ,ABDL . We should really bring ourselves together a bit more and have more events maybe even ABDL pride parades . I would be right on the front lines for that even though I won’t be only a diaper lover at that point but a diaper dependent incontinent diaper lover . ABDL for ever and always . Can’t wait til I am 100% incontinent , yes I do like to mess my diapers now and again but no I wasn’t planning to be fecal incontinent also , however if that’s what it took for me to be diaper dependent was for me to need them for everything or not need them at all , then I guess sign me up for wet and dirty diapers for the rest of my life because I am very committed to it, feel like I was never supposed to be taken out of diapers to begin with.

[goongiveusnothing]

Do you think Harry actually believes he’s worthy of a Best Supporting Actor award? The gall or sheer arrogance to think he’s the same caliber as talented actors.. He can’t even fake humility, that’s how bad an actor he is.

Yes I do, for sure, and I have no doubts about it.

He wouldn't have even taken these roles unless he believed he was so talented he'd be getting awards. His PR team/managers/agencies/label have also spent the last few years continually trying to brainwash us all into thinking he was going to be an incredible actor. They made sure we heard constant leaks of movies he was meant to be in.

That leak over The Little Mermaid was clearly from his team testing the waters. They did extensive promo this year for his album over his Elvis movie connection, because they recognized that that is a very credible movie with a hugely talented director, and that Austin Butler is seen as a definite Oscar nominee, so they wanted us to think that Harry must be as talented. They did that to promote his music, because they were keeping their eyes on what they perceived to be his biggest impact this year. You can tell that they limited their music promo because they didn't want to overexpose him, because they wanted to make sure they could do that properly to launch his movies.

His first solo career roll out for Fine Line came with little winks and smiles about him being Han Solo. There was another rumour recently about him starring in a Star Wars TV series. His team pushed out the supposed $100 million MCU Eternals deal, claiming he'd have his own MCU movie and star in 5. Variety, a PR team favored publication, included him twice on Oscar list contenders. His movie promo started with him covering Rolling Stone being heralded as "the King of Pop". His team clearly managed to swing something to get the Toronto Film Festival to give the entire cast an award likely to get them all to show up, but you know they likely pushed it for Harry alone.

All these things were meant to drum into our heads that Harry Styles is a very talented credible actor and we would all be blown away by him. To the point that he'd get an Oscar nomination. Now he has a People's Choice nomination, these are also very industry Golden Globe PR type awards likely to get him to show up, but his team will be happy as these are great headlines for him after all the terrible reviews for his acting.

Remember how badly he's always wanted a Grammy? He's just like that with the Oscars too. I guarantee he will do some campaigning for it as well. We'll hear about him attending some acting event. He does think he's that good, he likely thinks his performances are being misunderstood or that the drama hurt him or some fantasy sabotage denial about his own talents because he's a popstar or something. He's a total egotist and only does these things because he wants to be known as the biggest most talented star ever in history.

[symbioteburnout]

Tired of venting about this but I am just gonna give a bit of an update on my car situation.

I took my car back to the mechanic my Uncle recommended because my car is still leaking and leaving dark spots under the engine in the driveway (they’re usually around the passenger side). This has been going on for almost two weeks now. It started when I got a text from my Landlord saying I was leaving dark spots in the driveway and that he wanted me to get it fixed pronto so that whatever I was dripping didn’t stain/ruin the asphalt. I left some cardboard underneath it at work to see if I was dripping and I found dark spots, but I couldn’t tell if it was oil or coolant. Took a look under the hood and saw my engine was filthy and covered in oil.

On my Uncle’s recommendation, I took it to this mechanic who’s garage is over an hour from where I live now. I bring it in, he has a look at it and tells me my valve cover is cracked and that’s where the oil leak is coming from. Orders a new valve cover and gives me the quote (not as bad as I was expecting but 450 dollars just after I made a down-payment on an apartment is kind of a huge blow to my dwindling finances). I’m down my car for a couple days (the fix was actually done in one day, but I work nights and I wouldn’t have made it back to the garage before it closes if I used public transit), pick it up, With the new cover on, I assume I shouldn’t drip anymore, problem solved.

Wrong. Next day I pull out to go to work, dark spot under my engine.

I was planning on bringing the car into a garage that’s closer to where I live to have the oil changed anyway (also Uncle’s buddy’s garage isn’t open on weekends), but I’m curious as to what this is if it isn’t oil. Everyone tells me not to worry, that it’s probably just condensation from running the AC. Here’s the thing, I haven’t been running the AC. And even if I had, the condensation would have evaporated by morning, and water would not leave that dark of a spot. So that night, I wrap a sheet of cardboard in paper towels and leave it under the engine. Next morning I wake up to go to my oil change, check the cardboard and towels and see an orange stain on the paper towel. I talk with my Landlord, my Dad, and do a google search to see what orange fluid is and get two responses, one is that it’s coolant, the other is that it’s transmission fluid. I take it to the other garage for the oil change and tell them about the stains and that I just had the valve cover replace. This is a chain garage (specifically a Midas), they say they’ll give the engine a look while they’re changing the oil. They wind up having to clean the engine because the other garage, while they replaced the valve cover, they also left the engine covered in oil and coolant. Thankfully, Midas doesn’t charge me for the cleaning (but they replace my filters and wipers despite them only being in there a few months -_-). They tell me they couldn’t find any leaks but that the stains on the paper towels was probably coolant. They also said they found oil in the coolant line. They tell me to drive around like normal for a couple days, then bring it back for another inspection. (Oil change and other maintenance also takes a big chunk out of my paycheck) I call my Uncle’s garage again and talk to the guy I did before. I mention I’m still leaving stains on the ground and that it’s an orange fluid. He confirms this is coolant because he says he put fresh coolant in my reservoir after he replaced my valve cover because my coolant tank was almost empty. I tell him everything I was told at the Midas and he tells me to bring the car back for another look. I also mention that the car usually drips after I park, and only for a little while before stopping. If this was a leak, there would be constant dripping, wouldn’t just stop after a while so I’m assuming this is overflow. I also mention what Midas said about finding coolant in the oil, which this guy says is impossible because oil and coolant don’t mix. I take it back, he has another look at the car and I cancel my appointment with Midas since this guy is going to need to keep my car overnight again. Calls me a couple hours later to tell me my oil-cooler is leaking and that’s what’s caused the oil to get into the coolant. The cooler needs to be replaced, but the other problem is getting the oil out of the coolant line and reservoir, and also also that getting to the oil cooler to take it out and replace it will be more labor than before because he has to remove a bunch of parts to get to it. Same deal as before, have to wait a couple days before I can get my car because of my work schedule and transit lines. This repair costs more than the last one, almost 550. I go to the shop, he tells me the car is ready, but that because of the problem with the oil and coolant, he had to do a flush. He’s basically emptied the coolant reservoir and replaced it with water, if there’s oil in the coolant line, just adding more coolant will contaminate the new coolant and make the problem worse. So as it stands, I’m supposed to bring the car back once a week so he can perform more flushes on the coolant until we’re sure the oil is out. Before I leave, I ask him again, ‘will I still leave dark spots under the car?’, and he tells me ‘no, you shouldn’t.’. 

Check under my car this morning before I go to work, what do I see? MORE DARK SPOTS!

I don’t know if this is just part of the process, if it’s still overflowing or what but, I’m getting frustrated, and I can’t keep bringing this thing back for repairs because I am running out of money. I have one more paycheck this month but that needs to go to my rent and other bills, I can’t keep doing this!

My Dad and I have talked and he has said it might just be time to retire this car (it’s a 2012 Cruze, almost 11 years old now). I was already planning on getting new wheels but, again, I am broke, I can’t afford a down-payment right now. I was hoping I’d get at least another year out of this car but I’m not even sure I’ll get a few months out of it at this rate.

I’m supposed to bring the car back to buddy’s garage next wednesday anyway for another flushing, so I’ll let him know I’m still dripping but... I can’t keep doing this. I need to pay my rent, I need my car to get to work because using public transit takes too long, is crowded, and I’m usually not home until 2 in the morning, get maybe 4 hours of sleep so I can go back to work to do a 12-13 hour day to try and get overtime so I can afford all these maintenance costs, and my other bills. Just... ugh!

Why’d this have to happen RIGHT after I moved???

[longbud]

Pet preform mold

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#Pet preform mold full#

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[chicken-fifi]

The Protector and the Protected - Part XVI

Description: After a minor slip up in security, the existence of the only daughter of a diplomat is leaked to the world. With no knowledge of what other unprecedented dangers may arise, your father brings you home after an attempt on your life while living abroad. Upon your return, you are assigned a personal bodyguard to ensure your safety who is to be by your side practically every waking moment. Come hell or high water, he makes sure that you’re as safe as can be while under his watch. As much as you tell yourself that this isn’t some bodyguard fanfic where you end up falling in love, somehow your protector manages to make you question that small detail.

Warnings: Violence, guns, cursing, sexual inuendos, kidnapping, constant danger, mass shootings, smut, idk man just stuff

Word Count: 1,337 words

The Protector and the Protected Masterlist  

| Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI |

A chair scraped against the concrete floor causing an awful echo and ringing to fill your ears before it stopped. Footsteps then made their way to you, hands grabbing you roughly and forcing you up. You figured maybe this person wanted you to walk, however you weren't given a chance to do so - not that you would’ve been able to walk well anyways, taking into consideration the chains limiting the movement of your legs and the fact that you’d been confined to the stiff mattress with no way of really being able to get up. Arms hoisted you up and over a shoulder causing a yelp to leave your lips as you struggled a bit. No sooner has you been hoisted up and you were dropped into the chair - probably the one that was moved moments ago.

“Careful now,” Congressman Park’s voice said. “We need her to look well for the camera. No bruises, scrapes, none of that.”

“Right sir,” another voice said. “We’ll be ready to start the call as soon as we have a secure line that will throw any hackers off our trail.”

While that man’s footsteps moved further away from you, you heard the Congressman’s move closer to you. His rough and calloused hand took hold of your jaw, his face drawing closer - something you only noticed because of the foul breath that brushed against your face. You held your breath, forcing yourself not to gag at the stench. The fingers of his other hand caressed your face.

“You’re a pretty little thing. Almost as pretty as your mother was. She was a skank, that one. Not sure how she managed to bag someone like your father. Then again, I suppose the man only saw the body he would have at his deposition if he had her by his-”

You moved your head biting harshly on his hand eliciting a sharp intake of breath and almost a scream from the foul breathed man before you. In return he pulled his hands away briefly only for the palm of one to come in contact with your cheek before proceeding to back hand you.

“It seems her looks weren’t the only thing you inherited,” he mocked, his hands not going back to your face, he had also leaned away from you. “Bite me again and I’ll see to it that every single pearly white tooth of yours is pulled one by one.”

The door to the room opened, the man from before saying that everything was set for the video call to be made.

“Well your father certainly isn’t going to like the state of your face at the moment but you brought that upon yourself.”

~~~

Everyone waited anxiously in the control room. Your father had been brought in to hold the following call with Park after wanting proof of life. This would buy their hackers at least some time to track down where it is you could be being held at.

“Just keep him talking,” their team leader said. “We’ll need as much time as we can get in order to find her.”

Your father nodded, looking back at the laptop in front of him. Everything was silent for minutes on end as they waited for the call to come in. In that silence his thoughts wandered to how much of a poor excuse of father he was and had been. He hadn’t dwelled on those thoughts long when the screen lit up. He noticed the countdown being made by one of the agents sitting a ways away and answered the call as soon her hand fell down. 

His heart shattered as he stared at the screen.

“Here she is,” Congressman Park announced. “I don’t understand why you would want to hide a beauty like this from the world.”

“(y/n) are you-” he began before being cut off by the presidential candidate.

“I never said you could speak to her.”

Seonghwa felt his blood boil as he watched on the larger screen that was showing everything your father could see. Park’s hand traced your face, your body pulling away as it reached our cheek. They were noticeably redder than the rest of your body, he didn’t have a doubt in his mind that the man had struck you shortly before the call had been made.

“Are you going to make the 20 million deposit and ensure I win the presidency or am I going to have to deprive you and the rest of your clan of hooligans from getting this little fawn back in one piece?”

“Please don’t hurt her,” your father’s voice shook as he rushed the words out before thinking.

“That doesn’t answer my question Mr. (y/l/n).”

Your father’s eyes wandered over to the team leader who didn’t spare him a look as he was focused on the girl in front him tapping away on the keyboard trying to hack into the feed to get a location. Seonghwa cursed as he heard Park begin to speak.

“If I don’t get an answer in the next 5 seconds you can wish her good-”

Seonghwa's body reacted on its own rushing over to where your father was seated and pushing him away, coming face to screen with the very man he wanted to kill at that very moment for taking you - for causing him so much pain.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Loverboy,” Park snidded, after a moment, clearly caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the man.

~~~

The Congressman ripped the blindfold off of your face causing you to wince at the light coming from the laptop’s screen. It was the first sign of light you’d seen in hours?, maybe days, you weren’t sure.

“Take one last look at her,” Park said, shoving your face forward. “Cause the next time you see her she’ll be nothing more than a bits and pieces of flesh and blood splattered all over the place.”

Before you could utter a single word, he cut off the call and yanked you back, his other hand shoving the laptop to the floor with a force that caused the screen to break from the keys. He went to say more before he was interrupted by the same man from before.

“They hacked in. It won’t be long before they get here.”

~~~

“I have a location,” their hacker rushed out just before the call was cut. “You’ll have to hurry before they move her.”

Seonghwa went to leave the room, Kiseok grabbing his arm and stopping him, “I don’t think-”

“I’m not staying here while everyone else goes. I’m going to kill that son of a bitch if it’s the last thing I do.”

He pulled his arm from Kiseok and rushed out of the room quickly heading with the rest of the men leaving for said location.

~~~

Park pulled a gun from the inside of his suit jacket and fired it at the young man, striking him in the center of his forehead. He then proceeded to pull out a needle from a pocket and jabbed it into your neck, forcing whatever sedative into your bloodstream. You were out within moments.

~~~

The vehicles came to a stop at the abandoned building, men jumping out and rushing to get you. Seonghwa had joined one of the groups that went to a lower floor. They barged into a room quickly clearing it before looking around for any sort of clues whilst avoiding the dead body that had been dragged to the corner of the room. It was their suspected mole - a new employee of your father’s, he had even been working for him for a year. You weren’t there. You had been there at some point, not too long before they’d arrived, but they were too late. You were gone.

“We have something on the third floor,” Wonjae radioed. “They appear to be bomb plans and blueprints to a house…”

The line went silent before it started again. 

“He planning to bomb Mr. (y/l/n)’s estate!”

[ninebluehearts]

Fix it

Summary: Of course normal household appliances break while Marc is away in Cairo. Now you're gonna have to fix them yourself.

Word count: 1,075

Warnings: An innuendo or two

A/N: This is gonna be strictly a Marc fic because I feel like we don't see him enough tbh. Enjoy :)💕

____________________________________________

"FUCK!"

First the shower head needed to be replaced. Then the dishwasher was clogged. Now, the kitchen sink has a fucking leak. You swore that if you had to hear the constant drip, drip, drip, one more time, you were going to loose your mind.

You really didn't want to leave all of these tasks for Marc to do when he got back from his mission with Khonshu in Cairo, and you also didn't want to pay for a plumber to come out and fix it. So naturally, you took it upon yourself to fix everything.

And everything was going fine so far. After what felt like 10 trips to the Home Depot and what probably was 200 Youtube videos, the shower head was replaced and the dishwasher was unclogged.

But then there was the sink. Everything that could've gone wrong, went wrong. It was supposed to be an easy fix. All you had to do was turn off the water, loosen the packing nut, and install a new cartridge. That's all.

But no. Instead, the damn packing nut broke off because it was so rusted. Then the brand new cartridge you just bought didn't fit. And, to top it all off, you couldn't get the second to last screw to line up properly, and ended up screwing and unscrewing it about 20 times.

It was ten o'clock at night, you hadn't eaten dinner yet, and you just wanted to go to bed. But Marc was supposed to be coming home tomorrow and again, you didn't want to just leave this for him, so you did your best to power through and finish it.

Four tries later with no luck, you sunk down to the ground and let out an almost inhumane groan. At this point, you were tired, sweaty, and frustrated. And not the good kind.

As you contemplated calling one of your guy friends to come and fix the sink for you, almost as if on cue, the familiar rattle of Marc's keys unlocking the front door echoed throughout the flat.

You didn't know if you should feel relieved or anxious. On the one hand, he could fix the sink for you and you could finally eat something and go to bed. But on the other hand, you knew he would be upset that you didn't call him sooner.

And honestly, you didn't care anymore. You were fine with him lecturing you, just as long as the damn thing got fixed.

"Honey, I'm home!" Marc called out to you, smiling like an idiot because he got to use the well-known catch phrase from the cheesy 50s movies you would watch with him from time to time.

"Here." You called back to him, lazily lifting your hand up so he could find you.

Marc saw the dismantled sink with random tools scattered along the counter, and then you, sitting against a cabinet with your head leaned back, your eyes closed.

"Sooo, what have you been up to this week?" Marc asked as he lowered himself onto the floor next to you.

"Well, you know, just a few thing around the house." You said as you huffed out a laugh. "Nothing other than the usual, I suppose."

"And you usually take apart the sink at-" Marc glanced at his watch, "half past ten on a Thursday night?"

"Ohh yeah, you just don't pay attention when I do it." You said, tilting your head up towards him, grinning.

"Right, right. Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then." Marc patted your thigh, starting to stand up.

"No wait!!" You quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back to you. "Marc, please fix it for me! I can't get this damn screw and- and I just-" Frustrated tears started to well up at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall.

"Shh, I know, I was just kidding, baby." Marc snickered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "But if you really want me to fix it then you're gonna need to let go of me, huh?"

So you did. And he immediately got to work, showing you where you went wrong and how to avoid doing it again next time.

It really was a simple fix. You just didn't realign the right screw with it's matching hole.

Barely ten minutes later and the sink was leak free. The relief you felt when Marc had announced that it was fixed was indescribable. You had pulled him into a tight hug, chanting little 'thank you, thank you, thank you's in between the kisses you were littering across his lightly sunburned cheeks.

"You know.. I did tell you to call me if you had any issues.." Marc said as he gently pulled you away to look into your eyes.

Here it was.

You sighed, rubbing your hands up your face. "I know. But in my defense, I just wanted to take some of the stress off of your shoulders. I didn't want you to come home and have to fix a million things."

You watched the curls on Marc's forehead gently bounce with his head as he nodded. "I really appreciate that, but-" Marc lifted you up and over his shoulder, hugging your legs to prevent you from falling.

"I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you. You shouldn't have to worry about that stuff." He said as he dropped you onto the living room couch.

You let out a disgruntled oof as you landed, glaring up at him.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, sugar.'' Marc climbed on top of you, burying his face in between your neck and shoulder. "Come on. Did you miss me?" He mumbled.

"You know I did, dear. Always do." You replied. Raking your fingers through his tangled curls.

Marc lifted his face up and crossed his arms on your chest, resting his chin on his arms. "And you know I love you, right?" He leaned forward and gently kissed your chin.

"You know I do, Marc. And I love you, too." You placed your hands on the sides of his face, gently pulling him closer so you could kiss him.

"And is that because I'm your personal handyman or..?" Marc asked, grinning in between kisses.

"Maybe.. But you're also pretty to look at, so that helps."

Marc rolled his eyes. "Seriously though, just call me next time. I'm happy to help no matter what."

And before you could even answer, Marc leaned down and kissed you again, pressing your body against his.

[softjakehoon]

Can We Pretend?

Pairing: Idol Jay/Reader

Warnings: Smut. For 18+ only, minors dni.

Includes: Corruption kink, friends with benefits, protected sex, squirting, mild choking, slight biting, rough sex.

Authors note: I might edit this later. I apologize for any errors, I wrote this at 5 am instead of sleeping. Lmao.

------

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, in case you wanted to back down. 

You were watching a drama just a couple of minutes ago when he kissed you by surprise. You remember teasing him and questioning his innocence because of a scene in the drama where the main leads were hugging before having sex for the first time. 

Your brain stopped functioning for a while to remember how it all came to this. 

"Pft. Who the fuck hugs before having sex?" You almost choked on your drink out of laughter. 

"Why? Isn't that a normal thing for couples?" Jay asked you with innocence plastered on his face. 

"Are you being serious? You.. don't tell me you're still a virgin?" You were so shocked that you had to pause the drama you're both watching. 

"What's wrong with being a virgin? Also, you already know I haven't dated anyone in my life, why are you so shocked?" His lips pouting cutely as he argued.

"But that was 3 years ago, Jay. You're literally 21 now, you need to get laid." You teased him out of habit. A sting of pain suddenly grazing your heart at the thought of your best friend on someone else's bed.

"As if I have the time for that. Besides, I can't just hook up with anyone. I have a reputation to protect as an idol." He's right, you nodded in response. A sudden thought crossing your mind. 

"Wait a minute, how do you release tension then? Do you just get off by yourself or?" Your face inspecting his eyes closely for some hint. "Don't tell me you don't jack off either?" You were beyond shocked by his blank expression, showing no sign of guilt at all. 

"Holy shit, how do you even do that? You poor thing." You taunted him. 

"Enough, y/n. I'm fine, I have a lot of ways to release stress. Unless, you want to offer yourself to help." Jay knew he wasn't thinking straight when he said this but he maintained his cool and unbothered expression to see how you would react. 

"You want us to be fuck buddies, is that it? Fine, I'll help you." You weren't sure why you agreed without giving it a second thought. But you know deep inside you've been in love with Jay for 6 years already. For all those years, you tried so hard not to be overly affectionate and clingy to the boy you liked the most--in fear of him drifting away from you. You wanted to be someone constant in his life, someone he can go to whenever he needs someone to lean on. You wanted to be his soulmate. 

You've done a great job so far, but you're not sure anymore. How the hell are you going to manage pretending from now on? When you're overly sentimental and you tend to give meaning to every single thing he does. 

"What? How can you agree so fast?" He jokingly covered his mouth, pretending to be shocked. 

"What? Do you want me to take it back? It's not like this is my first time having sex anyway." You tried to act cool as much as possible, pretending that this setup isn't that much of a big deal at all. 

"Right. I'm not. But you're gonna be my first." You're almost sure he sounded hurt when he said that while looking deeply in your eyes. 

You couldn't resist it anymore. You wanted to be the one to erase his innocence but you were surprised when he kissed you first. 

You couldn't honestly tell if this is his first kiss or not because he's definitely good at it. 

You pulled away out of shock. You didn't expect him to be this good since you thought he's just gonna go for a quick peck. He looked confused at your reaction.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, in case you wanted to back down. 

"No. No, I was just shocked. I thought you were just gonna go with a quick peck, that's all." For some reason you can't look directly in his eyes. You're sure of it. If you do, you're gonna fall for him again, like you always do. 

"Well, we're not gonna go further with just a peck, right? Stop acting so shy, I thought you're gonna help me." He lifted your chin using his thumb, your eyes meeting in parallel. 

"You sure about this, Jay? I mean, I may get clingy after all of this. You know how sensitive I get. I tend to feel a lot of emotions." You warned him, followed by a fake laugh to ease the tension. You wanted to give him an idea of what could happen at least. 

"Then, don't. We're just using each other for sex, keep that in mind." You're aware he didn't mean to hurt you by this. He was just stating the obvious--drawing the line between the two of you for safety precaution. But this hurts, and you wanted him to take the pain all away, even just for a while. 

You kissed him roughly in frustration. He picked up your pace quickly, he really is a fast learner, you thought. And his lips, they're small and cute but they felt so damn good on yours. You grabbed his face, feeling every inch of his jawline, circling your fingertips on the mark on his neck. You looked deep into his eyes before gently sucking on it. He moaned at the contact, grabbing a fistful of your hair gently and pulling you back to a kiss. 

"Don't leave marks, y/n. I have a photoshoot tomorrow." He said, firmly. 

"Too bad. Wanted to fucking mark you as proof of getting your virginity taken." You chuckled. 

"Let me mark you instead, then. Proof that I let you take it." He whispered into your ear, biting into it gently, and kissing your neck while sucking on your skin up to your cleavage. 

You moaned from the sensation. You're already melting from his touch, you couldn't help but to rub your thighs together, wanting some kind of pleasure on your core as soon as possible. 

"Jay, I want your cock in me so bad." You whined, desperate to feel him inside of you. You palmed his cock inside his shorts, pulling it out. This is your first time seeing your best friend's dick and it was prettier than you imagined it would be. And you always thought he would be huge, but this doesn't even compare to the one in your dreams. The length, the girth, the tip of his cock, all red from arousal, leaking with precum already. Your mouth is watering from the sight. 

You couldn't help it. You dropped on your knees, eyes levelled to his crotch. You pumped his dick with your small hands, earning a gasp from him. You circled your tongue in his tip, gathering all the precum in it before fully deep throating him. He let out a growl this time, surprised by your sudden action. "Fuck, y/n. That's it, your mouth feels so good." You hummed in his dick, sending vibrations to his senses. You kept bobbing your head up and down, making sure to go as deep as you can, his tip hitting your throat making you slightly gag. You pulled it out for a moment to spit on it, and put it back inside your mouth, sucking him sloppily.

"Fuck, y/n. I'm close, keep going." Your jaw is starting to hurt a little, but you wanted to taste him so bad. You continued sucking him off while cupping his balls, massaging them gently. 

"Fuck, I'm cumming." He tried to get you off of him but you wrapped your arms around his thighs, pulling him closer. His cock, burying in your throat even deeper as he cummed. You looked up to him, eyes closed and mouth open from the pleasure. His head tilted back, and his hair slightly wet from sweat. The view of him from below caused a pool of wetness in your core. You milked him dry and swallowed his load without hesitation. 

"Shit, y/n. That's just.. insane. Come here, I wanna taste you too." He helped you get up, both of you smiling from ecstasy. 

You sat up on the couch, your thighs closed involuntarily trying to hide your arousal. "Can I?" He looked into your eyes, asking for permission if he could eat you out like a gentleman that he is. 

"Y-yes." You shyly answered. This is the first time someone is getting down on you after all. Your ex never liked foreplay and always went on ahead with penetration every single time that it hurts most of the time. Nervous of what's to come, you covered your face with your hands, not wanting him to see your state. 

"Let me see your pretty face, y/n. I wanna see how good I'm making you feel." He grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on his head, giving you something to hold on to while he flicks his tongue in your clit. He looked at you, your head tilted on the side, your mouth open releasing soft moans. He took the chance to put two fingers in your mouth, making you suck on them only to put them inside your cunt. He continued thrusting his fingers in and out while licking and sucking your bud, driving you insane from the pleasure, your arousal dripping down his chin generously. 

You grabbed his hair firmly as you focused on reaching your climax, clenching on his fingers. "Jay, I.. I'm gonna cum." You're almost out of breath at this point. 

He curled his fingers, hitting your g-spot several times that had you squirting around his digits. He eased you from your high, fucking your hole with his tongue and sucking on your juices. He looked up to you with lust all written in his face. His cheeks and chin, all wet and covered with your scent. 

"I always knew you'd taste good. Though I didn't know you're a squirter." He chuckled and sat on the couch. 

"Shut up. It's because it felt too good." You got up and climbed on his lap. He grabbed your ass to spread them and began kissing you again. The taste of his cum and yours both mixing in your mouth as you kiss him back. You began grinding at his erection, coating his length with your juices as he guided you by your waist. 

You're getting impatient at this point, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you. You felt Jay searching for something in the corner of the couch, eventually bringing out a condom. 

"Why do you have that there?" You asked him, curious if he knew this would happen. 

"The boys left it here just in case. Didn't know I'd be the one to use it though." He tore the packaging and started rolling it down to the base of his cock. 

"You're such a good boy, aren't you?" You smiled at him.

"I don't think so." He whispered in your ear and bit your jaw, leaving a slight mark. You moaned a little bit louder this time. Surprised that it didn't hurt at all. "Aren't you such a pain slut? You're getting turned on by that? Huh?" His voice is so deep and velvety, making you clench your walls on nothing.

You started positioning yourself in his cock, slowly sinking down while biting your lip. He gasped from the unfamiliar sensation when he felt his tip enter you. You made sure to bottom all the way down, training your cunt to adjust to his size. 

"Shit. Move for me, baby. Be a good girl and ride my cock." He's holding you by your waist, pinning you down roughly. 

"Fuck, Jay. Your cock is so deep in me." You continued bouncing up and down, grinding back and forth on his cock from time to time whenever your legs would start to get tired.

Jay sensed that you’re starting to slow down so he started thrusting deep and sloppily into your core. You tried to meet his every thrust, biting your lips to keep yourself from screaming.

“Jay, I’m close.” He wrapped his right hand on your neck gently, while his left hand stayed at your waist. You're left at his mercy at this point. He’s in charge of the moment, giving you a smack on your ass as he growls from the intense pleasure.

“Cum for me, y/n.” With a couple of thrusts, you reached your orgasm, your walls convulsing around Jay’s cock that sent him to the edge as well.

He stayed inside you for a moment as both of you tried to catch your breath and then he pulled out after, discarding the condom in the trash bin.

He helped you get up and prepared a warm bath for you to enjoy. He knows that both of you just entered a complicated situation but he doesn’t regret it. As long as he’s with you, nothing else matters. 

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

unfair ii, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader x yoongi

summary: You know how you end up fucking your next door neighbor and her boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook? No? Oh. Well, I guess that’s just Min Yoongi’s predicament then. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; smut (fem reader, threesome, shower sex, cum eating, f and m-receiving oral, cowgirl, nipple vibrators are involved); soft fluff; starts off with Yoongi’s POV, then switches to you, Jungkook is pretty much mad horny 24/7; Yoongi just wants to be cuddled mentally and physically; ft. a poor soul who was only trying to deliver pizza...

--

Through a series of events, Min Yoongi now had two problems. He was quite sure these were not problems anyone else had. Actually, he was positive that no one else could relate to his two very distinct problems, one of which was in front of him right this very moment.

“Yoongi-ssi.”

The slight amount of disrespect should have annoyed him, but these were different circumstances.

“You need to be patient like everyone else.”

Slam.

Now Yoongi’s slim wrists were pinned against the wall with strong hands, one tattooed, one not. His problems weren’t bad per se. Inconvenient, perhaps. They made his life difficult. Hard, even. A very solid weight pressed against his crotch. He shifted his eyes away, lips twisted in a small pout.

“… What do you mean, like everyone else?”

A low chuckle. Yoongi felt lips on his neck. His muscles tensed and he drew in a sharp breath as those lips began to graze over his skin. Familiar lips now, lips that he thought way too much about and much too inappropriate times. Lips that set his skin on fire and made him grit his teeth to avoid sounding too pathetic.

“Aw, are you jealous? Afraid we’ll be interested in someone else?”

Him, Min Yoongi, jealous? No, of course not. He had never been jealous in his entire life. Jealousy was linked to sin and Yoongi wasn’t that kind of person. He was a kind boy. A good soul. He had also never felt lust either. Never.

Those firm hips rolled against his and Yoongi almost gasped, biting on his tongue.

“Don’t worry, it will always be only you for us, love.”

Yoongi stared up at the ceiling. The higher power up there put him in this position. He did not ask for this. He did not ask for his heart to skip two beats at those words. He did not ask for Jeon Jungkook to be this sexy, this sweet, and this rough all at once. Was this how he was going to go? Was he going to die by sensory overload from Jeon Jungkook’s hotness? Probably.

Not the worst way to go.

“… You’re breaking the rules.”

Jungkook lifted his head, smirk on his lips and eyes half-lidded. “You broke them first,” he shot back, tongue between his teeth, quirking his eyebrows.

Holy fuck.

A minute before, Jungkook had been in the bedroom, chatting with Yoongi about… something. Yoongi couldn’t remember, because he was distracted. Jungkook had come home from walking Holly and was in the middle of telling him some story. Holly was passed out in the living room, living his best life. Yoongi, however, had been staring at Jungkook pulling off his white t-shirt, lifting it over his head and shoulders. Tattoos against the tan skin of his right arm, back muscles flexing as he stripped. Maybe, just maybe, Yoongi had lifted his hand and touched Jungkook’s back, just for a second. Traced a muscle, mouth slightly open, awed at how a human body could be so different from his.

“You’re not supposed to imitate sex until we’re all together,” Jungkook purred.

Yoongi’s eyes flitted away from Jungkook’s amused expression. “It wasn’t sexual.”

“Hmm.”

Yoongi shifted his eyes back to those brown eyes framed by long dark hair. His problem was making him very, very hard right now. Ah, he meant, the moment was difficult–

Jungkook’s pink tongue slid out and licked Yoongi’s lips, the lightest, hottest touch.

Fuuuuuck.

The front door opened. Sounds of shoes being removed, a soft sigh. Holly barked and there was a jangle of dog tags paired with a cheerful laugh and cooing noises. He could hear Holly’s fur being ruffled by pets.

“How was your day, Holly? Hopefully not as tiring as mine.”

Holly made a soft woof. Footsteps. And then she rounded the corner.

Problem number two.

Dressed in a tailored black skirt suit, white shirt, and a red tie. Molded perfectly to her hips and her sharply legs. Arm raised, slowly pulling her hairpin out of her hair, which tumbled down onto her shoulders, cascading around her cheeks. The prettiest eyes Yoongi had ever seen, the kind of eyes that kept him rooted in place – well, besides the larger man literally pressing him against the wall. She cocked an eyebrow at them.

“Jungkook,” she said slowly, leaning against the doorframe. That fucking line of her fucking body, every fucking curve held in that skirt suit. Was that even legal to wear in public? For Yoongi, it would definitely cause some complications. “I simply can’t guess what you want to do tonight.”

Jungkook grinned. “I didn’t start it.”

She chuckled. “Of course, you didn’t, darling.” Her eyes shifted to Yoongi. “How are you tonight, Yoongi, my love?”

These two were giving him constant heart arrhythmia. He was pretty sure his ears and his cheeks were both red.

“F-fine.”

-

The second you laid down those ground rules, you knew Jungkook was going to break them. That’s why you made them, of course. He always had that mischievous streak about him. Your initial meeting had been at the gym he worked at. You had signed up for a personal training session, just to see if it was something to commit to. Jungkook made you commit to something, all right. Were you two tangled in the sheets after your first or second meeting? You couldn’t remember.

You asked him why he had been so forward at the time and his response had been, “Excuse me, do you see yourself in the mirror? Literally every single guy at the gym was staring at you.”

“I didn’t see such a thing, Jungkook.”

“That’s because your eyes were on me.”

Moving out of your parents’ home had been a nice change. No longer did you have to worry about your parents accidentally hearing certain things. And the cherry on top had been a certain someone, a certain someone who was very, very interesting. Jungkook had eagerly nudged you the first time you two saw him innocently walking his dog.

“Let’s fuck him.”

“Excuse me?”

That devious smile. “Come on. You know you want to.”

Your raised eyebrows. “I do? I think you do.”

His mouth on your neck, making you melt. “I know we have similar taste, darling. Look at that cute, precious face. Don’t you want to sit on it?”

Poor clueless Min Yoongi had no idea what was coming as he trotted along the sidewalk with an excited Holly. He had no idea what you two were planning, how difficult his life was going to become, or what situations you two were going to put him in. For instance, he was currently sandwiched between you and Jungkook as water rained down on the three of you. The double showerheads had been a smart investment. You calmly worked shampoo into your hair, rubbing your ass against Yoongi’s hard cock as Jungkook held his arms behind his back, also rubbing his cock against Yoongi’s ass.

“T-this is not a shower,” Yoongi hissed out, throwing his head back as the head of his cock rubbed right between your ass cheeks.

“What are you talking about?” Jungkook chuckled. “She’s shampooing her hair right now.”

The shampoo was dripping down your back, adding slick lubrication to an already dire situation for Yoongi. You reached back and pressed the head down in between your ass, creating a tighter crevice as Yoongi rolled his hips into you. Jungkook was humping Yoongi’s ass and making him lurch forward, increasing the speed by a few notches. You turned your head slightly with a smile, seeing Yoongi losing his control and Jungkook smirking at you.

“Fucking shit,” Yoongi moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Jungkook let go of his arms and gripped Yoongi’s hips instead, pushing his cheeks together, inhaling sharply.

“You have a great ass, Yoongi-ssi,” Jungkook murmured, lips on his shoulder, kissing lightly as he roughly thrust his hips up his ass cheeks, the head of his cock grazing Yoongi’s lower back.

Yoongi gasped, eyelids fluttering. “Not as nice as hers,” he mumbled back, chest heaving.

You squeezed Yoongi’s cock a little tighter. “Why, thank you.”

You watched Yoongi’s hands clench into fists as he shut his eyes tightly, moaning loudly as he came, shooting warm, sticky cum up your back. You grinned and rubbed your ass against his crotch as the last residual bursts came, the sensitive head buried in between your ass cheeks as he shuddered, leaking into your tight crack.

You heard Jungkook hiss as he orgasmed, clamping Yoongi’s ass around his cock, jaw clenched tight, eyes closed. He seemed to feel your gaze and his eyes opened, paired with a cocky smile. Your name dropped from Jungkook’s lips, so low, so sexy.

“A gift for you.”

Jungkook spun Yoongi around at the waist and you dropped to your knees, tongue already out and slurping up Jungkook’s cum as he kissed Yoongi. Yoongi’s entire body was shivering, softly moaning to Jungkook’s mouth as your tongue slid low in between his ass. Jungkook really knew how to make you wetter than the fucking shower itself, sucking his cum out of Yoongi’s ass cheeks. You nipped at the skin and Yoongi whimpered into Jungkook’s mouth.

“You’re not being fair,” Yoongi hissed, trying to pull away.

Jungkook smiled.

“You don’t want fair, now do you?”

-

“What do you want on your pizza?”

Yoongi grunted. “Don’t care.”

You poked Yoongi in the chest.

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

Jungkook pressed you down further. “He’s embarrassed,” he purred.

You looked up at Yoongi, who was scrolling on his phone and trying not to look at you. Either of you, for that matter. Yoongi was laying on the bed, in a gray t-shirt and his boxer briefs, with you on his lap and chest. Red bra and panties, with a black silk robe. Jungkook leaned against your back, shirtless and in his black sweatpants. Jungkook was also on his phone, ordering pizza. For some mysterious reason, you three were too tired to cook, thus the pizza.

You reached up and brushed Yoongi’s bangs out of his eyes. His mouth thinned into a line and he put his phone down on his chest. His eyes closed as you pet his dark hair. You smiled. Yoongi could act grumpy all he wanted. You saw right through him.

Yoongi let out a soft huff as Jungkook bounced on you a little. “I’m fine.”

You cupped his round cheek gently. “You can tell us, Yoongi.”

He cracked an eye open. “Too... much attention on me,” Yoongi mumbled. He puffed his cheeks and closed his eye again at your foxy smile. Well, Jungkook and you were generous lovers, after all.

“Pizza ordered and paid for.”

Jungkook’s phone bounced on the bed as he dropped it. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lovingly kissing your shoulders. Unsurprisingly, you felt your robe being pulled down a little as he kissed down your back. You placed your arms on Yoongi’s chest, chin on top.

“I love you.”

When Yoongi didn’t respond, you poked him again. He frowned and opened his eyes barely a sliver. You gazed up at him expectantly. His ears were turning red. You had said it before. Jungkook had said it before. But getting it out of Yoongi was proving to be more difficult.

“Jungkook, your girlfriend is in love with me,” Yoongi muttered. He was still looking at you, not closing his eyes.

“Me too, so you better say it back to her,” Jungkook replied cheerfully, an edge of danger in his voice.

Yoongi puffed his cheeks lightly again. “I’m being threatened by your boyfriend,” he said to you.

You stared deep into those dark brown eyes. You lifted your head, moving closer to Yoongi’s face. Your silk robe was sliding down your arms, thanks to Jungkook’s insistence.

“I love you,” you said again, voice husky and seductive.

Yoongi sucked in his lower lip anxiously.

Your head dipped down, lips softly touching his. You softly breathed into his mouth. He whimpered, tongue touching the edge of your lips. You sucked on it lightly, the tip of yours entwining with his. You mouthed the words again against his lips and he mouthed them back. The robe was leaving you completely now. You broke apart from Yoongi, smiling as Jungkook’s hands traveled up your belly.

Yoongi swallowed, nervousness fluttering in his expression.

“You say it… so easily.”

You frowned slightly. “Is that bad?”

Yoongi’s eyes shifted to the head of hair behind you, hearing his soft kisses on your back. You reached over and brushed your fingers against Yoongi’s cheek. His eyes flickered back to you, wordless.

“Jungkook and I are very happy to be with you.”

You could see the confliction on his face. You felt Jungkook raise his head and place it on your shoulder, arms around your waist. Yoongi seemed sensitive, aware of the two of you watching him as he struggled internally.

“Aren’t you happy… with just Jungkook?”

Ah.

You turned your head to look at Jungkook. He nuzzled your nose, smiling.

“Are you happy, darling?” you whispered against his lips.

“With you, always.”

You turned back to Yoongi and smiled down at him. His brown eyes were unsure, looking down, somewhat ashamed. As if he walked in on something he shouldn’t have. As if he wasn’t meant to be here. You placed your hands on his cheeks and gently lifted his face, forcing him to look at you and Jungkook.

“Yoongi-ssi,” Jungkook said quietly. “You don’t have to worry. We want to love you.”

“Why?”

Yoongi’s voice cracked, just a little. He wrapped one of his hands around one of your wrists, blinking fast to push away his tears.

“I… I shouldn’t have… You two were happy without me…”

“Shh.”

You leaned down and placed kisses on his cheeks. His hand on your wrist trembled. Maybe he was scared. Scared he might ruin your relationship. Scared he might just be a toy in both of your hands, only used for fun. Scared he might lose you two when you get bored. Scared that it was all a fleeting happiness, a moment of lust that would disappear all too soon.

“Just want to make you happy, Yoongi,” you murmured against his skin. “Just want to be around you and hold you in my arms and wake up next to you every day.”

You felt Jungkook bend down and kiss Yoongi on the forehead. “Just want to see your face,” Jungkook continued softly. “Pour all of our love into you until you can’t take any more and then give you even more. You make us so, so happy.”

Jungkook and you pulled back a little, giving Yoongi some room to breathe. He sniffled sheepishly and wiped his eyes, frowning slightly. His eyes flickered from Jungkook and then to you.

“Hah… I didn’t need all that,” he mumbled clumsily.

“But you wanted to hear it anyway,” Jungkook replied playfully.

Yoongi turned his head away, blinking quickly. You tried not to smile at his shyness.

“Why would you even think… to add another?”

You rubbed the back of your head. “Well… actually, we both saw you at the same time and, ah, it wasn’t really planned.” You laughed a little. “We thought you were going to run away or just leave it at as a one-time thing.” You leaned down as Yoongi’s cheeks turned red. “Imagine our surprise when you knocked on the door once again.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You guys were literally fucking on our shared wall.”

“Maaaaaaybe…”

“If you were going to make a ruckus, at least let me enjoy too,” Yoongi grumbled.

You gently turned Yoongi’s face back towards you, dropping your head as Jungkook unhooked your bra.

“Now you can enjoy all the time.”

Your hands slid down his clothed chest. Yoongi gasped against your lips, suddenly feeling your bare breasts against the thin fabric. Jungkook was pulling your red panties down your legs, tossing them who-knows-where. You moaned as you felt Jungkook’s tongue on your wetness, licking a thick stripe up your slit. He stuck his tongue inside you, pushing it in once, twice. You squeezed the muscle with your pussy as you pulled Yoongi to you. Jungkook lifted you up, ass in the air, legs spread. He coated his tongue with your slick juices before flicking your clit.

“A-ah, Jungkook…” you whined, clutching onto Yoongi’s shirt and rubbing your tits against his chest. Yoongi inhaled sharply, gently nudging you.

“Let me take it off,” Yoongi chuckled. You frowned as you released him. Jungkook sucked on your clit as Yoongi pulled his gray t-shirt over his head, his hair fluffy as it was disturbed. You crawled up his chest and kissed him deeply, moaning as you felt his large hands on your breasts, kneading them roughly. You felt Jungkook slide one of his fingers inside you, teeth nipping at your ass.

“Mmm…”

You lifted your head. Yoongi smirked underneath you, pinching your nipples as Jungkook pushed another finger in your pussy. You bit your lip, moaning their names as Jungkook began to finger-fuck you, his free hand gripping your hip. You felt Yoongi press his thumbs against your nipples and rub them in circles, your body rocking upwards from the force of Jungkook’s fingers. You vaguely heard Yoongi call your name and you looked down at him, head fuzzy with pleasure.

“Y-yes?”

His pink lips so pretty, softly turned upward towards you.

“Kiss me.”

You leaned down and kissed him, whining as Jungkook pulled his fingers out of you to lick your pussy again, rubbing his slick fingertips on your clit. You moaned into Yoongi’s mouth and he caught your tongue, sucking on it. He pinched your nipples once again, hard, and it pushed you over the edge, gasping as you came in Jungkook’s mouth, his tongue lapping you up, smearing it all over your pussy.

You broke out of Yoongi’s kiss, trying to catch your breath. You felt movement under you and heard Yoongi’s surprised yelp as Jungkook yanked his underwear down his legs.

“Jungkook, what–”

You couldn’t even finish your question because Jungkook pushed your hips down with one hand, using his other to push Yoongi’s semi-hard dick up. Yoongi gasped as your wet, dripping pussy planted straight onto his balls and the base of his cock, immediately coating them with your orgasm and Jungkook’s saliva. The position left the head of Yoongi’s cock against his lower belly and your slippery pussy on his length and balls.

You felt Jungkook’s lips against your ear.

“Don’t move.”

You frowned slightly at Jungkook’s command, feeling Yoongi’s cock swell at the close contact to your pussy. Your preferred form of birth control was condoms, so you weren’t used to feeling raw cock against your pussy. It wasn’t inside you, so you didn’t panic, but you rubbed yourself against Yoongi’s balls just a little. Yoongi gritted his teeth, head pushed back against the pillows.

“What is that kid thinking?” Yoongi muttered, “He can’t leave us here like this.”

You could tell he was too scared to touch you, lest something slip. He caught you staring at him and he blushed, turning away quickly.

“W-what?”

Your tongue balanced between your teeth, smirking slightly. You clenched your walls, knowing he could feel the opening tighten against his balls. Yoongi hissed, digging his fingers into the sheets.

“You’re just as bad,” he pouted, giving you the side eye.

You heard movement behind you. Jungkook. Firm hands grasped your hips, lifting you up. You whimpered at the loss of warmth, looking down to see Yoongi’s cock covered with your juices. Jungkook let you go, and you were on one knee, other leg somewhat extended as Jungkook dipped his head downward between your legs. Yoongi moaned as Jungkook licked him all over, pink tongue flashing as you watched with bated breath. He took Yoongi’s balls in his mouth, sucking them clean. Yoongi’s eyes rolled back in his head, barely registering Jungkook putting a condom on his already-hard cock. A second later and Jungkook removed his mouth with a wet plop, grinning.

He slid up your body, kissing you deeply, your taste on his lips. You smiled, feeling him wrap his hands around your waist again, pulling you back down. Yoongi barely had time to orient his cock before you sank down on him, moaning into Jungkook’s mouth.

“Feeling good, love?” Jungkook growled against your lips, nipping at them.

You squeezed Yoongi’s cock. It throbbed inside you as Yoongi groaned. “So good, Jungkook,” you panted, voice glazed with lust.

Yoongi rolled his hips up into you as Jungkook nuzzled your neck, kissing it softly. You closed your eyes, pleasure filling you up. You began to bounce on Yoongi’s cock, intertwining your fingers with his as you thrust him into you, hitting your favorite spot. Nice and deep, over and over. Jungkook cupped your breasts and your eyes snapped open, feeling something foreign being stuck to your breasts.

It couldn’t be–

“Jung- fuck!”

His name was quickly replaced by you swearing as he turned the nipple vibrators on, grinning infuriatingly into your shoulder. They were in the shape of little red hearts, taped right onto your nipples. You winced, body shuddering as you grabbed Yoongi’s other hand, clutching on them tight as the vibrations radiated through you. Your pussy clenched involuntarily and you were already orgasming, eyes rolling back into your head as Jungkook’s hands guided your hips, using your pussy to fuck Yoongi. How were you supposed to think? Breathe? Do anything, but feel the relentless vibrations on your sensitive nipples as Yoongi moaned under you, helpless as Jungkook controlled everything, bouncing you expertly.

And then you felt it.

Jungkook’s cock sliding up your back, his balls resting on the top of your ass.

“J-Jungkook, it’s t-too much…” you gasped, “I-I can’t…”

“You can,” Jungkook whispered, humping your back, breath tight. “Just for us, you can, my love. I know you can.”

Jungkook was actually crazy. You thought just him alone was wild. Pair that with Yoongi’s dick shoved so far inside you and the nipple vibrators – you were losing your mind, head lolling as Jungkook sucked in a tight breath, rubbing the head of his cock hard and fast against your back. He lifted one of his hands off your hip to press his cock down against your back, smearing pre-cum everywhere. Slick, wet slapping sounds mixed with your moans, amplified by the vibrations on your nipples.

“F-fuck, I’m going to…”

“Hold on, Yoongi, please,” Jungkook begged, throwing his head back. “Please, I’m so fucking close.”

“Easy for y-you to say,” Yoongi gasped, clutching the sheets so hard his knuckles were white. “I’m the one inside her pussy.”

A choked wail tore through you, the multiple sensations too much as you came again, all over Yoongi’s cock, eyelids fluttering. You felt Jungkook’s grip tighten and he moaned out his release, shooting cum up your back. Yoongi pushed his head back into the pillows and groaned, cock jerking against your walls as he spurted into the condom, breathlessly calling out your name.

Jungkook grabbed the remote and turned off the nipple vibrators, finally giving you some rest. You flopped down on top of Yoongi, exhausted, fingers laced with his. He was panting hard, making you rise and fall with his chest.

The doorbell rang.

All three of you popped your heads towards the direction of the front door.

“Oh shit.” Jungkook’s eyes were wide. “The pizza.”

You frowned. “They wouldn’t ring the doorbell.”

Jungkook climbed off you, grabbing his sweatpants. Oh, great. Yes, just left his cum sprayed all over your back, especially when you were drained of energy. Yoongi let go of your hands gently.

“Let me get a towel,” Yoongi chuckled, disturbing you greatly as he slid out from under you.

-

Jungkook burst the door open, shirtless, black sweatpants low slung on his hips, tattooed arm extended with his right hand on the knob. A shorter man stood behind the door, recoiling quickly, as if he didn’t have his ear pressed against the door seconds before. His face was flushed pink, full lips trembling. He was in the pizza delivery boy uniform.

His name tag read “Park Jimin”.

“Ah, u-uh,” Jimin stuttered at Jungkook’s surprised expression. “We ran out of sweet potato, so we threw in an extra pizza. I-is that okay?”

“Oh!” Jungkook pouted as he took the pizzas. “Oh, that’s fine. We’ll get it next time.”

Jimin bowed deeply. “Sorry for the trouble! Thank you!”

And he ran.

Jungkook stood in the door, cradling the warm pizza, blinking at the swift exit.

“Uh… cool.”

--

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