#lest anyone shit their pants

[beebopurr]

Ever since I drew f!Mayhem I've just been thinking abt this meme

[luminisvii]

with the conclusion of splatoon 3's splatfests, i'd like to thank everyone out there who was giving it their all and making it fun, and i'd also offer a very special shut the fuck up to everyone who ever complained about shiver stans because you guys are the ones ruining it for everyone. never do that again

[occamstfs]

Diet Diaries

Hi all! Thank you so much for 500 followers! Here's a little style switch up to celebrate, got a lotta refs in this one and I quite leaned into the diary entries so I hope it's not too much! Hope y'all enjoy this stereotype reversal and as always, best! -Occam

Monday March 21st-

Andy:

I am beyond sick of Steve. Moving in together was a mistake, I don’t care how cheap the rent is, he is a narcissistic slob and I am eager to never see him again. Well no, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Our R.A. had this idea to try and walk in each other's shoes, which I don’t know? It might not be the worst thing? My big idea was switching diets actually- honestly I’m just hoping if he ate more like me he’ll stop stinking up the dorm. I can dream at least. Literally though he just can’t go to the gym as often if he eats like me. If I'm lucky at the very least his deodorant will last longer, I cannot take another day of his b.o. seeping through the walls, ugh! Anyway, wish me luck! I’m sure this will be a breeze for me, he usually just eats junk anyway, hope he enjoys my salads~

Steve:

Andy that little fucker. He was being such a little bitch to James and now I’ve gotta eat his rabbit food for a week or lose this bet or whatever. Steve don’t lose tho. Lil twink’s gotta eat whatever I make him too and you can bet your ass I’m gonna make him match my macros if I’ve gotta starve myself like he wants. Fuck! This shit is going to absolutely tank my routine! I’ve gotta make Andy give up. I’m gonna go so hard on him he’ll have to hit weights if he doesn't want to blow up like a pig. Maybe then he’ll stop bitching any time I don’t fucking shower every time I get back home. 

Tuesday March 22nd-

Andy:

My Lord! He is trying to kill me! I don’t know how anyone could consistently eat as much as he’s telling me to. I’m so bloated from all this food.. He looks so smug every time he tells me to keep eating, I’m sure he doesn’t eat like this. He’s just trying to break me but I’m not going to let him win this easy.

Ugh, I feel so bloated my pants are so tight on my waist. I didn’t think meat sweats were a thing but man I am needing to put on deodorant like twice a day now and I’m not even exercising. I will say that now that I’m eating so much, I don’t hate the idea of going to the gym. It’s been a while since I went but I should probably at least hit up the treadmill lest I get even more of a gut- maybe I’ll see if he wants to go tomorrow. This is all just an exercise to understand each other more after all, no need to make it a stupid competition like he wants eh~

Steve:

Fuck! I am so tired of Andy’s pussy-ass diet. I had absolutely no energy at the gym today, I told all my bros that I was just gonna take it easy but fuck! I really was working my ass off and I struggled to even meet a PR I set last week. It was supposed to be a push day and I didn’t even get a chest pump! Why the fuck am I still going. I’m abso-fucking-lutely not getting gains on his fuckin’ bitch-ass salads and oats.

Eatin’ like a fucking twink and the fucker has the nerve to ask to go to the gym with me tomorrow. I’ll make sure he regrets that >:) Gonna work him like a horse so he’ll throw in the towel! After feeling how sore actually working on yourself makes ya, he might actually learn something. I’ll turn in early so I can go all out and show him what a real man looks like.

Wednesday March 23rd-

Andrew:

Man! I totally get why Steven eats so much now~ I am absolutely raring to go and get this; He said I could go to the gym with him today! He even seemed like he wanted me to go with him! I feel like I have more energy than I’ve ever had before, I might even try some weights!! I don’t know but I’m so excited! It’s like I can feel my chest and biceps begging me to go and hit some iron haha! Or whatever those “bros” say~ I hope he’s got something good planned for lunch because I fuck Sorry! I just want to show him that I can do all this dude stuff too! I’m a man right? I guess all this protein is making me feel more like a man than usual idk. Either way though I’m ready to go! Hope we have some fun!

Steven:

That bitch’s fuckin’ fru fru salads are ruining my PR’s for sure! I bet he knew that when he begged me to take him to the gym today, knew it was the only time he could show off to me was when I’m so out of it. And he didn't! Just to be clear I could still wipe the floor with  him even if I’m not at my A-game. Ugh, I do gotta hand it to the little fucker though. I KNOW he hasn’t even really set foot in a gym before but man. Beginners luck my ass, as soon as I showed him a technique he lifted like he’s been doing it his whole life! It’s like I could see his pecs and tris swelling up with each lift. Not that I was staring at the bitch or anything but he’s just I just need this fuckin’ diet thing to end so I can get back to my grind, I guess I wouldn’t hate taking him to the gym more often, would be hot to make a bitch into a bro Fuck! What am I writing, I just need to lift again.

Thursday March 24th-

Andrew: 

Bro! Weird? Whatever, I am absolutely on fire! Steven’s diet is absolutely killer! I don’t know how it’s working so well but man I couldn’t care less, I felt like a pro in there! My coaches in school would always shit on me for not trying but man! I was barely trying yesterday but I could tell from the look on Steven’s face that I was acing it! I guess I’ll have to admit to him that he is definitely onto something with his macros but man, not until he gives up haha! Man, I need to chill haha, it’s not like I’m any stronger than I was Monday but man, looking at myself in the mirror it just seems like my clothes are just fitting better. Catching on my chest rather than my stomach y’know? I’ve never noticed that there is muscle on my arms before but man the way my sleeves are kinda hugging my biceps mm. I need to chill haha! Can’t use all my energy before hitting the gym again today!

OH! Also totally weird, I’ve had to shave twice this week! Once last night and then again this morning which is so weird! I’m not complaining though, it’s not like I wouldnt look hot with a beard right? Although my face is a little itchy already, my chest too? Whatever though haha! Time to head back to the grind lol!

Steven:

God!! Andy Andrew is being such an asshole! He’s clogging the sink shaving which I know he would so be on my ass if I had done that. Wait, he did get on my ass for shaving! But it hasn’t been a problem this week, it’s like I’m not even growing stubble for some reason? Probably from not working so hard at the gym, is that how that works? Whatever it’ll be over as soon as this stupid diet thing is. We’re halfway through now. Thank God! Because that fucking twink is starting to stink up the dorm which again!! He was such a little bitch all the time to me about that! It’s like he’s literally stopped using deodorant as soon as he started needing it! He’s never exerted himself in his life and now that his pits are sweating at all he’s suddenly allergic to hygiene, ugh! I saw last night too the fucker fell asleep with his head in his pit too so it’s not like he doesn’t know it. 

It was a little surprising actually, cause I would’ve sworn he was hairless like one of those freak cats but man his pit was as thick as my pubes! Thicker maybe, uh? Man I wish I could get that image out of my head, it’s like the tuft was pushing out further each time he inhaled, man that’s kinda hot? Fuck! I swear this twink-ass diet is making me think like him too. I need to sneak to the gym later, without him. I cannot have him getting ahead even while I’m still on his chickenshit diet.

Friday March 25th-

Steven:

Ah!! That Little bitch! He was already at the gym when I got there! Ugh! It makes me want to punch a wall, or fight him. Or something I dont know! It’s just, he was lifting my body weight on the bench when he saw me, it was so ho ugh! It doesn’t matter what it was, I can’t stop thinking of that smug look on his face- what I would give to wipe it off… That absolute prick knew what he was doing. Ugh, speaking of pricks! He may as well have not been wearing shorts at all by how much his cock was showing through them.

I knew my meal prepping was fucking tight but man, I can’t believe hot its made him. It just really fucking turns me on, or no its such a turn on for chicks. Yeah. Whatever. I need this bet to end already. Clearly he’s totally obsessed with my lifestyle so he should just admit it already! Also, hate to say it, but to Andrew’s credit his diet ain't too bad either. I’d never tell him this, and it is all a little emasculating but my skin has never looked this good. I’m not even doing skincare or anything but it’s like I’ve been on a routine for years, it’s crazy! It’s still ruining my upper gains but man, my ass looks so good it's crazy..

Oh also re: facial hair, I woke up this morning and could’ve sworn I used to have chest hair but now it looks like I’ve got just a little left around my nipples and leading up from my pubes? I might go ahead and shave those too, might as well be totally smooth like a chick right haha, I wonder what Andrew would think? I need to chill haha, maybe I’ll go see if he’s still at the gym~

Andrew:

Fuuuuck dude lol. I should’ve started hitting up the gym ages ago. Don’t know what I was even wasting time on before I started doing twice-a-days? Studying I guess but I can figure that shit stuff out hm. Fuck it is so much better to be strong than a dweeb. Every set it feels like I’m just busting out new PR’s! Gonna need to buy new clothes though cause I am absolutely tearing up my crop tops, my twinky little wardrobe just isn’t cutting it anymore. Maybe Steven’d be down for a clothes swap, I’ve seen him eying up my fits all week, god knows he’ll fit them better lol. Oh haha, and speaking of him eying things up >:) You should’ve seen his little face blush when he walked into the gym this morning! He looked so pissed at me lol, but I’m not gonna grab him to come along every time I need to get some sets in right? It was pretty embarrassing for him yesterday anyway, the way I showed him up lol. I’m not just gonna sit around and watch him not lift weights when I can figure this shit out myself, thought it was supposed to be his thing though lol.

Mm, saying that though, I def didn’t hate having a little audience from his treadmill. God, his blushing face as he stared directly at my work-out chub. Fuck, it really got me going. It really helped my sets too haha. Maybe I should hit him up lol, I can tell how bad he wants me >:)

Saturday March 26th-

Stevie:

Ugh! That douche is walking around the dorm completely shirtless! Do you know what it’s like to have an oaf flexing away across the room from you 24/7! He knows what he’s doing, and thank god my dick isn’t showing through my shorts like I thought it usually does because he might literally pounce on me then-

Ugh! I didn’t even mention this morning. I literally woke up to him jacking off his morning wood! Do you know what a bitch-fit he would have thrown if I did that! He would’ve filed a police report, probably the dweeb, or. I guess I could too?? But it was just so fucking hot. I tried to pretend I was asleep, but he totally caught me. He literally smirked and made eye contact as he finished too- thank god he didn’t see my boner as he asked if I wanted to clean up his mess. He’s such an ass! 

I still have a boner now actually, it’s his B.O. driving me actually crazy! It’s like I can’t think near him if he’s going to stink this bad god.. Oh, he’s doing pullups on the door frame fuck. He’s supposed to be hairless but I see sweat dripping from his pits god I can't. God with each pull up his chest looks even more powerful. His cock is bobbing up and down in his pants and I can not look away. Fuck it’s getting even bigger. I’m supposed to be the strong one right? It’s not, fuck. This isn’t right. He just so fucking, god that body, I need him-

And Drew:

Heh. I knew that fucking twink couldn’t resist me. Every little thing I do wraps him even tighter around my finger. Every flex and smirk turns him on even more I bet he can’t even think straight the way his little dick is losing it in his briefs- I took all his jocks since I’m sure he would need them anymore. Bet the little bitch didn’t even remember they were his.  

Might as well have been drooling when he saw me jacking my cock this morning lol, surprised he didn’t take me up on the offer to lick up the mess. I know he wanted to lol. He’ll get the chance soon enough though >:) God it’s a two-way street though. That fucking twink is so fuckable now, thank god he doesn’t need to shave anymore, don’t want his peachfuzz scratching my cock cause god that mouth is so fuckable now.. To say nothing of his fucking juicy ass, god! I’ve been working out in the room all morning waiting for him to give in and ask me to fuck him, idk if I can hold it in much longer. I might need to jack it again, my balls are bluer than I ever thought they could be, fuck. It’s like they're sore. Ugh I feel them getting heavier, heh, that little fucker cant resist though. God I feel precum starting to pool in my jock. If I put my pit within a foot of his face I give him five before he can’t help but shove his face in. I need to fuck him, but as if I’m going to let him see how desperate I am. Stevie that little fucker. He’ll be riding my cock any second now.

Sunday March 27th-

Stevie:

Fuck <3 !! He finally fucked me!! God, it was like nothing I’ve experienced before~ His cock was like a beer can and goddd the scratch of his beard as we were making out.. Hehe if I keep thinking about him I might just cum again right now! He can fully toss my body like a ragdoll and I’d thank him ugh! He’s just so hot, and to think he wants to fuck me!! Ah~ I’ll need to keep myself pretty so he won’t get tired of me hehe! Not that it’ll be a problem, I just need to keep on his diet, God who knew it would be this good! I don’t even remember whatever problems we had before all this and I can’t imagine anything better than getting fucked by him <3 Ah! He he~ He’s staring at my ass right now so I guess it’s time for another round! Can’t thank our R.A. enough for this idea, well he he I’ve got an idea for how to thank him, oh! Drew’s ripped off his jock! Wish me luck he he~

Drew:

My little bitch is so tight, fuck. I’m surprised he can even take my cock but god can he ride it. Gonna have a hard time taking a break from fucking him to even hit the gym. Need to make sure the twink keeps up the diet tho or we’ll have an issue. Be sure to make him come to the gym whenever I do, if not to tighten up then to watch me heh. Won’t hate fucking him in the locker room too. Mm, God his fucking tiny body makes me feel so powerful. And I fucking am. God my bis are the size of his thick thighs, fuck his ass. My cock is straining my jock just thinking about it. His tiny waist ugh, I need my sweaty body over him now. Not like he’ll mind, the horny fucker. Mmm hope he’s ready to take my cock, bet his mouth is already watering heh. Pop my pecs at him and he’ll struggle not to cum on the spot, he better keep it together until I let him though. Can’t be having my bitch blow his load that fast. Thank fuck he’s chilled out finally, though I guess my cock’ll work wonders on anyone >:) speaking of it’s about that time again. Hope he’s ready for some more action, hate to have to find another hole.

[papal-babygirl]

the body is mostly blood

well. i became severely sad after brisbane, so i made everyone's favorite whump ghoul get sad as well. aether's dead, copia might be soon, and little dewdrop isn't coping very well.

also no. i dont want to talk about the fact that this is 10k words. just be grateful it is.

read on ao3, or continue below

-

Dew should be in the mood for celebrations. Everyone else seems content to be, Aurora excitedly searching up the hottest nightclubs in Brisbane, flicking through hair colors for her glamour while Phantom peers over her shoulder to offer his advice. Cirrus is leaning back into Cumulus' chest, breaths whistling softly through her angelically parted lips as she dozes. She'll join the new kids, and she'll swear she didn't have a nap on the bus. No one will say anything against it, lest she invite them to her room for apologies back at the Abbey. Mountain has taken up residence around Rain's lithe body, nose buried in his hair as Rain's tail wraps around Mountain's wrist. They sway with the movement of the bus, and to some little tune they're sharing with Rain's headphones. Swiss is deep in a low conversation with Copia, probably talking about some vintage whiskey he'd like to share with his Papa and see where the night takes them.

So that just leaves Dew. Back of the bus alone, noise cancelling headphones on, listening to the loudest, angriest music he could find. He'd gone through the effort to put it on his phone after it managed to disappear from the Internet— he might as well listen to the fucking thing. He has his phone open to his texts, cursor blinking at him as he indulges in his worst habit.

A conversation stares up at him, a few months old now, long discontinued. A conversation with Aether.

Aeth 🖤

Haha you know I got you babe

Dewbug 💧

you are the wind beneath my wings 🕊️

It's the last thing he ever sent to Aether, or rather the last thing Aether ever read. There's a wall of messages from over the past months, none of them sent, and certainly none of them received. Telling Aether how much he's tried to hate Phantom, as if it would bring him back. How the little shit managed to worm his way into some small portion of the hole Aether left. The sheer amount that Sunny would have clicked with Aurora, two little fireballs of energy and life. How his day had gone, how tour was going, little things that made Dew remember him. And every now and again, breathless, sobbing messages, barely legible because Dew couldn't get his hands to stop shaking.

He types out a message a few times and deletes it, like this isn't just some masochistic diary. Eventually he just starts typing and sending before he can even think, and then thinks about throwing his phone out the bus window.

Tour finished tonight. I know how much you loved this country. How much you loved this world. I wish you could have seen this crowd, shit. It just gets bigger every time.

I'm sorry I never stopped missing you.

I'm sorry about the hole left in my chest. The new kids don't deserve it. They're so young and full of life.

You would have been so proud of Phantom. He handles that fucking Fantomen better than either of us ever did, sorry to say.

Copia called himself frail, the fucker. Watched that sea of phones go up, like it's a game to them. Maybe it is. Maybe they don't realize.

Well I mean he stuck a fucking ice cube down his pants, I can't blame them for wanting to keep that forever. 

Satanas, I hope I keep him forever.

Dew presses his forehead against the window of the bus, rattling his skull in a way that's perversely satisfying as the bus rounds a corner. When they arrive at their hotel, a sleepy little collection of cabins he's heard a couple locals — and Mountain — call a caravan park, he makes his way to his room without even so much as a goodnight to everyone else. He has no idea if anyone else notices, but he hears and promptly ignores Copia's soft voice calling after him. He just can't tonight, just can't face pity and look into those sad eyes and pretend like he isn't scared out of his mind.

He's similarly distant at the airport, hood drawn up and sunglasses shielding his eyes. Everyone else has a pounding headache from the celebrations, Dew just can't handle the idea of being witnessed. He sits apart from the group when they get to their gate, ready for that long haul back to Stockholm and wishing he could let some of his glamour slip. He feels itchy and cooped up, and maybe if he could soothe the spade of his tail like a kit does, he'd feel a little better.

But as kind as Copia is about their forms, that's a step too far. It's not like Dew is going to do anything to face the wrath of the Ministry, certainly not now, so he just contents himself with knowing he's got a few good months of letting his wings free coming up soon. He's sat beside Copia, to his infinite dismay and his eternal delight. Their hands stay tangled under the blanket the whole flight, as few words are exchanged between them. Neither feel like talking much, and Copia spends about half the trip snoring away anyways. 

The Abbey welcomes them like a parent awaiting the empty nest to be filled again for the holidays, warm and insistent but also a little bittersweet. Everyone knows it is not meant to last. As Copia gives his first sermon back to a rapt group of Siblings, worn lines gracing the curves of his face, Dew has to leave Black Mass halfway through for the first time in his infernal life. There's something in the way the light hits Copia's face that makes him seem as frail as he toyed with being on stage, tired and beaten down. Hopefully his Unholy Father can find some way to forgive him the transgression. He presses a kiss to the icon of Asmodeus on his rosary and makes a silent promise to the Saint of Hell that he won't whine next time he's asked to deal with the hundreds of candles in the chapel.

As he walks, his legs carry him on well worn paths, ones he remembers walking with dewier skin and a younger heart. The ever so slightly disastrous state of the garden calls to him, whatever little mote of water that remains between his ribs aches to help Mountain fix it the way he used to, even though the earth ghoul is still kneeling piously in the pews. The autumnal shade of the oaks lining the gothic courtyard remind him of years past, chasing after the love and affection of other Papas, and losing those just as easily as his beauty earned them. Dew ends up back in the dormitories, looking up with a start when he realizes he's at the place that hasn't been his room in years. It's the one he shared with… Satanas, he can't remember their name anymore. Back when he was still craving Secondo's attention, the little siren that he was.

Dew shakes off the memories and heads back to his own room, but not before passing Copia's door. It's obviously unoccupied, but there's a little pull from deep in Dew's gut that begs him to change that. He makes to continue towards his chambers, but he gets about three steps before doubling back and trying the doorknob tremulously. It gives— Copia had a terrible habit of leaving doors unlocked behind him. 

Copia’s room is a monument to his simple tastes, to the luxury of small things. It’s nowhere near as lavishly appointed as Terzo’s room was; there’s no sumptuous silks and fine rare dyes here, no gilt kissing the corners of everything. And it’s certainly not the somber elegance that Secondo surrounded himself in, high pile velvet that swallowed all light and sound until the room felt almost claustrophobic. No, it was about as breezy and light as the old Abbey could manage, windows perpetually open to let in the smell of fresh cut grass, or the breeze off the lake, or the sick-sweet rot of leaves as Dew notices now. The window is a panoply of cool colored diamonds of stained glass, casting a mottled glow onto the floor and on his arms that reminds Dew of hot summer days in the lake, of flirting with Mist as they ducked through the cool waters together and let their bodies twine in ecstasy. 

Dew crawls into the butter soft sheets, the delicate cream color feeling like it’s going to be sullied by his presence. He can’t call to mind the country of origin, though it sounded fancy when Copia decided to treat himself after a long tour with one too many scratchy sheets. Dew didn’t pay much attention, his thoughts were occupied otherwise as Copia ordered the sheets with one hand idly petting away between his horns. The little ghoul crawls into the divot formed by Copia’s body and buries his sensitive nose into the place where his head rests nightly. It’s an explosion of love that blasts the blackened char of his heart into a thriving, burning core again. It’s vanilla and jasmine, the first kiss of spring after a winter of using the powers forced on him to keep the Abbey’s residents warm, that very first time a timid Cardinal looked his way and said that he didn’t know if Dew would want the compliment, but that he was looking very nice today. (He hadn't been, he had smoldering sticks in his hair from where he'd dived into a bush to capture one of the Cardinal's rats.)

He delicately tangles his fingers up in the sheets, careful not to pierce or snag them with his claws, and curls up tight. The sensations in the room are all he can focus on; the ambient chatter from Siblings and ghouls alike that sings through the unhallowed halls, the decaying smell of the book glue holding together Copia's beloved and very old copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, the taste of his own bile on his tongue as tears rise unbidden to his lashes. Dew lets a few of the tears fall to the pillow, sullying the fine fabric with his own weakness. He barely notices the acid clang of the chapel bells ringing to signal the end of Black Mass, though when the door clicks open he shoots up guiltily, ears pinned back.

"Papa, I didn't, I-" His voice cracks from disuse, and Dew realizes then how little he's been around his pack since they got back. He slinks off to bed before anyone retires, has shrugged off invitations to movie nights and even brushed off Mountain when he was invited to spend some time in the greenhouse. He'd just needed his space, right?

"No, no, tesoro mio, you know you're always welcome. But I noticed you slip out of Mass, and you’re never absent from Mass.” Copia comes and sits on the bed, depressing it slightly. He puts a hand between them, bridging the gap in a way that leaves Dew the power to make the choice to reach out. Dew watches guiltily as his gloved fingers stroke idly along the grain of the fabric. His whole body screams at him to reach out, to make the connection, but he can’t make his arms move from where they’re wrapped around his wan frame. Trembling fingers soothe along the scars on his ribs where his gills used to be, and Copia moves his hand to Dew’s knee. “What prompted you to leave, Dewdrop?”

“I haven’t.. I haven’t been okay for a while, Papa.” Dew admits, voice low like a confession. Forgive him, Unholy Father, he knows full well what he’s done. “I can’t…” His voice clicks as more tears spill over his cheeks. He brings his knuckles up to brush the tears away, but they're interrupted by the soft kiss of leather as Copia catches the tears on his own fingers.

"Take your time, mio amato." Copia scoots a little further onto the bed, and in a flurry of hot limbs, Dew launches into his arms. He lets out a soft oof as he catches Dew, sinking a hand into the tangle of his hair. Dew paws at Copia's shirt for a lifeline, sobs shuddering his whole body.

"I can't lose you. I can't lose anyone else." Dew whispers hoarsely all in one breath, until he takes in another gasping breath and the tears fall heavier. He didn't think there was so much water left in his body. Copia tuts gently and strokes down each knob of Dew's spine, a soothe he discovered after Dew had his first panic attack under Copia's care. It had happened after that very first show where he was on lead guitar, with a body that felt alien and shouldering more responsibility than he could manage. The show had gone off without a hitch, but Copia had found Dew a sobbing mess on the floor of the dressing room. He'd stayed there longer than the venue really wanted, but it didn't matter. Copia was determined to stay until his ghoul was alright.

"You aren't going to lose me." Copia murmurs back, rubbing the thin space between Dew's shaking wings. The little fire ghoul whimpers piteously, claws sinking into Copia's shirt before he realizes with a gasp what he's done. "No, no, you're alright. It's just a shirt." He soothes, voice low and sonorous.

"Aeth said-" Dew can't finish the sentence, but Copia figures out rather quickly what his ghoul is implying. He knows well of the bond between the two, and how much it had pained Dew to have it severed. When the Ministry came to collect its assets, to recoup the loss of a very taxing new quintessence ghoul to summon, Aether had gone with a grace the barbaric act hardly deserved. But he'd not been given the choice to explain to his mates, or to even say goodbye. It was sudden, jarring, and Copia had been there to support Dew while he delivered the worst news to his pack that anyone could fathom.

"I know. I know it must sound like an empty promise. But who could take me away from you?" Copia says gently, pushing his hand under the hem of Dew's shirt to stroke the furred base of Dew's tail. "I would fight the forces of Heaven and Hell to keep you in my arms." 

"Who could take you away? The same people who took Aether, Sunshine, your brothers, Alpha, Omega, Ifrit. Should I go on?" Dew pulls back to look at Copia incredulously, tear tracks burned into his cheeks. He looks over Copia's face, takes in the life worn into his features, the freckles that Dew himself has kissed over after a night of passion. "You said it yourself, Papa, you said that you're frail. Your time is up soon. And you can tell me that some of it is toying with your flock but-" Dew cuts himself off with the memory of their arms wrapped around the others waist on stage, as Dew did his best to not look utterly besotted with his Papa. I love you, little man. Saints, the words ring in his head even now. How it thrilled his chest to be publicly declared worthy of the unholiest love he knows, how bittersweet the finality of it all felt on his tongue. "How am I supposed to know that when I wake up, you'll still be here?"

"I think you'll just have to trust me." Copia sighs, fingers still rubbing the little patch of fur that graces the transition from human to beast, from glamour to ghoul. "I know it is an impossible task."

"No. Trusting you is easy. It's the world I can't rely on." Dew rubs the tears away, a low purr kicking up at the gentle pets to his trembling body. His heart rate is starting to slow, that infernal core cooling off to a glowing coal. The panic takes a backseat to the fact that Copia is here, in his arms. For right now, whatever comes next is immaterial. 

"Then let me be your world, and rely on me." Copia breathes, pulling Dew into an achingly tender kiss. Dew can still smell the incense from Mass clinging to his hair, with that undercut of jasmine and salted tangerine from his cologne. That all too familiar scent is safety to Dew, it's love, it's home, it's hope. No matter the bouquet of pheromones that his pack has for him, it's never quite this combination. He would know Copia by this alone, by the brush of uncalloused fingers on his cheek, by the sound of rushing blood through his veins rather than ichor. 

The kiss finally lets Dew relax, wings drooping heavily as all the tension leaches from his body like his namesake evaporating in the heat of a summer morning. He's cried himself into emotional exhaustion, and now he just wants to be touched. He's tired of shutting himself off, tired of being on the outside of the pack, tired of being scared and wounded and crawling off to die alone like a cat. Copia pulls him closer, a low whine building in his throat that makes Dew crave him deeper than he ever thought possible.

"I love you." Dew pants when they both pull back for air, foreheads pressed together as Dew feels leather-clad hands exploring the familiar pathways of his body. His horns press softly against Copia, that eternal reminder of how different they are at their cores. "I've never- you.. I don't think I'll ever love like this again." Copia hums softly and kisses the corner of Dew's mouth, drawing him back in like the tide. 

"Maybe not. Maybe you will." Copia leans back slightly, bringing a hand up to his teeth to pull the glove off. Perhaps he doesn't notice how it makes all the hair on Dew's body stand on end, perhaps he notices and doesn't care, because he does it to the other one, clasping the gloves in one hand and gently tossing them to the desk where they land limply. His fingers are impossibly warm and soft as they come back to grace Dew's imperfect form, well manicured nails scraping ever so slightly. "All that matters to me is loving you here and now."

"Then love me. Love me fully." Dew begs, a whine creeping into his plea. But Copia isn't deterred by the vulnerability, isn't scared off by Dew's infernal ache. He pushes into the soft curve of Dew's jaw, leaves painted kisses there as he slowly pulls the shirt off that Dew stole from Mountain some years back. It hangs off him like a tunic, but no one could deny him whatever he wanted, considering he looked so loved in the oversized garment.

Perhaps it isn't wise to seek to heal this hurt with sins of the flesh; Dew recognizes this. And there is more yet to do to banish this pain from his mind, his soul, and perhaps truly it will never be gone. There is always going to be an indelible mark that the ones who are no longer here make on his pitch-heart, carve their name in hellish runes on the very surface of his obsidian bones. And in time, he will learn to live with this. In time he will wear the names of the departed with pride, and love, and welcome new names and new loves to become part of him. For right now, though, he is as shattered porcelain, begging to be put together anew. Changed by the process, but once again whole.

Dew sinks his claws into Copia's shirt again as his Papa's lips travel lower, kissing over his prominent collarbones, and up to the faded scars from his gills. Dew had tried to open them up once, a year or so after his transition. A delusion grabbed hold of his shattered psyche, convinced him that the beautiful creature he used to be lay still underneath the surface, needing to molt to become himself again. It was Aether who found him, fingers stained black with the effort of his pain, shaking and sobbing and woozy from blood loss. It was Aether who used his fledgling powers, tripping on the unsteady legs of a newborn deer to knit flesh back together again. And it was Aether who convinced him that he was beautiful any and every way he was, and that the cruelty of the powers that be was in no way his fault. 

The Ministry moved in mysterious ways, sometimes bold and striking declarations from Sister Imperator, and sometimes people unbeknownst to even Copia would show up and demand things of he who should be the highest power. It always unsettled Dew, made him feel as if Copia was little more than a dancing monkey, a figurehead puppet who they could shove in front of the yearning masses, who could take the fall when culture came to bite back. It was Copia, of course, who takes the blame for introducing the devil back into the 'good, Christian world'. Copia, of course, who takes the blame for corrupting youths by daring to imply that they should be loved as they are. Copia, of course, who is at fault for wanting his flock to feel and touch and love and fuck as much as their desires told them to, for what could be more human?

"Should I just take this thing off, eh?" Copia says with a smile, eyes flicking down to the long claw marks in the dog-collared button down. It only strikes Dew then that he probably came back to his room to get changed after Mass, only to find a very sad and vulnerable little ghoul in his bed. 

"Oh, I.. I didn't mean to-" Dew shrinks away from all the points of contact with Copia, only to have it chased right back as Copia slides his arms around Dew.

"It's just a shirt. Dime a dozen, dolcezza." Copia squeezes Dew gently, fingers finding scars with featherlight touches. The ones he's given himself, the ones inflicted on him, all fall away to nothing under Copia's careful touch. It's as if he's made anew. "Help me get out of it?" He doesn't need help— it's become tatters— but he wants Dew to unfurl, wants him to feel this. Dew plucks at the buttons gingerly, one by one, until he can push the shirt to the floor.

Dew takes a moment to regard the one he loves, the incrementally graying chest hair, his softness, the beautiful fallibility of his mortal flesh. He'd only started to notice Copia's temples going gray this most recent tour, and it was certainly fuel for the fire that was his anxiety. But in the objective sense, it granted him a handsome gravitas Dew couldn't deny. From the way his flock would cheer when he promised to fuck the crowd, it would seem that he wasn't alone in that opinion. Shaking claws reach to stroke along Copia's sensitive sides, and Dew watches with rapt attention as his perfect stomach twitches with barely contained laughter.

"You know I'm ticklish there, don't you?" Copia asks with a smirk, though both of them know that he is. "And yet the touch persists, how cruel of you." Dew finds himself smiling ever so slightly as he shifts and pushes Copia down to the plush bed, deft fingers attacking soft curves. Peals of laughter ring around the room from the both of them as they fall back into each other, into soft lingering kisses that feel first-time timid. With that same gingerness, Dew reaches below the belt for the first time for an exploratory pet. The response he gets is beautifully favorable, a stuttered gasp from Copia, pupils blown. "And if I said I was ticklish there, would you stay your hand?" 

"Saints, I love you when you get romantic like this." Dew says, Copia's fingers coming to rest along Dew's forearm. They regard each other for a long moment, Dew's hair curtaining down in the way that he's always been called beautiful for. He'd thought about shearing his hair after his transition, no longer yearning to feel his hair trail behind him while he swims, no longer feeling like anyone's preziosa sirenella. It was a joint effort from Aether and Copia that had kept it long, Aether meditatively brushing and plaiting the hair while Copia held him close and called him beautiful again, praised the fire in his eyes and the blaze in his bones.

"What you call romantic I simply call honest." One of Copia's hands traces a little trail up the inside of Dew's arm, along his chest to cup his cheek. He pushes up with the other hand, pulling Dew in to kiss him with a little more urgency, a little more breathlessly. He moans wantonly into the kiss, parting his lips to let Copia get even closer, to taste him more insistently. They eventually make their way to a reverse of before, Dew laid back on the pillows looking for all the world like a fallen angel. Sure, the horns and batlike wings don't fit the picture, but the amber eyes looking up through pale lashes seem for all the world like a creature spurned from grace.

His beauty turns to ecstacy when Copia litters his chest with little kisses and love bites, none too hard. Though he'd be hard pressed to bite harder than Swiss, especially considering his rather dull teeth in comparison. But right now Dew can't imagine anything feeling better than this, especially when soft lips brush over his piercings. His back arches into the contact, tail squirming and disturbing the duvet. He lets out a long, low, whined out Papa, which gets him a little hum against his heaving chest. Copia's clever fingers take an exploration down to where Dew's shaft has grown behind his loose joggers.

"Please?" Dew whines, hips jumping and earning him a low, husky laugh from Copia. 

"You don't have to beg, tizzone." Copia says gently, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Dew's pants. His eyebrows raise expectantly, and Dew scrambles to lift his hips enough to get the joggers off. Dew kicks the pants to the ground and paws hungrily at Copia's chest, pulling him into more kisses as the room floods with his cinnamon desire. He's already dripping slick all over the slim juncture of his thighs, squirming underneath the watchful gaze of his Papa. He is flayed open, raw and beating heart ripe for the taking by any predator who dared. And yet, he is not torn in two, and the soft curve of his chest is simply kissed over, leaving smudges of black paint. When Copia leaves his ministrations be, he looks more like a raccoon than normal, all the paint on his lips smudged off completely.

"You look like those, Saints, what does Mountie call them, the bloody trash pandas?" Dew says through a snorting laugh, appending his best true blue impression of Mountain. Copia rolls his eyes fondly and pushes back up onto his haunches, looking down at the ghoul spread out like a feast before him.

"If you're going to be mean I can leave." Copia earns playfully, getting his stern voice out that usually gets reserved for when they've destroyed a hotel room with some sexcapade that makes the bill fall on his shoulders. Notable examples include the scorched bed from when Dew was pinned down and made to cum over and over and over until his little body couldn't take the pressure and literally exploded into flames; the broken bed frame from when Rain begged Mountain for more more more harder please mountie please and the gentle giant had unleashed his powers to rend the particle board to dust as he finished deep in the hot clutch of Rain's body. The most recent incident was the room that looked like a nuclear bomb had gone off when Phantom had lost control of his powers and unleashed a supernova in a cheap hotel, but each of them was brushed under the rug by an understanding but mildly disappointed Copia.

"No! No, I'm sorry, you look nice." Dew reaches out shakily, gripping Copia's shoulders with a fervent whimper. Copia's shoulders slump slightly, and he rubs his thumb along the bird-light joint of Dew's wrist.

"I could never leave you, but I do think I should probably get my shoes off before we continue, eh?" He presses a kiss to the fluttering pulse of Dew's wrist and pulls back a couple steps off the bed to slip his dress shoes off, pulling his belt out of the loops. He hears Dew's throat click with a heavy swallow, and for a moment they share in the hunger for something harder, something that leaves Dew flushed and crying. They're no stranger to that kind of play; there's a very good reason why Copia has a plethora of different leather gloves, well worn by use and, well, too much cleaning. But the moment passes, fleeting as can be, when Copia bends down to unclip the garters from his socks. "Should I leave the pants to you?" He asks with a soft smile, just as Dew's crawling his way down the bed to pluck teasingly at Copia's zipper. 

"Maybe. I let you undress me." Dew grins up at Copia wolfishly, quick fingers dancing along pressed slacks until before Copia knows, his fly is undone and Dew is pawing at him. 

"Should I just fuck you like this?" He laughs, following the line of Dew's thin fingers to gently grip himself. "Boxers and all?"

"You can do it however you like, Papa, as long as you don't let me go." Dew breathes, flame-hot over the thin fabric separating his flushed mouth from sensitive flesh. Copia awkwardly shuffles everything down to a messy pile on the floor, the only real sign someone lives in the room that Dew's noticed since he crawled into bed. His cock springs up, a tempting little bead of pre welling up at the head. Dew grits his teeth in an effort to resist, but as if pulled by an invisible tether, he leans in to press an almost chaste kiss to the head.

"Now that's very dangerous of you, tizzone." Copia breathes as Dew returns to lounging on the pillows, waiting for Copia to chase him up. Nimble fingers dip down to splay open his slit, shimmering in the sun that still filters in the windows. Copia looses a punched groan and moves with a swiftness few people see from him, clambering across the bed to smother his ghoul in kisses once more.

"Need you in me, you know I'm ready for it." Dew juts his chin up proudly, grabbing Copia's hand and shoving it unceremoniously down to his slit. His wide eyes beg him to pet through the velvety folds, and then up to let the smooth, slick length of his shaft throb against his hand. Copia relents, of course he relents to the bid for touch, probing a couple thick fingers into Dew's entrance. He scissors his fingers gently, watching Dew's expression carefully. The fire ghoul's face screws up, but through the years they've been sleeping together, Copia has learned well the difference between pain and pleasure. Dew is firmly on the side of pleasure, at least until something shifts in his face, lip twitching.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Copia pulls his fingers out, and Dew scrubs at his face, taking a gulping breath and trying to calm his hummingbird heartbeat. He shakes his head, mouth trying to find words.

"It- you… for a second, you felt like…" Dew closes his eyes, trying to find some anchor in the sea of his feelings. "Aeth. I know it's stupid to think about—"

"No, no, Dew, it's not stupid. When do emotions run higher than this, more than when two become one?" Copia brings his clean hand up to cup Dew's cheek, pressing their foreheads together. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No! No. Saints, no, I- I need this. Just need you." Dew throws his arms around the broadness of Copia's back, fingers splaying over the freckled expanse of skin. He clings tight, chest heaving until Copia presses a warm palm to his sternum. They don't say anything, they just breathe in tandem until Copia's even breathing is the rhythm they both follow. Dew nods, and Copia knows what he's ready for without words. They've really never needed words, able to read each other with the smallest twitch of an eye or the quirk of a lip. So it's no surprise to Copia that when he latches his lips to Dew's hot pulse and sinks his fingers back into the warmth of Dew's slit that the little ghoul howls in pleasure, hips jumping erratically.

Copia suckles a dark bite into the pale gray of his Dewdrop, purple blooming to the surface prettily as he opens Dew up. He doesn't need Copia's fingers scissoring him open, not by a long shot, but he'd be remiss if he didn't get his hands dirty in the pursuit of pleasuring Dew. Copia curls his fingers just so, and Dew shouts in ecstacy, shaft throbbing dully as more slick leaks out over his soft stomach.

"Please, please Papa, I don't want to wait anymore." He lays the piety on thick, which seems a little bold for a ghoul who snuck out of Mass. Copia forgives the indulgence, though, and lines himself up to tease the head of his cock along slick folds. "No, no no no nonono, don't tease, please." Dew sobs out. He seems so shattered already, Copia can't help but sink into him, mouth tucked into the angles of his throat to feel his pleasured noises.

"See, I can be kind." Copia mumbles, mouth a little occupied with absolutely ruining Dew with kisses and bruises. Dew yelps as Copia sinks home, hips kissing for a brief second before he pulls almost all the way out.

"Not that kind, apparently." Dew grumbles, jerking up to try and fuck himself on the unmoving cock. Copia lets him try it for a little bit, a faint amused smile playing on his lips. It doesn't last long until the heat beckons, that velvet inferno, and Copia sinks in again with a low groan. Dew's little wings flex against the sheets, claws barely resisting sinking into Copia to pull him impossibly close. He doesn't need the prodding, though, because he picks up a neat little pace. It's not as hard or fervent as it will grow to be, but for now it's just what both of them need. They move together with the gentle push and pull of the ocean, and it reminds Dew of endless quiet moments on the bus, smothering moans in the plush flesh of his lover as they rock with the movement of the bus.

It threatens to ruin Dew's mood, but he forces his mind to think of the ones he's shared that experience with who are still here. Chief among them is of course the man between his legs now, but he feels a different little thrill thinking about Swiss swallowing Dew's noises by clamping a big hand over his mouth, or Cumulus promising to treat him so well if he can stay quiet all on his own. That brings him back from the brink of absolute collapse, to say nothing of the reality of Copia dragging him into a slow, messy kiss. 

Dew slides a hand down in between the both of them to tug at his shaft, but his hand is batted away by Copia. He whimpers at the loss, but Copia picks up the slack immediately. "Just let me take care of you." He murmurs by way of explanation, gently squeezing the slick length of Dew's shaft. His barbs leak all over Copia's fingers, making the glide of skin on skin all but frictionless. It's not the only trait he retained from his previous element, but it was probably the least upsetting. He never needed much foreplay, though he enjoyed it thoroughly, and it definitely made him the pack's favorite choice for a quickie. His hands almost instinctively slide up above his head, ready to be pinned by a large hand. It was one of Mountain's favorite moves, to make him feel impossibly small, but Copia doesn't make the move.

So instead, Dew opts to keep his hands locked tight around the bars of the headboard, thin fingers twining around carved mahogany. Copia groans at the sight when he flicks up his mismatched eyes, focusing back on ruining Dew's chest with love bites. If he thinks too hard about the unfailing obedience that Dew offers him, this endeavor ends far too soon. Then again, compared to the infernal endurance of his ghouls, he's a minute man by comparison, so frankly he's just got to try his best.

"I love you." Dew blurts out randomly, voice thick with pleasure and barely held back tears. Copia's hips stutter for a moment before he looks up to see that the tears are of ecstacy, as far as he can tell. He blinks once, and the fat tears fall from his lashes and race down the hollow of his throat to leave wet spots on the pillow. In response to the love, Copia adjusts himself and pulls Dew's slim legs around his waist, locking them together eternally.

"I love you, Dewdrop, Father Below, do I love you." His hand leaves Dew's shaft for just a millisecond to make sure Dew's legs are locked tight. It returns in due time, bringing with it increased fervor and a lump in his throat that Copia wasn't expecting. He's never been stoic, Saints no, but not nearly as much of a crier as his sweet Dewdrop. There's something in the air today, then that has him choked up. So be it. If his body needs that release, he won't deny himself.

"Don't leave. Please, please don't leave me alone, please stay, Copia please, I can't live without you, I can't lose you." The steady stream of tears turns to wet sobs, and Dew's hands fly from the headboard to cling desperately to Copia and pull him impossibly closer. Their bodies are all but one as their hips meet over and over. Something in the desperate cries makes the fragile dam inside Copia break, and when he screws up his face when Dew flutters, he feels the hot slide of tears down his own cheeks.

"I could never, tizzone. I can't bear to lose another person. I can't hurt you." His voice shakes, and he'd love to pretend that it's because of all the sensations swallowing him, the sweet honey heat of his Dew. But it's a disservice, he thinks, to pretend himself incapable of tears. What then, of the grief he'd experienced, of all the loss of family and love alike? Here, in the sanctuary of his room, he has no obligation to be His Unholiness, Papa Emeritus IV, a stoic figurehead to lead and protect his flock. He can just be, ever so simply, Copia. A man, with vulnerabilities just like everyone else. He swallows heavily, and Dew leans up to kiss his tears away. They're both just sort of crying on each other, wet cheeks pressed together. 

They press even closer to each other, chest to chest as Copia's hips speed up. His hand squeezes the forming knot at the base of Dew's shaft, interrupting the tears with a yelp of pleasure.

"Oh, oh fuck, harder, please, can you- harder?" Dew asks, voice trembling. He never asks this politely, and combined with the throb of his shaft, Copia realizes he's not the only minute man here. The pace slows down in service of more brutal thrusts, getting punched little groans from the both of them as the bed creaks with protest. His hand makes choppy little strokes along Dew's shaft, lack of rhythm unbecoming of a practiced musician. Dew doesn't seem to mind, head tossing back and forth and making his silken hair into a mussed tangle despite the inelegance of Copia's thrusts. Right about when Copia expects, his thighs and hips start to burn in protest. It's for the best that he thinks about bringing things to a crescendo.

It's definitely not a premature end; Dew's slit is pulsing heavily around Copia which always signals that he's about to burst. The little hiccups each time he fucks a little deeper into Dew's hot body are a sure sign that it's time to try his dirtiest trick. Well, 'dirty' implies that he's on equal sexual footing with the very emissaries of Hell's lust, so it's more that he's a very clever lover. He swipes both his hands under Dew's ass, trusting his knees for all of two seconds to bear the weight of him while he adjusts to fuck up into the spot that makes Dew howl. And howl he does, one hand clawing deeply at Copia's shoulder without breaking skin. The other rends the pillow under his head to downy shreds, fine duck feathers exploding into the room and clinging to Dew's sweaty shoulders.

"Aaah, yes, yes, Copia please, please I'm right there, touch me touch me please please, Unholy Father, I need to cum!" Dew sobs wetly, bringing a feathered hand up to scrub the tears away so he can beg with the full power of his alluring amber eyes. He doesn't need to beg; he never needed to ask. But it seems ingrained in him to ask permission, so Copia gives him a little grunt of affirmation. That's apparently the key to get the levee to burst, because Dew spills all over his stomach and chest with a wail. Iridescent cum coats his piercings, glittering in the dappled light of the window. The fluttering of Dew's silken walls around him means Copia is barely moments behind, spilling into Dew and screwing up his face. 

The ecstacy brings the tears back in full force, a sick combination of pain and pleasure. His chest constricts as if squeezed from within, and he finally looses a proper sob. Copia wipes at his eye, coming back with a smeared blob of paint staining his fingers, and it's quite belatedly he realizes that he probably looks absolutely haggard. He can't be fucked to care, honestly, especially as he pulls out and lowers Dew back down to the bed, watching as his chest heaves. Dew's cum barely starts to dry, hardly gets the chance before Copia leans down to clean him up with that silvered tongue. He laps broadly, swiping up slick and cum in equal measure as Dew sobs quietly into the back of his hand. Copia keeps his kisses featherlight, his tongue as restrained as he dares. If he catches a couple of his own tears in his ministrations, so be it.

"Saints, I could worship you forever. You are so dear, so unholy to me." Copia breathes against Dew's damp skin, ears tuned to the stuttered hiccup at the reversal. Dew had caught the attention of many a man (and woman) of the cloth, and yet none of them had found him worthy of worship. Only Copia truly viewed him as not only equal, but superior. Dew did his fair share of devotion in the bedroom, but he was used to being on his knees in more ways than one.

"Don't deserve it." Dew whimpers, though his hands tell a different story when they sink into Copia's hair. "I don't- I'm not beautiful anymore, not like I used to be. Too much blood." His hands twitch on Copia's scalp, and for a brief moment all Copia can think of is the moment Dew stumbled on him in a puddle of ichor, of Aether's— No. No. Not now. Not when he's dragging down lower, sensitive cock brushing against silky sheets when he settles in between Dew's legs. Copia's spend leaks wetly from Dew, little pulses of his orgasmic afterglow pushing a new wave of slick and cum out of him. He watches for a couple seconds, pleasure-dazed until he remembers his purpose, hands coming up to stroke gently at the thin plane of Dew's thighs. Gentle fingertips stroke at the fine hair on his legs, feeling the muscles twitch uncertainly as Dew awaits whatever comes next.

What comes next is a supernova of overstimulation, Copia's tongue licking broadly between dusky folds. He's so pretty and dark down here, like a rare flower with midnight petals. 

"Fuck, hurts. Hurts good." Dew bleats, taking a fistful of Copia's hair in his hand as he's cleaned out with gentle licks. "Please don't stop. Might go again." Copia groans into slick flesh, the idea that he could bring Dew to even the littlest orgasm down here stirring heat right back up in his gut. So he sets himself to the task, bringing a single firm finger up to prod tenderly. It's under the guise of making sure Dew is cleaned up properly, but it's really to pet at his soft walls and feel him flutter with each lick. Before he knows it, Dew is clamping his thighs tight and squealing, body forcing every last drop out of him and onto Copia's tongue. Dew doesn't have to push him away when he's had too much, because Copia knows him intimately, knows just when to draw his finger out in the aftershocks.

Dew's face is blotchy, all different shades of plum and tyrian purple, and the patchwork only continues down his neck and chest. His face is still wet with tears, though they've dried down to a velvet sheen on his soft cheek. Copia kisses the inside of his knee, murmuring softly that he'll be right back, he's just going to grab something to clean them both off. Dew assumes he's going for the ensuite, and he paws at Copia with a yelp, but he only moves to the other bedside table to flip open a vintage cigar box. Inside is not cigars, but a pastel little packet of baby wipes, all hidden away to keep the impeccable aesthetic of his room in order. Dew watches curiously before he lets out a watery laugh that turns a little teary, making more feathers from the destroyed pillow stick to him.

"Oh, shit, the- Papa, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—" Copia waves a hand and beckons Dew off the ruined pillow. He goes uncertainly, relaxing into the touch as Copia wipes him down, leaving him smelling faintly of honey and almond.

"It's a pillow, I can get another. I'll forgive you if you tell me what's so funny." His mouth settles into a lazy smile as he discards the wipe to grab another and slip it down between Dew's legs. The little ghoul hisses at the cold between his warm legs, but he does as his Papa asks.

"Just the," he waves his hand at the cigar box, "I don't know. Such a silly little thing hidden away in a mature shell. It's very you. And I love that. Practical and not too serious and-" Dew shudders as his sensitive shaft retreats, brushing against the cool wipe. "Hells, that's cold."

"I would be loathe to invest in a wipe warmer." Copia explains mildly, with the not so subtle implication Dew was being a bit of a baby about the cold. "Rain loves it, says he gets too hot and sticky." Dew opens his mouth to protest, but clacks it shut with a snap of his jaws, brow furrowing.

"Well. I'm not much like him anymore, am I?" He says quietly, eyes sparking like when he loses control of his element. Copia watches him carefully, fingers stopped in their work to ensure he doesn't obliterate the bed. The fire dies down completely, quenched by the tears that bubble up and fall with a scary speed. "Not much of anything, really." He hiccups, and it's the comedown Copia was really expecting. He's never escaped a teary romp in the sheets without lengthy aftercare, and likely some of the world's worst pillow talk by normal standards. 

"No, no. You're everything. I knew you were beautiful from the moment I saw you." Copia soothes, tossing the soiled wipes into the wastebin that's there for just that purpose. He hesitates for a moment, wondering if it's worth the effort to clean up his paint. But he eventually perishes the thought, considering that Dew is grasping up at him with pitiful paws. So he looks like a rat left out in the rain, so what? He sits back down on the bed, shunting Dew into his lap and gently picking every stray feather off of his damp skin. Every fourth feather or so, he brushes Dew's cheeks of the tears that incessantly fall, granting him reprieve best he can. "It's alright. I knew this was coming for a long time, dolcezza." 

"What- what do you mean?" Dew looks up blearily from behind his tears, eyes now dulled to the color of stale coals. Copia tuts gently, flexing slightly so that his foot doesn't go fully numb with the pressure of the little head on his thigh.

"You were withdrawn since Brisbane. Barely spoke for weeks, all you did was hold my hand on the plane." His voice is gentle, all the patience of a teacher, a leader, a pastor. All the things he's been to Dew and more, his anchor in the storm. "I've seen this mood on you before, Dewdrop. I know how you get when the.." He waves his hand, looking for the words, "melancholy takes a hold of you." He's probably looking for depression, but he's got a poet's soul. Sue him. "Mountain came to me a little while ago, asked if you had been more forthcoming with me about how you were doing. Your pack is worried about you, myself included." 

"I wish he wouldn't." Dew grumbles, wiping at his face. He's mostly free of feathers, so Copia's moved to gently detangling his hair and picking out the down he finds stuck there. "I just.. I wish they'd leave me alone."

"You know they won't. When I saw you leave Mass I.. to be honest I almost stopped the whole affair to chase you." He'd been in the middle of Desecration, holding His Infernal Body aloft when he saw Dew excuse himself and slip out along the shadowed corridors, votive candles burning a little brighter as he passed. It'd formed a lump in his throat that hadn't gone away till he'd been able to shed his robes, leaving them in a pile for the poor sacristy ghouls to deal with. "I was glad to find you here, instead of.." He trails off with a shaky breath, the implication hanging as a sword of Damocles above them.

Dew closes his eyes tight, forcing tears down his mottled cheeks. He balls his fists, and it's like he's trying to squeeze all the anxiety and pain and doubt out of his little body. He relaxes with a slump, laying heavier on Copia's lap. Alabaster horns prick at Copia's thigh, and he sinks his fingers into Dew's very scalp to massage around the base of his horns. Sometimes that touch is arousing, but right now it's just soothing, though it does little to stop the tears.

"What's keeping you away from us, little flame?" Copia murmurs, trailing his fingers down to press his middle fingers into the little spot at the hinge of Dew's jaw on either side. So much tension is carried here, not to mention the spot where his pheromones burn the strongest, and when Copia massages the whole room floods with warm tobacco and teak. 

"I.." Dew breathes in and out once, chest trembling, "I'm terrified that when you go, I won't feel it. That I won't know." The confession seems to shatter something in him, and he crumples up his face like the words struck him. "And I thought maybe if I could pull away it wouldn't hurt so bad, wouldn't kill me when everyone dies again and again and again. But maybe not knowing is worse." One of Copia's hands presses on Dew's sternum, helping to regulate his breathing. The other travels back up to scratch softly at his scalp. "I still message Aether." Dew continues, "I have for months. I don't know what I'm doing without him, it's like.. I don't know. I've lost packmates before, so many of them, but I never thought I'd lose him."

"I know. Saints, do I know." Copia strokes his thumb along Dew's feverish skin, scooping a hand underneath his head to deposit him gently on the bed. Dew whimpers, hands reaching up for Copia piteously. "I'm not going far, dolce." He gently makes his way over to the desk, sliding open a drawer and pulling a bundle of tied together letters out of the very back. They're all different sizes, some as thin as a single sheet, some clearly stuffed full with multiple pages, and as Copia brings the stack back, Dew spots the name on every single one of them in elegant script. Aether. "It's a little more old fashioned, but.. I write to him. Not on a schedule, just.. when I find myself thinking of him. And I tuck them away, and I," He sighs, a shaky little noise that has Dew finally sitting up and cocking his head, eyes searching Copia's face. "When I can go long enough without remembering that.. that damnable pool of ichor, I'll burn them for him. In the summoning room, and I'll hope that he gets to read them."

Dew takes the stack of letters gently, noting a faint herbal scent when his hands warm the papers. They're all on fine paper, thick and rich and sealed with wax bearing the symbol of the church, carefully embellished in gold by a gentle hand. He brings one of the letters to his nose, but he can't for the life of him identify the herb. Mountain probably could, but he doesn't really spend enough time in the garden. Anymore.

"Rosemary. For remembrance, and because he always used to love that lamb roast Mountain would cook up for Ostara, which Mount always claimed was traditional hell cuisine and I'm just now doubting the veracity of that," Copia laughs fondly, a small, sad little noise. "There's a sprig in every letter for him. I learned that magic a very very long time ago, at that boy's school, Saint Amduscias'." Copia takes the letters back and tucks them into the desk again, fingers lingering briefly on the lacquered wood.

"How often do you think of it?" Dew asks, eyes searching the expanse of Copia's back, noting each freckle for the hundredth time. He knows asking the question is like poking at a sore tooth for the sick satisfaction of it, but there is a perverse pleasure that leaves the ache a little duller each time he talks about it.

"Those letters? They're all from this last leg of tour. And I have more I haven't unpacked." Copia turns, always so beautifully unashamed in his nakedness. It was a shame that humans got so touchy about their bodies, considering how wonderful and unique they all are. Dew's always been grateful that Copia never seemed to be in a rush to cover up after sex if he didn't strictly have to. "How can I not think of it? I can't.. I don't know that I'll ever forget fully. I knew Ministry staff were to be there that day, but I never thought.. well, I knew the rumors. I'd heard things, here and there but they were my first replacements." The words drips off his tongue as if it were acid, vile and burning.

"I can't stop thinking about feeling it before I saw it." Dew comes over and swings his legs off the bed, leaning back and looking up at the one who's charmed his heart over and over again, and will probably do so till both of them are in the ground. "I'd seen some important looking people around but, I mean. You know how I am with authority, I just ignored it."

Copia pushes off the desk and settles his body in between Dew's slim knees, until Dew is craning his neck to make eye contact. "What did it feel like? You never told me." Dew's heart skips a beat so loudly it feels like it reverberates around the room.

"Like a star collapsing in on itself. Like a heart attack, from what I've been told it feels like." He swallows thickly around the lump of tears in his throat. He feels like a wrung out rag, like blood squeezed from the stone. There's probably more tears in his body, but Hell Below, he just wishes they'd stay there. "Like being stabbed and then the knife slides out slowly, like the person doing the stabbing enjoys it. Like losing a limb." Dew gets quiet, and he rests a hand over his heart, scars from former fins shimmering down his arm. Copia bends down and presses his forehead against Dew's, a Ghoulish kiss Dew first taught him by accident. The fire ghoul had just done it, and Copia played along, until Dew realized the poor Cardinal had no idea what he'd been doing.

"I'll do anything I can to make sure you never feel that again." He murmurs, and Dew sighs, a dismissive tone to the noise.

"You know you can't promise that." Dew says shakily, and Copia bumps his nose against Dew's a soft little movement that makes Dew's chest constrict.

"No, not entirely. But I mean it. I'd do what I could." They fall into a silence then, breathing in each other's air, enjoying each other's space. The arrhythmic rasp of a starling sings through the window, a discordant soundtrack with the backing beat of their hearts as accompaniment. Dew pulls back eventually, nosing at Copia's jaw to get his attention.

"Do you want to go see him?" Aether has a sort of grave, a shrine really. They weren't allowed to keep his body; the Ministry had taken it as some sort of grotesque currency for Phantom's summoning, but they had other things. The mask Terzo had given him, and the first one Copia gave. A broken little shard of horn from early on, when he literally butted heads with Omega and snapped it off. His beloved bracelet, which Ivy had gifted him, shaped by their own hand from scrap guitar strings. The first Fantomen he'd gotten, all those years ago. Phantom was given a new one, apparently not too dear a price from the Ministry for their newest summon. Gifts from fans, piles and piles of them, carefully kept safe in a plexiglass case. He'd kept almost everything he'd been given; if he could fit it into a nook or cranny of a gear box or a bunk, he would. Dew had found some little trinket tucked into his guitar case when he opened it up for the first time to prep for tour, and it's been on his bedside table ever since. It's all lovingly ensconced in an explosion of flowers that Mountain maintains like a soul-bound duty, heliotrope and lavender and aster and stargazer lilies, each one beautiful and perfect.

"I think that would be nice. I haven't been since we got back. The lilies should be blooming, and I think Mountain will forgive me if I take one for myself." Copia muses, wondering if he can find some little bud vase that he can get Rain and Mountain to jointly enchant to have a perpetual flower on his desk.

"Oh, you know those things make me sick whenever you handle them too much." Dew grumbles, but it's playful, light, and the beat of his tail on the bed says as much.

"Ah, so I shouldn't wear my gloves to pick one? Wouldn't want those dreadful lilies near your, eh, most sensitive parts." Copia gets a wicked little smile, and Dew pushes him away with a groan, flopping back to the bed and watching as a couple of feathers float up from it.

"You're so lucky I love you."

"I am."

[thefreakandthehair]

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

1. the answers are all inside of this, ch. 2 2. boxer AU 3. lover's rage 4. taot (big bang!) <333 5. coffee shop AU

snippet from the answers are all inside of this, ch. 2:

That’s how he finds himself cleaning the barred owls’ space, his boots crunching over the rocks and mulch beneath them. Moody and Marble, two truly beautiful creatures, perch on a branch wrapped in rope high in the corner of the makeshift barn. Marble came to him with a grizzly eye injury that led to him losing his left eye. Moody showed up after injuring her right wing and while she can fly short distances, she wouldn’t survive back out in the wild. The two, thankfully, get along with one another but barred owls are territorial— Eddie needs to pay attention and stay fully present as he cleans, lest he end up like either of them.  It’s why he chooses their enclosure, actually. He needs to stay out of his head. “Hello, winged beauties, it’s just I, your humble servant, here to clean your shit.” Eddie announces his arrival and avoids eye contact, pointedly keeping his head down and clearing their droppings with the scooper kept just outside the door. 

Jumping on the WIP Wednesday train with @kedreeva and tagging some writing pals under the cut, but anyone is welcome!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

no pressure tags: @bayouteche @withacapitalp @stevethehairington @stevecarrington @hexiewrites @riality-check @horsegirleddiemunson @maxineholtzmann @wynnyfryd @2btheanswertothequestion @flashyysins @kkpwnall @gothbat99 @starrystevie @legitcookie @sidekick-hero @harmonictechnicality @sharpbutsoft @cheatghost @stargyles @strawberryspence @henderdads @figthefruitfaeth @yournowheregirl @anthotneystark @hammity-hammer @flowercrowngods @steddieasitgoes @judasofsuburbia @aidaronan

[rofax]

cancer aftermath thoughts

The one year anniversary of getting diagnosed with cancer is coming up for me and I have. A lot of feelings. Too many feelings to fit inside one person actually. I don't know how to talk about these feelings without like, dopey poetic metaphors and shit so pls excuse me while I get knee deep in my own psyche with my flowery language boots on

I really and truly hate cancer. I hate it and what it took from me. I am filled with immense grief and rage at everything I lost. But I also feel like I got a literal second chance in this somehow? Like it's been a double edged sword if I have ever seen one.

I feel like I am being reforged. Like cast into the fire and melted down to a molten sludge that doesn't look like the old me AT ALL... but made again into something new without all the divots and scratches of the old.

You know when people sometimes pose the hypothetical "if you could be born again but keep all the knowledge you have now, would you?" I feel like I'm experiencing that in earnest. I lost so much of who I was and what I had built that I don't know myself when I look in the mirror. Which is like. Unnerving. And deeply sorrowful. But it's also given me this ability to step away from all the BAD from before. The threads of self criticism and fear and resentment towards myself that strangled me a couple years ago are just... gone. They got burned away too.

I just got my hair cut for the first time since chemo because it was getting fluffy and shapeless and I wanted it to look like I chose a pixie cut. For YEARS, going to the salon and having to stare at my face in the mirror while they chopped up my hair would send me into this self loathing, dysphoric spiral. All I could ever see was all my flaws and shortcomings and the ways I wasn't pretty enough or good enough or likeable enough. And this time I watched the guy trimming my teensy little hairs and it was like....

Who are you? Why did I hate you so much? I'm so sorry. I couldn't see it before. I can see it now. You don't deserve my hatred. You never did.

I used to feel embarrassed and ashamed when I had to dig deep to find something kind to say about myself. What do you like about yourself? Eeeuugghh.. uhhh..... I make people laugh... I guess? It felt insincere and vain and like I was trying to fool people into thinking I had value. And now it's like... just this righteous indignation on my own behalf. I AM an interesting person and I have value! I am a complex, contradictory, multifaceted human being and it's not my job on earth to be demure and appealing and pleasant! I like melodic death metal, my favorite color is pink, I read horror and romance and I love both, I'm learning how to belly dance and roller skate, I fucking love tired goth mom fashion, I am funny and have made multiple people urgently leave the room lest they piss their pants, I take my daughter out to do as much enriching stuff as possible and know her body language better than anyone in this house, I'm a good cook, I like doing laundry, I would probably drink coffee until I threw up if left to my own devices, I want kitschy mugs from places I visit and macabre jewelry and tattoos, I am a whole ass person! Why did I spend so much time trying to hate myself into being more palatable? Why was I so concerned with making concessions and compromises at my expense and stamping down the things about me that are beautiful?

I look at myself in the mirror now and I don't know that girl anymore. It's not who I was at the start of this. But I like her. For the first time in decades, I like that girl. I want her to be happy. She doesn't deserve what life threw at her. She doesn't deserve what I threw at her.

So like. Fuck cancer. Being thrown into the fires of the forge hurts. It fucking HURTS. But the other side is so much brighter than I expected.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

@akagamiko asked: 💦 <3 Send 🍆 and my muse will describe a sexual fantasy they have about your muse. Send 💦 instead for a wet dream they’ve had about your muse. (Still Accepting!)

Ikkaku straddled Shanks' stomach, her hands appreciatively massaging the naked chest on display for her viewing and touching pleasure. Her fingers trailed over the ridges of his abs while her nails scratched the tanned skin that stretched over his firm pectorals. She could feel him intentionally flex beneath her, showing off by letting her feel the muscles ripple between her thighs.

"Enjoying the view, sweetheart?" he purred, eyes at half-mast as he smirked up at her.

Grinning back, Ikkaku leaned down to press a hot, open-mouth kiss to one of his already hard nipples. Giving it a flick with her tongue, Ikkaku replied as she sat up again, "The view, and the taste, and the feel. Lots for a gal to enjoy from up here."

"Yeah? Think my chest'll be enough to satisfy someone like you?"

"Who said I was limiting myself to just your chest?" Licking her lips, Ikkaku lifted her hips off of his torso to hover over his erect cock. Maintaining eye contact, she lowered herself down, sheathing the hot rod of flesh inside her inch by inch, relishing both Shanks' groan at having her walls slowly engulf him and just how full he made her feel. Gods, he was thick and stretched her in all the right ways.

"Fuck!" he moaned when he was fully inside her. His hand gripped her hip, the rough callouses a delicious contrast to the woman's soft skin.

"Yeah, that's the plan," Ikkaku said breathlessly. Bracing her hands against his torso to steady herself, she set a slow, steady pace, riding him at her leisure, relishing the way he slid in and out of her wet cunt.

His hand gripped her harder, and Ikkaku wondered if she'd have bruises on her ass as a souvenir. "Bad girl," he gasped, cheeks the color of his hair and eyes closed shut. "You really gonna take it slow on me?"

Grabbing Shanks' wrist and pinning it to the bed so he couldn't try and control her pace, she panted, "My captain's a renowned sadist. Guess a little of that rubbed off on me. Now be a good little Emperor and let me ride your cock."

His eyes opened and a devilish gleam told her she'd pay for that. " "Oh, there ain't nothin' little about me, sweetheart, and you know it." To prove his point he braced his feet and thrust upwards, sinking his absolutely far-from-little cock deep inside her, making her moan.

Biting her lip, Ikkaku decided that as much fun as teasing him was, if she wanted to stay on top, she'd better fuck him hard. Digging her nails into his firm chest, she set a harder, faster pace, little sounds of delight escaping her throat as his cock hit just the right spot every time, Shanks' own hips keeping time with hers as he grinned up at her.

"There's a good girl. Fuck, you're a tight one! You can ride my cock anytime, sweetheart - just gotta ask me nice."

Much as Ikkaku wanted to retort, words escaped her as an orgasm washed over her like a wave over a raft, dragging her down into the depths of pleasure.

~~~

Ikkaku gasped as she woke up, sweaty and panting, her blankets tangled around her legs. Sitting up, she groaned, realizing she would need a shower based on the sticky feeling between her thighs.

Shit. It was a good thing Shanks had given her a private guest room on his ship. The last thing she needed was to explain to anyone who might have overheard what she'd been dreaming about. Or who.

Shaking her head, she detangled herself from the bedsheets and grabbed her lent clothes, hoping she was at least awake early enough to not run into Shanks, lest he notice her disheveled appearance and make a teasing comment. Because when it came to embarrassment, that man was like a shark that smelled blood in the water, and she had no doubt he'd hound her until he knew exactly what could be making her blush.

[tricos-here]

✈️🖊🖤🤔 forrrrrrrr Raphaela and Mei~

@mystery-salad

✈️ AIRPLANE — does your oc like traveling, or do they consider themselves a more homey person?

for Mei answered here!

Raph isn't really homey per say but if she bad to pick between the two... she hates traveling, it puts her on edge, especially the process of traveling and all the things that might go wrong on the way, only to end up in some possibly unknown place where she'll have to take stock of every nook and cranny lest anything (or anyone) catches her off guard

🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos?

I haven't really decided, Raph likely has one on the inside of her arm, probably a guild/gang emblem or some such, and I know Mei has one on the back of her neck but haven't decided of what exactly yet.

They'd both be open to more tattoos but, not something they have planned or anything

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

Boy have they... as far as killing or seriously wounding someone goes, it's kind of part of their line of work but if we want to get into specifics

I haven't ironed out exactly what Mei does, working with the Mesmer Collective and other various guilds, it does more often than not involve bloodshed and taking back information or certain items of interest though. She's killed her fair share of people, whether it be bandits or white mantle or other opposing groups.

Of note of course is the fact that she also killed her (late) boyfriend, but that wasn't work related, he'd essentially forced himself into that title and was a liar and a creep so she just snapped eventually (and then got the help of Raph to hide the body but thankfully him being a noble was just another one of this lies so nobody really batted an eye about him going missing)

She's likely broken a couple of hearts in the typical "weow she's not pretty but doesn't care about you" way, and most likely has broken the trust of various people after she had to fuck them over for her work but no one of any real note.

Raph doesn't have that bloodthirsty of a job like Mei, she's a thief, if she has to hurt someone it means she ain't doing her work right of going undetected. That said she did get involved with various gangs and some point and later joined the Seraph so she would've gotten into fights with bandits and so on, so she's definitely hurt people, perhaps even killed.

A particular incident of note would be back when she was still with the Church of Lyssa when she got into fight with another one of the kids and beat them pretty severely (which may or may not have factored in her getting kicked out of that congregation)

She's definitely broken some hurts unintentionally but it's complicated ™️ and well she's a thief so, must've broken the trust of quite a few people. The fact that she was even in the Seraph was a big ol' lie because she'd only joined them to get better access and intel around places to make heists and robberies easier for her thieves guild

🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms?

Both of them are pretty fidgety, in their own way; Mei tends to mess with her hair a lot, either twirling it around her finger or tossing it this way and that, especially when she had longer hair, otherwise playing with and flipping her knives. Raph on her part is constantly fidgeting with her various buckles and belts and gods forbid she has any loose strings or holes in her pants, she'll be pulling that shit apart before long, she constantly has to mend her clothes. She also tends to bounce her leg a lot if she's sitting, otherwise will be pacing back and forth.

[musekicker]

First time writing Hermes fighting. Mainly wrote this to get a idea of his fighting and just how he talks to the team.

It was a right time, right place situation when the Hyperforce had gotten the distress signal. If they had gone much further they would had been out of range.

But now, they had a space station that was under attack to save. A war lord and his followers were the culprits according to the signal before it was cut off. 

It was almost refreshing, dealing with war lord soldiers rather then Skeleton King's forces. They had to hold back a bit on their attacks as the followers seemed to be various beings from all over the galaxy, rather then creatures of evil and goo. But they were taking them down easily enough. 

It all would almost be routine, except for when they finally ran into the war lord.

"Oh, you folks must be the Hyper Force I've heard so much about."

The leader looked like a monkey. Not of the robot variety. Rather of Spider Monkey variety, with black and white fur coloring., the top of his head a mop of white fur that acted more like a hair style 

Despite no signs of robotic parts, he was standing on two legs, clearly talking and clearly sentient.

He was even wearing clothes. A simple red vest with black pants and big belt with many compartments. But it was still clothes. 

The monkey filled in the silence of the moment to continue speaking.

"Oh, I should introduce myself. My name is Hermes." the monkey said. "A pleasure to meet you all. Truly. I heard so much about you all from various points in the galaxy."

The team was not caught in the shock of what this war lord leader was anymore, though his demeanor was still off to them.

"So you're the guy we have to defeat? You don't look so tough." Nova said.

"Remember Nova, Appearances can be deceiving." Antauri said.

Hermes tilted his head slightly.

"Oh, you're a little firecracker aren't you?" Hermes said.

"What did you call me!?" Nova snapped.

Hermes held out his arms in a placating gesture. 

"I swear, a compliment. I love a good nick name, don't you?" Hermes said.

"I'm starting to think up a few nick names for this guy already.." Sprx said.

Hermes just kept up that closed mouth smile.

"Well, I suppose we should get this over with. The fighting thing I mean. Unless you all just want to back down" Hermes asked.

The team got into battle stances. Hermes on his side just sighed.

"If we really must."

The fight that broke out after that was not normal from the start. There was a sort of ease to Hermes fight style. Like he didn't care if a attack landed on him.

What was also strange that he had not brought about weapons so far into this fight. He seemed only interested in avoiding attacks or grabbing one of the team members and throwing them at the other. 

During all this, he kept talking.

"You can do better then that, Buddy." Hermes told Otto as the saw just missed him. "Red over there has gotten closer to actually hitting me at lest twice."

"This fellow likes to talk more then Sprx." Gibson grumbled.

"Hey!" Sprx cried.

Nova was the one that finally landed a blow, her fist catching Hermes in the chest. The punch sent him flying back. His head hit the edge of a storage crate at just the wrong angle and there was a sickening crack. 

"Oh shit." Sprx said. "I think you just-"

Nova froze, unsure of how to react to this outcome. On the one hand he had been trying to take over the space station. On the other, he had not actually hurt anyone as of yet. 

"Think there's a medic on board that can-"

Otto's words were cut off as Hermes suddenly sat up. Everyone screeched, including Chiro. The spider monkey looked a tiny bit dazed. Which was a lot less of a reaction that one with the head injury he had received. 

"Is that your-" Chiro said.

"Don't you worry about it Sport." Hermes said to Chiro. "Immortality, it's kind of the bees knees if I'm being honest."

The team could see bone growing and the skin and fur following after that. And soon, there was no longer any trace of the blunt force that had damaged Hermes head except the bit of blood that was drying on the fur on his forehead.

Hermes no longer was dazed, his voice once again chipper as he started to his feet.

"It's not exactly a secret. You wouldn't be the only one to hurt me in a way that would had killed most others. I have to say, didn't expect you all to be that vicious. Or am I just the lucky one?" Hermes asked.

"I will admit, this is.. a unexpected wrinkle in this fight." Antauri said.

Nova just slammed her fists together, gearing up to fight once more.

"What I'm hearing is that we have free reign to really kick his tail in" Nova said.

Hermes stood up, stretching out his arms. A pop suggested that a joint had been out of place as well.

"By all means firecracker. Give me your best." Hermes said with a closed mouth smile.

[awritingcaitlin]

🔥Find the Word Tag Game🍻

I was tagged by @mjjune for the words: break, oppose, recognize, cross, fuck 😏

I love this game so much!

Tagging @pinespittinink, @sentfromwolves, @bebewrites, @botanistweak and @jediqueen95 for the words: right, behind, link, nod, fingers

And now, under the cut because I'm trying to be nicer to mobile users! 😂

From The Brewing War🔥

BREAK 🍷

Right as Rinnie was paying her tab, someone crashed into her and a cold wetness seeped into her lap. A glass hit the floor, but it bounced, enchanted not to break.

“Goddess Aenehra, I am so sorry!” the elf woman said in Edan.

Rinnie turned to look at her. She had short brown hair and a heart-shaped face. Her white blouse was crisp but she’d rolled up the sleeves. She looked casually disheveled in her drunkenness. Rinnie reasoned this woman must be in the first century of life. She stood and brushed the ice cubes out of her lap and onto the floor. The other woman steadied herself on the barstool, and looked at Rinnie with an apologetic expression on her face.

“Are you alright?” Rinnie asked, slipping easily into her native language. She wasn’t angry at her—she’d spent many years getting sloshed and making a fool of herself in bars not unlike this one, then waking up the next morning with, unfortunately at times, every memory. She and her cousin had been good at that. If one could be considered “good” at getting wasted.

The woman nodded. “People keep feeding me drinks.” She giggled and turned in the direction of the other sailors in the back corner. “Fuck, shit, Marrik! This is your fault!”

.

OPPOSE (OPPOSED) 📚

“Any suggestions for me?”

Riela looked to the shelves behind her, scanning the well-known scene for a book Nathaniel might enjoy that he also might not have read yet. Everything by DeWarn was out, but perhaps something by Weger?

She turned and walked over to where Weger’s books were. He wrote historical fiction as opposed to adventure. Some historical fiction went so far as to speculate what life was like before the Cataclysm. Weger stuck to the more recent years, when the Efrium Empire had been at its peak, with Berthingtonn as its great capitol. Riela personally liked the books because she liked reading about what South Efrium had been like before it had become Eswaisil.

Riela picked up Whispering Tides, thinking fondly of its contents. Weger wrote stand-alones, so they didn’t need to be read in any particular order. She handed the book to Nathaniel.

He took the book from her and nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I read a lot of historical fiction in school, but I haven’t read this one.”

“I think you’ll like it,” Riela said.

He grinned. “I’ll start reading it now.”

.

RECOGNIZE ✨

“Does the enchantment work for anyone else?”

“Only if I linked them to the gun too,” Rinnie said. “I suppose I might be able to get the spell on your gun to recognize me.”

“So basically, the sights will only work for me,” Taryn summed.

“The ones I put on, anyway.”

“That’s pretty sweet,” Taryn admitted. “Did you think of the idea yourself?”

Rinnie shook her head. “No, my uncle came up with it. Or he knew the guy who did. One of the two.”

“Wow.”

.

CROSS (CROSSED) 🙁

Rinnie nodded, like she had so many times when she was a child. She opened her eyes just as a pained and disoriented expression crossed her mother’s face. A vision.

“It’s time to return to the Embassy,” Ilani said quietly.

Rinnie nodded determinedly and hastily closed their telepathic connection, lest she get backlash. She wouldn’t see the images her mother saw, but she would feel the pain. Instead, she took her mother’s hand and squeezed it. The intricate and normally invisible pain-relieving tattoos on Ilani’s forehead and temple were beginning to pulse pink.

.

FUCK 🍆

She leapt back onto his lap and Nathaniel reached back up her skirt, running his fingers along her thighs. Riela moved to undo Nathaniel’s pants. Nathaniel switched to undoing Riela’s bodice. Their lips joined again.

They didn’t get any farther.

A pounding at Riela’s door followed by a high-pitched squeal completely interrupted the moment. Riela jumped three feet into the air and stumbled backwards. She frantically pulled her bodice tighter again. Nathaniel began refastening his pants.

“Riela!” Janna shrieked, the words outside the door becoming comprehensible. “Adrian proposed! Come see the ring!”

Riela’s shoulders slumped and she looked at her feet, unable to meet Nathaniel’s gaze. He groaned.

“Fuck me,” Riela whimpered.

“I was trying,” Nathaniel grunted.

[maya-tl]

Buckle the FUCK UP

1. They are actually married.

Spy proposed first (which Medic still jokingly grumbles about to this day because he was having a ring custom-made, it's not his fault Spy has more connections than him). Medic organised the reception (Spy had the audacity to suggest he leave everything to him and took that back real quick). Sniper officiated. Heavy cried. Soldier also cried. Pyro was the flower girl. Engineer was in charge of the food, Demo in charge of the music. Scout was the ring bearer. Miss Pauling wrangled the Administrator into allowing them an extra week off for the honeymoon.

2. Sharing is caring.

Spy has a spare key to Medic's room. Medic has a spare key to Spy's room. They share clothes (it's hilarious to witness because Medic's coat is too large on Spy and Spy's suit is one button away from ripping on Medic), they share beds (for many reasons, some of which might get me banned from Tumblr), they share space (they couldn't intrude on each other's personal space even if they tried, they're just that comfortable), they share themselves (in many ways, some of which might once again get me banned from Tumblr), etc.

3. High Tolerance.

Spy is the only one Medic tolerates in the infirmary while he's experimenting/doing surgery/researching. If anyone else distracts him from his very important work they'll wake up with their lungs inverted and their large intestines inside their bladder. Medic is the only one Spy tolerates in his smoking room while he's relaxing/drinking/smoking. If anyone else somehow manages to pick the lock and break in they'll find themselves a quick and bloody ticket to Respawn, no questions asked.

4. High Bullshit Tolerance.

Neither Medic nor Spy take any shit from anyone except each other. Spy's a tease. Medic's a tease. They both know exactly how to push the other's buttons, how far they can go before it gets personal, which things to prod at and which things to leave alone. They bicker like the old married couple they are and rile each other up until they end up in certain positions that I can't elaborate on lest I get banned from Tumblr. If anyone else tried to do to them what they do to each other they wouldn't live to tell the tale.

5. They're so fucking proud of the fact that they're married.

They wear the rings under their gloves (silver for Spy, gold for Medic). When they're in a safe place to talk about it they just won't shut up. Any time someone asks them who proposed first Spy puffs right up and Medic rolls his eyes. Any time someone asks who wears the pants in their relationship Medic smiles with too many teeth and Spy snorts. 'Have you met my darling husband' this and 'My beloved husband is actually proficient in that field' that. If they whip out the wedding photos, good luck.

6. Sappiest old men you'll ever meet.

Spy is such a romantic that Medic nearly swoons every time he looks at him. Candlelit dinners. Bouquets of red roses. Declarations of love whispered in his ear. French poetry about star-crossed lovers. Medic is somehow just as romantic and Spy utterly thrilled by having someone match him every step of the way. Violin serenades. Languid kisses and prolonged touches. Love letters written in calligraphy. German pet names and terms of endearment. They're in love, your honour.

7. I say so.

They're charming. They're funny. They're hot. They're insane. I love them and they love each other and if anyone disagrees with me we're throwing hands in the back of a Wendy's parking lot at 6 PM this afternoon.

Anyone wanna hear my HCs on why Spy and Medic are Married (with a capital M)?

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Don’t Make Me Jealous Again

Summary: You’re the only muggleborn Slytherin in the history of Hogwarts, and you suffer about as much as one would expect because of it. You didn’t think it was so bad at first as you’d made the unexpected acquaintance of a certain ice prince who was always there to help you when no one was looking. So can anyone blame you when you started developing a crush on him? You even thought that he might like you too. And so, armed with the stupid valor of youth, you made a confession to him in front of the whole dining hall, expecting him to break out into his sweet grin and take you into his arms, and you could finally be together without hiding. 

Instead, he brutally turned you down in front of everyone and proceeded to treat you like the dirt under his shoes lest you even make the mistake of thinking you’re worth anything to him again. 

So why was he now, a year later when you’d finally moved on from him and everything that happened, so furious that he’s caught you sneaking out from the Gryffindor dormitory after fooling around with Soobin?

Genre: Smut, Angst

Warnings: NONCONSESUAL!!!!- mind control- face fucking- masturbation

A/N: longest summary i ever wrote but I had to explain the backstory since this just jumps straight into action lol

This is a nonconsensual fic. Be careful and read at your own risk!

______________

You had left the gryffindor dormitories blushy and giddy after having had a slight rendezvous with your long time crush Soobin. He was such a gentleman, and as sweet and shy as you are so you felt more than safe messing around with him despite your inexperience, knowing he'd never hurt you. In fact, you think he might ask you to be his girlfriend soon.

As you made your way back to the Slytherin dormitories however, treading through the midnight darkness of the ancient castle, that feeling of safety dimmed more and more until your skin crawled with the feeling of being watched.

You nearly shriek out when you round a corner and bump into someone, their hard body not yielding and instead your own body being flung back. You're sure you would've hit the ground if it wasn't for the mystery person's arms snaking around your body and pulling you up to steady you against the wall.

"T-Taehyun?" You gulp, coming face to face with the intimidating prefect. The ice prince. The man whose mere gaze could bring you to your knees.

But he's not looking at your eyes, preoccupied instead with the tie partially hidden under your shirt. "Why are you wearing a gryffindor tie?" His soft voice makes you shiver, scaring you more than anyone's shouts would.

Your throat was suddenly parched, making you struggle to form any words. "I-I... Soobinie..."

As soon as you say the other male's name, Taehyun's eyes snap to yours, and you could feel your knees buckling under his gaze.

"This is his?" He asks, thumbing at the brightly colored tie. You would smack yourself if you could, but he was holding you too tightly for that. How could you ever think this could be a good idea, sneaking off from your crush's dormitory with his house's tie around your neck? You thought you were being cheeky, high off the endorphins you got from your encounter with him. But in reality, you were just stupid.

"You snuck into the Gryffindor dormitory to give him a taste of your cunt?"

You gasp at his crude words and try to wriggle out of his grasp but he just presses his body harder against yours and traps you completely against the stone wall.

"You're so easy. At least make him work for it."

"You're wrong. We didn't do anything." You squeak. You don't know why you're lying. You didn't have to justify anything to him. You can do whatever with whoever you want, yet still you find yourself hoping he'd believe you.

"Don't lie to me, slut." He grabs your shirt and tears it open, sending the buttons flying everywhere and exposing your bare breasts to him, Soobin having taken your bra in exchange for the tie.

"What are you doing?" You try to cover yourself with your hands but Taehyun quickly mutters a spell under his breath that has your hands pinned against the wall. With your arms now out of the way, he's free to grope your breasts.

"What are all these hickies then?" He tuts, his hands rough as he squeezes your breasts and pinches your nipples. "You've really let him do whatever he wants to your whore body. That makes me really mad, baby. I thought you liked me," He lets one of his hands drop between your legs to stroke over your pussy. "but I guess you'll go to anyone who'll fill your holes."

"Stop it. Why are you doing this?" You cry, struggling against your invisible bounds but not even making them budge. "You rejected me."

"Because you're stupid! Asking me out in front of everyone. You know I can't be seen with the mudblood. Doesn't mean you're not mine." He growls, hand slipping under your panties and pushing a finger into you. It's a tight fight despite your regrettable wetness at his ministrations. "Shit, you're so tight. At least you weren't that much of an empty headed whore to let him take your virginity. That is mine, baby."

You pale at his claim. "Are you g-gonna--"

"Fuck you?" He finishes for you and you wince as his finger pumps in and out of your pussy. "Yes but not here. I'll have you in the prefect's quarters so we can get all the space and privacy we need. It's going to be a long night for you."

"But I don't want to."

He laughs at your protest. "It's cute that you think you get a say in this. You can't be trusted after you've shown yourself to be a loose whore who'll run after any dick that offers."

The tears stream freely down your face now. "I'm not a whore! Me and Soobin like each other."

He slaps your face, anger filling up his expression. "Don't fucking say his name again. You think anyone would love a mudblood like you?"

You don't know what possessed you to defy him. You know the punishment will be severe just from the fury on his face but it's the only thing you can do, the only form of protest, the only way you can hurt him, so you do. "Soobin loves me."

What he utters is something you would have never expected in your wildest dreams.

"Imperio."

You don't even get to express your shock before the spell takes over your body.

"On your knees." He commands hoarsely, and your body smoothly falls to the ground, no hint of resistance from your muscles, and you wonder how much he practiced that spell to be able to do it so seamlessly.

But the horror just keeps on coming. Now eye level with his crotch, you see clearly as he undoes his pants and pulls his cock out, but instead of putting it to your lips right away, he drags the hardened length all over your face, humiliating you as his precum smears over your skin and he lets out little gasps of pleasure. "That's it. That's where you belong, mudblood. On your knees for your master."

You can't even cry anymore as he finally presses the head of his dick against your mouth. "Open."

He hisses as you easily take his length in, the spell making it so you don't gag or flinch away as his length pushes down your throat. "Gonna wipe his name from your whore mouth."

Taehyun is ruthless as he fucks your face, and even though your body gives him no resistance, it still hurts to have his cock repeatedly ram down your throat and his crotch slap into your face.

You're making an embarrassing mess around him in no time, saliva and precum gurgling around his cock and dripping over your chest, obscene sounds filling the ancient hallways around you.

You wonder if anyone would hear and come to your rescue. You wonder if you even want to be seen like this, even if it meant you'd get to escape from the cruel man above you, moving your head over his cock like you were a disposable toy for him to use.

But ultimately you know no one would hear you. Taehyun is smart, and it wouldn't have slipped his mind to put a silencing charm around you, and if he could use an unforgivable curse with such ease then he certainly knew a spell or two that could divert any unwanted attention.

You vision starts getting foggy from the lack of oxygen and you wonder if he'd even notice if he killed you. How would he know when he has total control of your body and you have no way of warning him of your impending loss of consciousness.

To your surprise, he somehow senses it, pulling back from your mouth with a lewd squelch, his cock dislodging from your mouth dragging a gush of spit with it.

"Fuck, you look like a mess." He strokes your hair, almost fondly but you can't look up to see if his face is as soft as his tone. All you see is his slick and swollen dick hanging heavy between his legs.

"Pull your shirt open for me." He murmurs and you immediately obey, pulling apart the fabric that had fallen to cover your chest again. He grunts as your breasts come into view.

"That damned tie." He wraps the tie around his knuckles until there is only a small part between his fist and your neck then he pulls on it, tightening the knot around your neck and restricting your breathing. "Touch your tits."

You do as he says, and if you could move, your body would shiver as soon as you touched your nipples, and for the first time you feel lucky that you can't.

You hear a slick sound as Taehyun starts pumping his dick to the sight of you. "Play with your pussy." He whispers, and immediately one of your hands goes to rub at your clit, shameful pleasure burning in your belly at your own hands touching yourself and you wonder if the imperius curse can control your pleasure too.

Yeah, that must be it. You can't possibly be aroused under these disgusting circumstances. It was all the work of the sick man standing over you.

But Taehyun can't even let you lie to yourself, as he suddenly takes the spell off you, and you body immediately jerks at the pleasure.

He groans out loud as he sees your body react to your own touch. "Yeah, that's it. Make yourself cum for me, baby."

You marvel at how you still have the resolve to disobey after all he put you through, stopping your movements in spite of his command.

Cold fury passes over his face and you flinch, immediately regretting your small act of defiance. He tightens the tie around your throat again.

"Would you rather I choke you on my dick then? Maybe after I cum in your mouth I should leave you strewn on the floor for everyone to find you in the morning."

"No!" You cry, your voice barely coming out of your abused throat, and you quickly put your hands back on yourself, touching yourself for him like he wanted.

He sighs at your quick defeat, leaning back into his own touch again and loosening his grip on the tie. "You have so much training to go through before you can be my perfect pet."

"Please let me go." You choke out, still rubbing your fingers over your nipples and your pussy even as you beg. "I don't want this."

"I'm sorry, baby." He didn't sound sorry at all, his face twisted in euphoria as he neared his orgasm. "I promise I won't be so harsh in the future. You just gotta be a good pet and not make me mad."

His hand lets go of your tie and falls to your chest to palm your breasts. You instinctively arch in his touch, and when his fingers pull lightly on your nipple, you cum.

Valiantly, you try to conceal your orgasm, biting down on your tongue to not make any sounds but it's no use, he can see the fucked out look on your face and the way your body shudders with the intense pleasure.

"Yeah, like that. Good girl." He groans, hand faltering over his dick as he too cums, his seed spurting over your face and dripping down to join the mess on your tits.

He continues lazily stroking his dick as he looks down at you, clearly proud of the mess he made of you.

"You look perfect." He purrs, content. "You look all mine."

"Don't make me jealous again."

___________

A/N: anyway if you have a yandere or hybrid txt idea send it to me and I might write something like this for you too (but most likely way shorter)

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (Pt.2) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART TWO

Summary:

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png​, @bakugouswh0r3​, @yatoatyourservice​, @ayocee​, @marvel-ing-at-it-all​, @astrolcve 

A/N: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Thanks to everyone for the kind feedback and for reading my work <3 

< PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART >

----

He swings his beer over the counter, "one more."

He shouldn't be drinking. Imagine the damage it's doing to his organs, alcohol sweeping through his bloodstream and purging him of all coherent thought. Iwaizumi can hear Oikawa's nagging voice in his head even within the depths of intoxication.

Does he care though? He should. He should care. Because his job is basically to get people in their best shape.

And here he is, drinking away his sorrow, still shaken up by the way Hoisuke's fingers had grabbed for him that night. The bundle of nerves he'd squashed down had only intensified upon dropping his son on his mother's doorstep the same weekend and though he knew he should've said something to Mizune, he couldn't find the will to utter the words out, lest they came back to haunt him.

His phone buzzes in his pant pocket and after finishing it out with clumsy fingers, he manages to press down onto the green button.

"Yeah?"

"You're drinking!"

"No."

"Iwa-chan~" Oikawa's voice pierces through the receiver, sickly sweet and yet with a dark threatening undertone, "what are you doing?"

"Fuck off, shittykawa."

"Where are you?"

Iwaizumi doesn't answer. He doesn't need to, for Oikawa's already exclaiming the said bar's name as he takes another sip of his newly-filled beer glass.

"I thought you said you wouldn't drink anymore," Oikawa reproaches, "think of what Hoisuke would say--"

"I said fuck off."

There's a small pause where Oikawa bristles, before he says in a quieter tone, "what's wrong?"

Still, Iwaizumi says nothing but takes another huge gulp of his beer. His head feels buzzed, disoriented.

"Iwa-chan."

The said man press his lips in a taut line.

"Iwa-chaaaan."

"I'll talk to you later," Iwaizumi barely hears his friend's protests before he cuts off the call and downs the rest of his beer like a parched man, eyes narrowing towards anyone who dares reprimand him of his behaviour.

"One more," he rasps out towards the bartender, whose sending him a look that closely mimics one that clearly says he's had enough. But he scowls in response and that's enough to make the bartender's eyes slip away.

Seriously. What is wrong with him? It's already been four months goddamnit. Get over yourself. He wishes he could punch himself in the face. God, he sounds like a loser. He looks like one. And it's no wonder that his wife has left him for someone better, richer. Everything that he's not.

Not to forget that this wound will never leave their son's heart.

"One rum and coke please."

A presence lingers in his right and the brown-haired man turns with a glare at the ready, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line to scare whatever stranger that comes a little too close for his liking.

What the--

He stares at you. You stare back at him, just as dumbfounded. Looking the same, yet completely different.

"Miss Y/N?"

"Iwaizumi-san?"

He feels the sudden urge to hide his empty glass, "what--are you doing here?"

"Don't look so surprised, Iwaizumi-san," you chuckle at what you think is his flabbergasted expression, "I'm still twenty-six you know. I came here with a few of my friends."

His eyes slide towards the table in the far corner -- easy to spot since it's one of the loudest -- before he almost misses your question, "and you?"

"I come here often."

"Ah I see."

As you pay the bartender who slides your drink over, you bristle for a bit before you ask hesitantly, "mind if I sit here?"

Iwaizumi shakes his head. It's not like he can say no after all. You're his kid's teacher. And shit, how many beers has he had? He better not run his mouth. It's a dirty habit of his whenever he's shit drunk.

"So," you start off slowly, looking so out of place next to the said man with a scowl so dark it can scare off the most violent of gangsters that the corners of Iwaizumi's mouth tilt upwards in amusement, "how's it going?"

Seriously? You're seriously going to do that? His gaze searches your features for a moment, satisfied when warmth floods your cheeks.

You look away, "you don't have to look at me like that, you know. I just thought you’d want some company."

"What makes you think that?” Iwaizumi says while he flags down another beer from the waiter. 

You blink at him, “I can go if you want--”

The man sighs, rubbing his temples with tiredness, “that’s not what I meant.”

A weird, empty gap of silence ensues. Long enough that Iwaizumi gets his fourth beer of the night in his hand and he takes a grateful swallow. 

He really should not be drinking so much.

"Where do you work?” 

You’re persistent. He’ll give you that, “personal trainer. I work at the sports academy.” 

“That’s cool,” there’s a small smile edging upon your lips, “you like it?”

He nods, pauses briefly, before asking, “do you?” 

Of course it’s a little too close for comfort, especially since you’re Hoisuke’s teacher and all. But you merely relax in your high stool, swinging your legs while nodding eagerly. He can’t help but notice the tightness of your dark jeans, your black high-heeled boots, “I don’t see myself working as anything else. I’m bad with people most of the time.”

Taking another swig of his beer, Iwaizumi feels the tension slowly ease up from his shoulders, “well you’re way better with kids than I am.”

“You’re pretty good with Hoisuke."

“That’s because you haven’t seen him throw tantrums.”

You laugh, "oh don't worry, I have. I know all about his little fits. All my kids have one, at some point."

You say it lightly, but there's definitely love laced in your words and for a minute, Iwaizumi thinks back to the way Hoisuke kept on praising you, the way he spoke so affectionately about you.

"Do you still play volleyball?" You ask him while sipping on your drink.

He mimics the gesture, "sometimes. The guys are all over town so it's harder to meet up now."

"Dang, your team was so good though."

"It was Oikawa that held us together. We weren't that good," he tastes the bitterness of Karasuno's victory on his tongue.

"That's not true," you protest, fiddling with your empty glass, "the only reason why I watched Aoba Johsai's games was because I liked watching you play."

Dark coffee-coloured orbs sweep up to yours at that statement, as if trying to peel layers off yout shell, as if wanting to confirm the truth of your words. You feel like cowering away but you don't, instead holding his stare in hopes that he doesn't notice how your hands tremble slightly underneath his scowl.

And then, features softening ever so slightly, he murmurs out, "thanks."

You know he means it in the best way possible.

-----

One drink turns to two. And two multiplies by four. And soon enough you're tipsy off your head and singing so blatantly off-key you wonder why Iwaizumi's still by your side. You haven't been this drunk in ages and this sense of freedom makes you bold; you tug him to the dance floor to join your friends, order shot after shot as the music gets louder and your head gets lighter, proceed to blabber your mouth off about literally anything and everything that by the end of the night, you wish the ground would swallow you whole so you won't have to deal with Iwaizumi the next day.

You're not entirely sure how you find yourself being dragged by none other than the said man himself, or how your nose is currently lodged in the crevice between his neck and shoulders. But he smells good, like citrus and a mixture of mint and-- you sniff a little more -- is that cookie dough? Your mouth waters just at the thought.

"You smell like cookie dough," the words tumble out of your mouth in a jumbled mess and you inwardly feel like stabbing yourself.

So pathetic. Pitiful really.

"That's Hoisuke," Iwaizumi replies, surprisingly patient even when he's clearly not impressed, glaring at the lamppost ahead, "it's his flavour of the month."

"That's cute!" You giggle, "just like you, Iwa!"

The man sighs while shifting his grip upon your waist, "let's just get you to bed."

You probably doze off at some point or black out because the next thing you see upon opening your eyes next is the ceiling.

Hoisting your head up and groaning when your head pounds in warning, you lie back down as nausea takes over.

Shit. This isn't your room. You know that much.

What the fuck happened last night?

You remember dancing atop tables, remember spotting Iwaizumi by the bar and talking to him because he just seemed so sad and lonely. You remember dragging him onto the dance floor, dancing together, his hands on your waist--

You danced with Iwaizumi?!

The thought is enough to trigger another pounding. You groan once more, placing your hand atop your head in hopes that it will stop it from throbbing. It doesn't. But before you have more time to wallow in your self-pity, the door creaks open and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you spot a mop of brown spiky hair enter the room.

Iwaizumi.

Oh fuck. Your brain short circuits. Fuck fuck fuck.

Surprise crosses his face, clearly having not expected you to be awake yet. He walks over to place a glass of water by the nightstand and grabs your palm to tilt two aspirins into your hand.

"How's your head?" He asks.

"Fine," you wince. It's far from fine. In response, he holds out the glass and you gladly wash down the pills, warm and feeling suddenly vulerable under his stare.

Chewing onto the inside of your cheek, you muster up all your courage to ask, "what--happened last night?"

You don't miss the way his eyebrows shoot up, "you don't remember?"

"...no."

Is that amusement dancing in his eyes? You're not sure since it's gone just as quickly as it came before he says, "you got drunk. Danced on the table, had too many shots and made out with two different men--"

"I'm pretty sure the last part didn't happen."

"You said you didn't remember," he smirks lightly.

"I can't even flirt, let alone kiss strangers."

That earns you a chuckle from his part, causing your heart to flutter slightly as he straightens up, "you probably want to wash up. Bathroom's on the right. I'm in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay," and as he turns away, you quickly add, "thanks, Iwaizumi-san."

He nods back, exiting the room and finally allowing you to collapse back against the bed to try slowing down your galloping heart. Jesus christ, you think to yourself as you slowly take in your surroundings. From the lack of furniture and with only a few clothes flung over a wooden desk chair shoved in the right, you guess it's his room. A closed laptop and a small plant sits on his desk. On the left is the nightstand filled with sports books and some manga, a closet shoved in a corner and the floor is made in veneered wood.

There's no sign of family pictures, nothing that indicates the warmth of a cosy household. It doesn't take a genius to understand why. While Hoisuke had begged you not to tell his father, you weren't a stranger to the young boy sobbing in-between breaks because he misses his mother.

Well, it's not like you're allowed into family affairs anyway, as much as that breaks your heart.

After a much needed shower and a quick brush of your teeth -- you had to make do with using your fingers with his toothpaste, too embarrassed to actually ask him whether he had a spare toothbrush -- you walk out into the kitchen to see Iwaizumi already seated at a quaint wooden table laden with eggs and toast. Behind him sits the kitchen stove and white countertops next to a fridge fitting snuggly on the left corner. On the far right of the room is a large dark grey couch and a tv set, and just behind it is a small hallway which seems to be the entrance -- guessing by the coat rack and array of shoes. 

"Sunny side up or boiled?" Iwaizumi asks as you take a seat opposite him. He has already poured you a cup of strong coffee and you inhale before sighing in bliss. Your headache already feels slightly better.

"Anything is fi--" you're interrupted by his scowl, quickly changing your answer to, "sunny-side up please."

He grunts, passes you the plate and digs into his own fried eggs, the soft boiled ones forgotten at the centre of the table.

"Uhm, forgive me for point it out, but that's a lot of food Iwaizumi-san," you mumble out, not missing the way his features harden slightly.

"Force of habit," he mutters in-between mouthfuls. He doesn't need to say more, for you're pretty certain he's referring to the family he used to have, those lazy Sunday mornings that started out with brunch.

You eat in companionable silence and though it'a definitely less awkward than last night, your mind still races trying to figure out what to say to erase the permanent furrow between his brows.

Or is that his normal demeanour? To be honest, you're not quite sure yourself.

So you settle for thanking him for last night, to which he replies, "do you usually drink that much?"

"No," you duck your head, avert your gaze, "I got carried away. I'm really sorry."

"Well I wouldn't have expected my kid's teacher to be that wild," he muses while taking a bite of his toast.

Alarm zaps through you, making your eyes go wide, "I swear I'm not usually like that, really. I just--this was an exception--"

"It's fine, miss Y/N. I know," his brown pupils lock onto yours briefly, "I'm not going to report you."

"I--" nothing can really make up for your behaviour last night. You know that much, "still, I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate," you glance up, chest tightening at the intensity of his stare, unflinching. Unwavering.

He cocks his head at you then, a semblance of a smile along his mouth, "I was pretty entertained, if you ask me."

"Was I that bad?"

"No. But let's just say that you won't want to show your face around for the next week or so."

You groan and bury your face in your hands, "what did I do?"

"You might've broken a beer glass or two," he gives you a look, "on purpose. And tried to steal the Dj's headphones cause he wasn't putting the music you requested."

"Oh god," you want to bury yourself right then and there and to your surprise, you see him laugh softly before he nudges your coffee towards you.

"Drink," he orders, "it'll make you feel less shitty."

You're about to retort with a roll of your eyes, only to be interrupted by the doorbell ringing. From the way Iwaizumi tenses, you know it's not just the mail man.

Excusing himself to go unlock the door as you twist in your seat to follow his figure, shock courses through you the moment your eyes land on Hoisuke's.

Then, his mother.

An alarm bell rings through your mind.

"I thought you said evening," comes Iwaizumi's grunt, totally unlike the guy who'd been chuckling a few seconds ago.

"Hoisuke wanted to come back early for some reason," the woman says, her gaze flickering to yours for a brief moment. It's enough to cause you to swallow hard. She continues, "I'll pick him up on--"

"Miss Y/N?!" Hoisuke shouts out suddenly and before you know it, you're being tackled into the child's arms as if you haven't seen each other forever, "what are you doing here?! Daddy!" he whips his head around in accusation, "you lied about not really really liking Miss Y/N!"

"Wha--No!" Iwaizumi yells as you frown in confusion, "huh?"

"Daddy said that really really liking someone means you wanna be boyfriend and girlfriend with them, like he was with Mama before she moved houses," Hoisuke blabbers on, totally oblivious to how the three of you keep on staring at him in growing alarm, "and then I asked him if he really really liked miss Y/N because I really really like miss Y/N but he said no, but that's a lie!"

"Hajime, what is he talking about?" His ex-wife is quick to narrow her eyes, "what have you been telling him?"

"Nothing, it's not what you think--"

"I think," she pointedly glances at you, "I should leave now. We'll talk about this later."

And with that, she swivels around and storms out, leaving the three of you to stare after her in a mixture of shock and confusion.

Hoisuke, oblivious to the sudden tension, blurts out, "daddy, why is Mama angry with you?"

----

The few weeks following the tiny incident that had resulted in an awkward misunderstanding between you, Hoisuke’s parents and the said child himself had caused you to retreat back into the shell of professionalism that included avoiding Iwaizumi whenever it was deemed possible. It hadn’t been hard since he was usually present and waiting outside class to pick up Hoisuke right on time, making it much easier to avoid conversation with him altogether. 

You’d texted iwaizumi right after reaching your humble abode the day he’d practically saved your drunk ass and though you spent a few spare moments to chat in-between the bustling activities of life, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s still Hoisuke’s father, one of your dearest students. That, and the fact that you don’t really find it fair to put Hoisuke in-between the two of you, if there’s anything worth digging for anyway. 

Who are you kidding? It’s not like Iwaizumi would ever be interested in you in that sense. Having spotted his ex-wife once or twice proved that his style was of more refined women, the type that would drink wine instead of chug down beer and who’d enjoy gifts such as perfume and romantic dates instead of going on grocery trips and meal-prepping for the entire week. 

“Miss Y/N!” Hoisuke’s voice pierces through your thought bubble and your eyes quickly find his grin as he jumps towards your desk, "are you coming to our house this weekend too?!"

"Wh--What? Uhm-- no I don't think so--" eyes quickly flitting over the classroom, you're relieved to find that the rest of his classmates are long gone, "I don't think that's appropriate."

"But why? I even told Mama that I wouldn't be coming this weekend because you were," he pouted and it took all of your determination not to melt, until his words registered in your brain and your eyes widened, "o--oh, but that's--"

"Hoisuke?" You both turn to see his father's head poking through the door. Your body reacts instantly, warmth flooding through your limbs and flushing through your cheeks.

"Daddy!"

"H-Hello, Iwaizumi-san," you bow your head slightly. He returns the gesture, facial expression not giving anything away. His son bounds up to him with just as much vigor, "daddy, can we invite miss Y/N this weekend too?"

You might have laughed at Iwaizumi's shocked face if not for the fact that you are the person in question.

He splutters, "Miss Y/N has things to do--"

"But she came last weekend!"

"Yes well, it's bad manners to impose on someone when they're not free," Iwaizumi replies sternly, "come on now, we're gonna be late for Karate."

With a loud sigh and a scowl that resembles so much like his father, Hoisuke mutters out his goodbyes while Iwaizumi catches your eye, bowing slightly and muttering a silent "sorry" before he guides his son out of the room. You're glad he's out of earshot that he can't hear the stuttering of your heart against your chest.

You place a hand on your chest, sigh tiredly before looking down at your students' papers, "get a grip, Y/N," you mutter to yourself.

But it's not that easy to control yourself when Iwaizumi is making it so easy to like him.

----

Iwaizumi: sorry about yesterday. 

Y/N: it's okay. Hoisuke’s young, it's normal for him to want for a motherly figure around.

Iwaizumi's fingers drum over his knee as he watches with slight interest the newest male volleyball team practice their serves. He shouts after a few, calling them out for theit lazy postures, but other than that he can't seem to stop his thoughts from winding their way back to you.

"Who is she?" Mizune had asked him on the phone on the day following their encounter. Her tone was friendly, yet held that tone of warning that he was so accustomed to.

"How does that concern you?"

"I want to know who you're bringing around to hang out with Hoisuke."

"She's an acquaintance of mine," he paused, "and Hoisuke's teacher."

"That's inapropriate if you ask me."

Scoffing, he replied, "like what you did's so appropriate?"

A small pause ensued. When she spoke next, there was no mistaking the edge to her voice.

"You can't keep using that against me, Hajime."

"Don't tell me who I can or can't hang out with."

He'd hung up without bothering to wait for her response, seething and red hot with rage blubbering through his stomach.

Of course now that he thinks it over, Mizune has a point. Mixing the professional and the personal have never ended in happy endings. Not that this has ever stopped him before. He doesn't believe in what everyone else thinks is right. That's also one of the main reasons why Mizune couldn't handle it anymore. Or so she said before she went to suck someone else's dick.

His phone vibrates and fishing it out, a scowl instantly shadows his face upon seeing Oikawa's name flash across the screen.

Oikawa: Iwa-chan ~ have you asked her out yet?

Iwaizumi has to force himself to stay in control and not pound his phone to pieces when he types out his reply.

Iwaizumi: No.

Oikawa: BUT WHYYYY~ YOU SAID YOU FOUND HER CUTE.

Oikawa: and Hoisuke likes her. He already knows her.

Iwaizumi: I didn’t say that. And she's not interested.

Oikawa: Just because you suck at picking up cues doesn't mean she isn't throwing them at you 😏😏😏

Iwaizumi: shut up, shittykawa.

Oikawa: Just do it or I'll do it for you.

Iwaizumi: I don't even like her that way.

Oikawa: why'd you rant about not wanting to hurt her feelings yesterday night then?

Iwaizumi's hand rubs at his face with a groan. Oikawa's a little shit most of the time, but he's a perceptive little shit.

Oikawa: I mean it. Ask her out or I'll do it for you.

Oikawa: gotta go now. Match is starting. See ya!~ muah ❤

"Dumbass," Iwaizumi growls under his breath before shoving the phone back into his pocket. Easier said than done to ask someone out so casually, especially when she's Hoisuke's teacher.

If she accepts, great. If she doesn't, he'll have to suffer through humiliation for the rest of the year or avoid picking up Hoisuke altogether.

Oh fuck it.

He lets his body send the message before his brain can catch up to the way he has thrown himself under the bus, shoves his phone back into his pocket and tries to put the thought out of his mind even though the device suddenly feels hot and heavy in his pant pocket.

Iwaizumi: we're having takeout and movie night on Friday. You're free to join.

----

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 3

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Shigaraki x Dabi (just this part), Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader (very brief and vague reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut and feels, it's literally just smut, blow jobs, friends(?) with benefits, blow jobs, anal fingering, light degradation (both for shigs and reader), could maybe be interpreted as slight dubcon, dirty talk, slutty dabi, dabi is an asshole, so is tomura, reader has gender neutral pronouns, I'm keeping it fem cause Shigs hates women and calls them that

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which the boys share in some good ole roommate bonding activities and Tomura has a blow job induced epiphany.

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged and make sure to check my rules!)

Dabi’s mouth was wet and so fucking warm as he swallowed around Tomura’s dick.

“Oh fuck…” he groaned as Dabi hummed around his length and did that thing where he flicked the ball of his tongue ring over Tomura’s slit.

Bright blue eyes stared up through deceptively long lashes, smirking at the way Tomura drooled as he got his soul sucked out the tip of dick. The mattress underneath him creaked despite the negligible weight of both their bodies. Dabi settled on his stomach between Tomura’s pale thighs leaving fingerprint bruises in soft flesh.

They did this sometimes, though he wasn’t quite sure when exactly it started. Dabi had been his randomly assigned roommate freshman year and he grew so used to living with him that the two of them had just silently, yet mutually agreed not to fuck something up that wasn’t broken. They both berated each other for their strange and somewhat disgusting habits—Dabi would say that Tomura was a gross shut-in creep who needed a fucking shower and Tomura called Dabi out on his slutty pastimes and obsession with piercing the hell out of every available inch of skin.

And sometimes they sucked each other off.

It was overall not a terrible arrangement—Dabi got his fill of dick and Tomura could no longer be made fun of for being completely inexperienced. Plus, as much as he was loathe to admit, Dabi was really fucking good at oral. Like, demonically good. He’d been going down on Tomura for so long now too that he’d learned all the things that had him spilling onto that pierced tongue in minutes.

Tomura jerked from his thoughts when two, lube slicked fingers prodding at his ass.

“Dabi, what the fuck are you—” he protested, wiggling his scrawny hips up the bed and inadvertently letting his cock slip out of the inviting heat between his roommate’s lips.

He couldn’t see much other than the shaking mop of black hair and pale hands with chipped black nail polish digging into his legs, yanking him back.

“Shut up freak,” Dabi slurred, words slick with spit and Tomura’s precum. Dabi said it tasted like battery acid, but it never stopped him from guzzling it like he did with cheap whiskey and cigarettes on the weekends. “I know you like it.”

He did like it, but Tomura wasn’t about to contribute to the fucking evil grin Dabi was giving him as he circled the tight ring of muscle, slipping in a finger to the first knuckle.

Tomura’s head flopped back on the pillows as he bit back a low moan, “Fuck off.”

“If you say so,” Dabi shoved his finger in roughly, squeezing a second in behind it and letting Tomura bask in the burn of being stretched too quickly before ripping his hands away.

“No!” Tomura wailed pretty fucking shamelessly and grabbed the retreating wrist, placing Dabi’s tatted hand back on his dick that throbbed and leaked painfully.

“Dude, what’s gotten the fuck into you?” his roommate asked, smirking still, but pumping Tomura's cock loosely nonetheless. “Our walls are thin as hell, you know I can hear you jerkin' it in here every night, and now you’re practically begging for me to suck you off. Usually I gotta come to you.”

He was infuriatingly right again.

Tomura had indeed asked for him to do this, which was definitely out of character for him. Most of the time when they ended up in this position, it was because Dabi spent hours hounding him about it or just fucking dropped to his knees and whipped Tomura’s cock out in the middle of a movie night or snuck into his room while Tomura was gaming and swallowed him whole just to laugh at the way his online friends reacted to the noises.

He’s just been so pent up lately, and you insisting on fucking touching his arm or sitting on the floor between his feet at League meetings was really not helping it.

“I don’t know,” Tomura lied, both to Dabi and himself in the hopes that the head of black hair would just go back to bobbing on his dick like he so desperately needed it to.

“Bro, I have fucked with enough people to know when they’re wishing I was someone else,” Dabi scoffed and ran a blessedly hot tongue from base to tip and suckled softly at the blush pink head before pulling back with a wet pop. “So who is it?”

“I’m not fucking thinking about anyone,” Tomura hissed, fisting Dabi’s spiky, black locks and thrusting into his mouth till he felt the contractions of Dabi gagging around his length. “Usually you're jumping at the chance to get dick in your mouth, so why does it matter?”

Dabi pulled back, wiping the silvery string of spit leaking past his lips away and scowling as his fingers ghosted over Tomura’s balls and sank back into his pliant ass.

“Seriously creep, I’m five seconds away from ghosting and you can fuck your hand like the sad little bitch you are. So tell me their name or I’m walking right now.”

Tomura huffed as he felt Dabi’s long, rough fingers pulled from him again and the heat of his mouth growing farther away.

“Ugh fine, it’s that bitch I’ve been working on the English thing with.”

Dabi made a face like his brain was buffering.

“Seriously?” he asked, mouth gaping in a way that had Tomura even more furious his dick wasn’t buried in it.

“Yes!” he shouted and grabbed Dabi’s cheeks in both hands, sinking past his waiting lips and practically purring when he felt them close around the base as his long tongue massaged the shaft. “Oh god yes…”

Dabi rolled his eyes, managing to look smug even with a cock stretching his lips taught against the piercings. He used to try and tease Tomura about how small his dick was, but it was hard to believe him. Especially with how he choked sometimes when Tomura got rough with him despite his boasts of lacking a gag reflex. Not to mention how he looked now, jaw probably aching with the stretch and loving every second of it.

Tomura lazily bucked his hips up and whined high when the fingers in his ass curled and thrust against that fucking spot he hadn’t known was there until Dabi found it for him.

The pleased sound he made tapered off into a growl though, when his roommate with questionable benefits pulled off again to run his slutty fucking mouth.

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, kitten licking at Tomura’s cock and running the ball of his piercing through the slit again. Tomura gulped when he pulled it back into his mouth to swallow the bead of precum he’d collected. “I’ve seen your fucking paramour around before, pretty serious about school though. And kinda out of your league too, not gonna lie. So, what would you do if your cute little partner was here instead?”

Tomura bristled at the insult but couldn’t keep his pissed off look when Dabi went back to sucking his cock like a pro and curling those fucking fingers against his prostate. When he did speak, he blushed hard at the way his voice cracked and sounded like he was crying.

“I don’t fucking—holy shit—know,” he gasped and Dabi hummed both to egg him on and to get a whole new wave of precum gushing out of Tomura’s dick.

“C’mon man,” Dabi groaned, and Tomura distinctly heard the sound of a pants zipper and felt Dabi’s hips canting against the sheets.

That fucking masochistic whore. He would get off to Tomura dirty talking about someone else while he sucked his dick.

He considered stopping the whole thing right there, but then Dabi was sinking a third finger into his ass and thrusting hard while he hallowed his cheeks around Tomura’s cock and sucked—

“Tits!” Tomura cried and covered his burning, red cheeks with his hands. “I want to put my fucking face in them and taste them in my mouth. Sometimes I can see the outline of their nipples when we’re working and the air conditioning comes on and I want to suck on them so fucking bad I can’t think about anything else the whole night.”

Once he got started, Tomura found the words just spilled from him like a dam had burst. Dabi, the depraved bastard, groaned loud and ground his pierced dick harder against the mattress as he continued to deepthroat Tomura’s cock and fuck his ass at that perfect angle.

“Sometimes when they drag me to their stupid club I lose the rounds cause I—oh god, oh fuck—just imagine them in my lap, sitting on my cock and fucking writhing and squeezing me while we face off. Such a fucking—Dabi more!—stereotypical try-hard, bitch but I want to be inside them so fucking bad,” he felt actual tears stinging the raw corners of his eyes when Dabi sped up on his dick.

Tomura scrapped his nails against Dabi’s scalp, holding on for dear life as his breathing became even more ragged than usual. His friend’s cruelty streak reared its ugly head as Dabi sensed the tensing of Tomura’s balls and the clench of his tight ass and slowed down a fraction, keeping him teetering on the edge of an explosively pleasurable release.

“Fucking asshole,” he growled, but didn’t dare try to fuck Dabi’s face lest he make good on his threat to leave Tomura high and dry. “I just—shit, ah, don’t stop—they talk to me sometimes and I just wanna suck their tongue into my mouth so they shut up and I need to hear them fucking falling apart or using that stupid, stuck up teacher voice on me and fucking my ass—Dabi Fuck—is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dabi, because he got off on being a little shit, gave him one last delicious swallow before pulling back and fisting Tomura’s sopping wet cock. The fingers had stopped thrusting and were now pressed hard against his prostate, sending shocks through his body and making him twitch violently as his blood rushed with endorphins. He never stopped grinding his own dick against Tomura’s cotton sheets the whole time.

“You got it bad huh, don’t ya creep,” he mused, letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips and keep his palm slick. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about fucking anything, much less another actual person.”

“No I fucking don’t, “ Tomura writhed against the pillows, giving in to the undeniable urge to simultaneously fuck up into Dabi’s hand and ride his fingers.

“Who knew you were such a desperate whore, falling for the first person to show you a modicum of attention,” Dabi jeered and squeezed the tip of his dick hard, listening to Tomura let out a choked sob. “I’m actually kinda proud of you, bro. My little incel baby’s growing up.”

Dabi cooed at Tomura, sinking sharp teeth deep into the meat of his thigh and sucking a bruise into the flesh.

“You’re the one—nghh—getting off on it,” Tomura clapped back but didn’t bother denying it again.

There was a sense of dread growing in his gut alongside the mounting pleasure of his orgasm that Dabi was currently holding hostage. Dabi may have had a dickish personality just as massive as the actual dick that was currently painting his comforter in stains, but he knew Tomura.

And he did, admittedly have much more experience with these types of things.

“Fuck yeah I am,” Dabi grunted. “Last time I let you return the favor you bit my fucking cock. I gotta get off somehow.”

“Don’t say rude shit to me and I won’t bite you.”

“Watch it, Tomura,” Dabi huffed and nipped at his thigh again. “You should be thanking me for my services.”

“Not if you’re gonna keep running your mouth instead of sucking me off,” he tried to sound intimidating but he was well and truly wrecked and couldn’t find the energy to give his words an edge.

“You should ask them out,” Dabi continued, ignoring the failed attempts at banter. “Bring ‘em over or some shit. Maybe then if I lock down that blonde piece of ass I’ve been talking to, we’ll both have much more interesting things to go down on.”

“Your whore ass is the one always jumping me, don’t act like it’s a fucking chore,” Tomura groaned as Dabi started licking at his cock again, pressing sloppy, half kisses on the tip as he jerked it in his fist.

“Not my fault I get bored sometimes,” he replied and closed his eyes as Tomura clenched particularly hard around Dabi’s relentless fingers. “But seriously, you should go for it. I’d kill to find out if you’re just as bad at eating pussy as you are sucking dick.”

“Fuck y—” Tomura started to say when Dabi reared up till they were chest to chest and their foreheads knocked together.

“I fucking will if you don’t shut up, creep, and I think it’d be so much better if you handed your fucking virginity to that pretty little partner bitch instead,” he said and stunned Tomura into silence when he licked into his mouth.

Dabi had kissed him before, but Tomura could count the number of occasions on one hand and almost all had been when his punk ass roommate was drunk as hell and in his feels about some tortured past. But Dabi’s eyes were bright and lucid now, blinking down at Tomura as he dragged their tongues together, flooding his mouth with the faint taste of cigarettes and jizz.

Their cocks brushed together too, the stimulation making Tomura whine into Dabi’s lips, who dropped a merciful hand down, taking them both in his fist and began pumping.

He didn’t stop as he pulled back, grinning down at Tomura like a fucking maniac—all shitty tattoos and silver piercings. The little barbels that stuck through Dabi’s nipples brushed against his own and made him moan at the cool metal and hot skin on his sensitive chest. Tomura was fucking sensitive everywhere, as Dabi had helped him discover, probably from a lifetime of being touched more by cheap sweatshirts than human hands.

“Now,” Dabi grunted as he thrust loosely against Tomura’s cock and his own fist before pulling away to settle back between his legs. “Shut up and cum down my throat—gotta give your virgin ass a refresher on mind shattering orgasms, so you know if that bitch is any good or not.”

Tomura’s tongue was halfway around a witty comeback when Dabi swallowed him to the hilt once again and started working his ass even harder. He really fucked hoped the neighbors were not home to hear him get his shit rocked at 2pm on a fucking Tuesday, cause Dabi might have been flunking out of his classes but he’d get a goddamn A plus for sucking dick.

The hand on his thigh, spreading him open, migrated to his hip so that Tomura could snap his legs shut hard around Dabi’s ring littered ears as he guided Tomura to grind down on his hand. The pressure in his gut built up exponentially higher now that Dabi wasn’t trying to hold him on the edge of climax. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to acquiesce to Dabi’s request, as he tightened up in a full body clench before gripping Dabi’s hair and spilling rope after rope of hot, sticky release straight onto his roommate’s tongue.

Dabi, the fucking slut, made a show of swallowing every drop that spilled from Tomura’s abused cock, milking his prostate the whole time and only letting Tomura slip from his mouth when he was soft and finally spent.

The fingers in his ass remained though, still for the most part and slowly dipping in and out every so often. Tomura whimpered and clenched but was somewhat thankful for the remaining feeling of fullness.

“So, did you really mean all that?” Dabi asked with his signature smirk. “You really want your group project partner to cockwarm you and fuck your tight little ass?”

“Fuck off,” Tomura scowled and smacked Dabi hard across the face with an errant pillow.

Dabi yanked it from his grasp and tossed his ammunition onto the floor. “Hey, it’s not actually too bad in here,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis which elicited an embarrassingly high gasp from Tomura, “give ‘em my number if you need a reference for asshole tightness.”

“Get the fuck out of my ass and my room,” Tomura kicked at Dabi’s back as it shook with laughter that lacked it’s usual jeering bite.

“What? Saving the cuddles for your new S/O?” he shot back, nuzzling his cum and spit covered face into Tomura’s neck.

With their chests pressed together, Tomura could feel the cooling, sticky remnants of Dabi’s own release coating his stomach. He squirmed against the sensation and pushed at the offending chest until his friend flopped down onto the scant space left between the mattress and the wall.

“Ew,” Tomura ran a finger through the mess Dabi had left smeared on him. “I’m taking a fucking shower.”

“God, finally!” Dabi exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and producing a cigarette from god knows where. He let the paper rest between his lips unlit. “I should have thought about getting you fucked out on the reg earlier, creep, if it’ll stop you smelling like ass.”

Tomura launched the discarded pillow which hit it’s mark with a dull thump.

“You better be fucking gone when I get back,” he hissed and stumbled naked, on shaking legs into the hall and to their shared bathroom.

Dabi’s cackling followed him until the door shut and the lock clicked behind him.

Tomura turned the water on quickly, letting steam cloud the mirror before he jumped under the spray. The only products on the shelves were Dabi’s for the most part with the exception of a store brand bar of soap and some 3 in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Tomura knew he should clean himself more often, but his skin was so fucking raw all the time it hurt to do, so he mostly avoided it unless the smell got really unbearable—or Dabi was painting him in jizz whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He tried to get in and out as quickly as possible so he didn’t have the opportunity to think too hard about the admission his fuck buddy roommate had pulled from him mid blow job. Because if he did—in his post nut, clingy state—he’d most certainly imagine you were with him, tits pressed against his back and your soft, insistent tongue dipping past his lips, tasting like fruit gum and expensive cafe drinks instead of nicotine and cum.

And he really couldn’t handle that. Cause Dabi was right, he had something fucking bad for you and the thought of another rejection loomed large.

When he did towel himself off and shuffle, still naked back into his bedroom Dabi was nowhere to be seen. Tomura’s phone however, was left sitting right next to the jizz stain on his sheets. He frowned at the open balcony door where Dabi was no doubt smoking and snatched the device before tumbling onto the pillows.

He powered it on and scrolled through his notifs before one caught his eyes. You and Dabi were really the only people that ever texted him, but the contact name above this one had changed.

bitch (endearing)

— hey, starting an impromptu round of Smash soon if you’re interested <3

The stupid text heart made his chest throb and he stared at Dabi’s new nickname for you, not even noticing the fucking grin that tugged at his cheeks.

He bit his lip to stop the twitching when it pulled too hard at the chapped skin and scrambled for his clothes before shooting a quick confirmation text back. Tomura opted for his only pair of black jeans this time instead of sweats and the least stained sweatshirt he owned.

Dabi peaked around the corner when he heard the clink of Tomura’s keys. The bastard was smoking in just a pair of underwear that left half his ass on display for all the whole fucking street. He smirked, quirking his eyebrows and bringing his hands up to slip his index finger through the circle he made on the other hand in a silent, vulgar gesture.

“Screw off,” Tomura shouted over his shoulder and made for the door.

“Wrap it before you tap it, bro!” Dabi called after him, cut off by the subsequent slamming.

Tomura took the stairs two at a time, pulling out his phone and tucking the hood over his damp hair, this time to hide the growing smile playing at his lips.

[heartsofbeskar]

the red wolf

chapter one: two swords

oberyn martell x fem!reader

WARNINGS: mentions and descriptions of violence (GOT canon typical), talk of death, language

WORDS: 3.5K

EXCERPT: Sunlight streamed through the window, the painted glass covering the two of you in an array of colours. When you had arrived in King’s Landing, you were sure it was the most beautiful place you had ever been. How could Winterfell compare to this sunlight and sea and splendor? But the longer you stayed, the more you saw that the beauty was but a thin layer, covering the stench of violence and greed.

A/N: this is in second person, but the reader insert character belongs to a canon house which of course implies physical characteristics, including her being white! (ik this is a problem for some reader inserts being coded white so i wanted to address it here)

masterlist

next

Your hands trembled as they threaded through the soft, red locks. You used to do this when she was younger, you recalled, when she couldn’t sleep or was feeling ill or had a frightful dream.

It wasn’t just a dream this time.

Her shaky breath was warm against your neck, and you pulled her head closer in against you. Tears fell down the front of your bodice and you swallowed thickly, as you felt a familiar burn behind your own eyes. You willed the tears not to fall.

“It isn’t fair,” came her voice, impossibly small, against your bare skin. Her hands gripped tightly into the dense fabric of your skirts. “He wasn’t a traitor.”

You shushed her gently, your free hand ghosting up and down her back. You longed for the days when she was small enough for you to collect her in your lap, hold her close to your breast, as your mother had done for you both.

Another sob wracked her body, and you squeezed your eyes painfully shut at the sound. You hated it, you hated this. How you couldn’t protect her, or your father, or your brothers, or anyone.

“Sansa,” you whispered, taking her face in your hands, tilting it up to look into yours. Your heart shattered again at the sight of her, skin glistening with her tears, eyes and lips swollen and flushed from crying. You rested your forehead against hers, thumbs stroking her over delicate features. “You cannot say those things outside of this room. Tell me you know this, please.”

Your voice broke on the last word, emotion clawing its way up your throat. You loathed to ask this of her, to harden her once trusting and open spirit even further, but you needed her to know it. You wouldn’t give the Lannisters any excuse to hurt her, too.

“I do,” she choked out, fresh tears spilling over. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, pulling her back into your arms.

Sunlight streamed through the window, the painted glass covering the two of you in an array of colours. When you had arrived in King’s Landing, you were sure it was the most beautiful place you had ever been. How could Winterfell compare to this sunlight and sea and splendor? But the longer you stayed, the more you saw that the beauty was but a thin layer, covering the stench of violence and greed.

“We are Starks, my sweet sister.” You resumed combing through Sansa’s long hair; you weren’t sure if it was a comfort to her or to you. “We will not yield.”

—

The great walls of Winterfell rose behind you, as your feet carried you through the tall grass that grew uncontrolled just outside the keep’s gates. Small creatures darted to and fro under its cover. A gentle wind blew across your face, pushing your hair to the side. You heard the call of a wild raven overhead.

Winter bounded past you, the direwolf’s strong limbs carrying him far ahead of you with ease, though his grey speckled coat made him easy to find against the late summer colours of the grass. He turned back to look at you, mouth wide open in a pant, then gave an impatient bark. You laughed, shaking your head.

“You know I cannot keep up!” You called out to him, as if he could understand your reply. But ever since Winter had been a small pup, brought to Winterfell by your brothers with the rest of the litter, it had felt like he could. All the time you had trained him, he had tilted his head at your affirmations and musings, and had burrowed into your side when you were upset. It was an inexplicable connection between the two of you.

He waited patiently for you now, tail wagging and legs bouncing in excitement. He always loved these excursions outside the walls, and it provided a convenient excuse for you. As much as you loved to blame Winter and his need to get out for air, the same desire always burned within you as well.

Your bow and arrow shifted across your back as you increased your pace. The tips of your fingers grazed across the flowers that periodically sprung up from the dense grass. You made a note to pick some on your way back, for Sansa and little Rickon. You knew they’d enjoy them.

The treeline seemed to swallow the sun overhead as you passed beneath it, relishing in the coolness of the air here. Of course, the air had become cooler and cooler with every day that passed now. Winter is coming, your father harped on. And he was right, as usual. The arrival of your first winter sent a trickle of excitement through your entire body whenever you dwelt on it. Mother and father and Uncle Benjen had told you stories of winter, of the endless white and sparkling ice which could drip from the overhangs in the courtyard.

Winter ran excited circles around you as you set your quiver against the ground. You signalled to him with your hand, a communication in the language only the two of you spoke, and he settled promptly down to the ground, back end still wiggling with excitement. But he knew the best was yet to come if he waited.

Pointing the bow at the ground, you pulled an arrow from the quiver, resting it and nocking it against the string. Hooking two of your fingers around the end of the arrow, you scanned your eyes across the shadowed forest floor.

Before long, a movement caught your eye. A small rabbit sat, just a few yards ahead of you, chewing on some of the greenery there. You brought the arrow slowly, silently, up to your eye level, barely daring to breathe, lest you scare timid the creature away. You gripped the bow tightly in your opposite hand. Bringing the string straight backwards to sit next to your face, you tried to envision the path once you released it. Taking one last deep breath, you snapped your fingers off the string.

The arrow flew, fast and long through the air, and finally — fell a few feet left of the rabbit, spooking it into running deeper into the woods.

“Shit,” you cursed, collecting the wayward projectile from where it had sunk into the earth.

“Now, I don’t think your mother would appreciate that language.” A deep voice emerged from behind you, exciting Winter to stand and jump once around again.

“Father!” You gasped, whirling around. “I am so sorry, I know I shouldn’t speak that way, I would never—”

He held up a hand to cut off your babble, a small smile settling on his time weathered face. “It’s alright. I have cursed too many times to reprimand it from any of my children.”

You mirrored his smile, moving to stand beside him. You looked down at your bow a little sheepishly. “I was just trying to practice a bit. You know how Jon and Robb like to tease.”

“I do.” He placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “But you shouldn’t be out here alone, sweet.”

“I have Winter with me.”

He laughed at that, moving his hand now to scratch behind the ears of the direwolf still pacing eagerly between the two of you. Winter yipped in excitement, pushing up against his hand.

“Winter is about as ferocious as a newborn babe,” he teased. “The opposite of Greywind, might I add. Anyone but Robb approaches, and that wolf is on alert.”

“Winter just has a gentle heart, is all.” You drop to one knee, letting the direwolf nuzzle into your chest, stroking his soft ears.

“It’s not unlike the differences between you and Robb, truth be told. Strange, how you can share a womb with another living being, and yet grow to be so distinct.” He had a far away expression on his face when you looked up. You stood again, allowing him to grasp your hands in his.

“You’re not here just to chastise me for going beyond the walls.” You knew, too well, the expression on Ned Stark’s face when he had to speak of things he didn’t want to.

He nodded. “Sweet child … you know I have nothing but respect for you and your choices. But, I am afraid it has become an unavoidable truth. Your mother and I have discussed this, and we have decided that once we arrive in King’s Landing, we need to decide on a man for you to marry.”

Your face was impassive as you considered his words. You knew in any other family, in any other man’s house, you would have been wed as soon as you’d bled for the first time. But your father had allowed you to grow and mature past that, and you cherished those years, holding them close to your heart. You squeezed his hands.

“I know, Father. And I am happy to do my duty as the eldest daughter of the house. You needn't feel guilty — I know you won’t marry me to a monster.” Your lips quirked upwards. And it was true; you had the utmost trust in your father that he would choose someone kind, someone level headed. That he would make a match considering your wishes, too, and it would be a life you could grow to love a man in.

He sighed, shoulders sagging in relief. You wondered if the prospect of marrying his first daughter, his first child, was more difficult for him than it was for you. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re a good daughter. But still a mediocre marksman; come, let me show you where you went wrong,” he said, picking up your discarded bow and quiver.

—

You longed to be in those woods now, with your wolf and your father and your bow. In your home. All the beauty and splendor and opulence of King’s Landing could never erase the horrors you’d endured here.

You glanced behind you, where Tyrion and her handmaiden were trying their best to implore Sansa to eat something. There was an impressive array of foods strewn about the small table, though your younger sister touched none of them.

As you watched, her handmaiden — whom you suspected was no handmaiden at all, given her incompetence at her job — rose from the table, shooting a glare at Lord Tyrion.

“She needs to eat,” she quipped, looking up at you briefly before she left, her light skirts swaying gently as she retreated down the garden path.

You turned and sat slowly in her vacated seat, saying nothing. Sansa didn’t spare you a glance, her eyes vacant as she continued to look at the table in front of her, not really seeing it.

“I can’t let you starve,” Tyrion implored. You bit back the remark on the edge of your tongue. How amusing it was to think of a Lannister caring for a Stark’s wellbeing. Even if it was the Stark he’d been wed to. “I swore to protect you. My lady, I am your husband. Let me help you.”

“How can you help me?”

“I don’t know, but I can try.”

“I lie awake all night staring at the canopy, thinking about how they died.” This you knew to be true, as those past nights you had curled yourself around her, in her marital bed, unable to sleep, but equally unable to leave her alone in this place. Sansa continued.

“Do you know what they did to my brother? How they sewed his direwolf’s head onto his body?” You shut your eyes tightly, images of Robb coming unbidden to the back of your eyelids. His gentle smile, his awful jokes, his tenderness as you’d raised that very direwolf alongside your own. “And my mother. They cut her throat to the bone and threw her body in the—”

“Sansa, please,” you choked out. You could not take any more, or surely the tears you had so desperately supressed for days would finally emerge. She sent a cool glance your way, but stopped.

Tyrion cast his eyes down; you could tell he was carefully considering his next words. Ever the silver tongue. “What happened to your family was a terrible crime. I didn’t know your brother. He seemed like a good man, but I didn’t know him. Your mother, I admired her. She wanted to have me executed, but I admired her. She was a strong woman. And she was fierce when it came to protecting her children. Sansa … your mother would want you to carry on. Both of you. You know it’s true.”

Sansa didn’t make any indication she had heard his valiant speech. Good, you thought to yourself. She stood, hands lightly falling onto the edge of the table. “Will you pardon me, my Lord? I’d like to visit the godswood.”

“Of course,” Tyrion nodded enthusiastically, brows drawn together. The scar you knew he’d gotten during the Battle of Blackwater Bay was deep set above one eye. “Prayer can be helpful, I hear.”

“I don’t pray any more,” she said quietly, as she began walking away. “It’s the only place I go where people don’t talk to me.”

You watched her form as she walked away, knowing she wouldn’t want you to follow. Your heart felt like it was being crushed inside your chest at the sight of it, at the knowledge that you could do nothing for her pain. Nothing for your own pain, even.

Tyrion appeared conflicted, eyes looking between where his wife had now left, and you where you remained seated. You took a deep breath, straightening your back.

“You needn’t stay and pretend to care for me as well,” she quipped, jaw tense. “... my Lord.”

Another Lord, another Lannister even, would have struck you. But perhaps marrying your child sister had curbed that edge in Tyrion, for he said nothing else before taking his leave from you.

As he turned the corner in the path, you sighed, dropping your shoulders. You stood from the table, returning to your previous spot, overlooking the sea. You let out a shaking breath as you leaned against the short garden wall.

The sea churned beneath you, it's great waves smashing ferociously on the rocks below. It smelled of salt and wind and you tried desperately to fill your lungs with it, to wash away every other feeling inside of you.

“A wolf of winter in the summer gardens; a strange sight indeed.” A lilting, accented voice came up behind you. Turning, you saw a tall man adorned in mustard robes, accents of fine jewelry hanging from his neck, on his hands, wrists, everywhere you could see. His skin was tan, golden, in a way you had never seen before, and the top of his robe exposed the start of a golden chest. His neatly trimmed beard and hair were dark, but not as dark as his eyes, which bore into you now.

You noticed the red suns stitched into the fabric of his robes — House Martell. Your father would never forgive you if you forgot all those long lessons on the great families of Westeros.

“My Lord,” you inclined your head politely in his direction, willing your body into the proper posture. “You’ve arrived from Dorne, for the wedding I presume?”

The man raised an eyebrow at you, stepping closer, until he stood directly in front of you. One step forward and you would be in direct contact with the expanse of his chest.

“You paid attention to your schooling on Houses,” he said lightly. He reached down to grab one of your hands that hung by your side, bringing it slowly up to his lips. “I am Prince Oberyn, indeed of Dorne. Forgive my manners, but I do not believe I need an introduction to you, Lady Stark.”

His dark eyes held yours, as he leaned in further. You could feel his breath on your face. It was pleasantly warm, and smelled of … oranges? “I heard of the tragic events that befell your family, at the hands of your benefactors.” He spit the last word.

“I do not know what you mean,” you breathed out. You pleaded with him with your eyes, please don’t do this; don’t make me speak it where they can hear. “The Lannisters have been most kind and generous to me and my sister, more than we deserve even. My family …” You swallowed thickly; your skin felt hot despite the shade. “My family betrayed the crown, and has paid their price.”

Oberyn’s brows drew together in a worried expression as he studied your face. You didn’t look away from his gaze, holding him there, trying not to show a crack in the facade. He ran a light hand up your arm, and though he barely touched you, a shiver ran across your skin. It came to rest on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles over the fabric there.

“Little wolf, I assure you that the Lannisters are no friends of mine.” Something dark flashed in his eyes, for only a moment, so fleeting you weren’t even sure it had been there. “They have ripped apart my family with their teeth, also.”

You felt that particular burn in your eyes, and you pressed your nails into the palms of your hands, willing it away. You eyed the man’s hand where it still sat on your shoulder.

“Yet you break bread with them, do you not?” Your eyes were glued onto his as they cast downwards. “You come peacefully to King’s Landing, you bring wedding gifts for King Joffrey, and you drink from their cups.”

Your breathing was heavy now, emotion you had pushed into the deepest parts of yourself leaking out. You shut your eyes, shaking your head. This was a Prince.

“I … I am sorry, Prince Oberyn, I should not have—” He cut you off, gently pressing a hand to the side of your face. The skin of his fingers was rough, calloused, no doubt from years of fighting.

“You do not need to apologize, little wolf.”

“You shouldn’t call me that here.”

The side of his mouth quirked upwards at that, one delicate brow arching. It transformed the planes of his face, and you found yourself transfixed on the shapes and textures set into his tanned skin.

“I do believe we are alone here, little wolf.” Teasing now, he used the nickname with purpose. You liked the shape of it on his lips, though you still fought the overwhelming urge to peer over your shoulder at whoever may be watching.

“You don’t understand, my Lord.” You shook your head again, and his hand fell from your cheek. “King’s Landing is a pit of snakes. And they are always — always — listening. You are a Prince of Dorne and I…” You didn’t finish. I am nothing but a stupid girl who waited too long to marry, is too old for the King, is tainted and stained with the stench of my family’s rebellion. I am doused in their blood, being made to drown in it.

Your palm felt wet, drawing your attention down. Opening it, you saw blood welling from the four small crescent shaped tears that now appeared in the delicate skin there. Oberyn’s eyes followed yours, and they softened at the sight, cupping your hand in both of his. They were so large around yours, and steady.

“I am a Prince of Dorne,” he said, his voice quiet, not looking at your face. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his robe, next to his chest. Gently, he wrapped it around the palm of your hand, seemingly unbothered by the blood which immediately began to blot onto it. Many moons had taught you that blood never came off. Tying it secure under your knuckles, he met your eyes, lifting your head with a finger under your chin. “And if this is indeed a pit of snakes, it is a good thing you are in the company of the Viper. Your words — all of your words — are safe with me, little wolf.”

You wanted so badly to believe him, to think that there was someone in this wretched place you could trust, outside of your sister. That a man was really looking upon you with kind, genuine eyes, for the first time since they’d taken your father’s head from his shoulders.

The sea crashed particularly forcefully below, startling you. He leaned back now, pulling his hands away from you, and you immediately missed their warmth. As if he had carried the Dornish sun within his very body, all the way to King’s Landing. He kissed your unwrapped hand again, briefly, and he sent you another smile before beginning to retreat, hands clasped behind his back.

At the mouth of the garden entrance, he turned halfway, face playful now. “I should like to make strolling in these gardens a daily habit whilst I’m here; there is so much to see. Would you care to join me in that?”

You nodded, smiling; a small one, but the first smile you remembered giving genuinely to someone in a long time.

A/N: aaah this was so fun to do that i ended up finishing it waaay sooner than i thought i would! so excited to see what people think!! also it will probably end up being oberyn x ellaria x reader bc... i love her and i love bisexuals

taglist: @asta-lily @pedrostories

[swift--fox]

Creeping Is A Dangerous Game

Day two of Tickletober- Begging

(I never said I was good at naming things)

Castiel has a drag of a school day, so he finds a way of enternatining himself afterward. And if it’s at the expense of his boyfriend? So be it.

(Thank you @deadpiss for writing this one for me)

~~~~~~~~~

English lit. is a fucking drag of a class, and today was no exception. He’d had to listen to Professor Shurley—or Chuck, as he insists his class call him—drone on for forty-five minutes about dramatic irony, of all things. His ass was still a little numb and he was bored out of his wits, itching for some kind of entertainment to make up for that day. 

He sees Dean—or rather, the legs attached to him—under an old but classic-looking car. He imagines Dean is thrilled to be working on it, he’ll probably talk Cas’s ear off about it later. That can wait. 

He shrugs his satchel off his shoulders and drops it off by the tool bench, walks over to his preoccupied boyfriend.

Of course, he goes ignored. Dean is in grease-monkey mode; fully engrossed in his work. Castiel nudges an oil-smeared thigh with the toe of his boot and Dean’s entire body does a half-aborted jerk and he makes a startled noise from under the belly of the car which echoes in the empty garage. He slides his way out, shooting Cas a dirty look—quite literally, given the state of his matted hair and the dark smudges on his face. 

“Owch.” He says pointedly, rubbing at his forehead. Castiel shoots him his sweetest smile and extends a hand, wiggling his fingers. 

“I’m back,” He bats his eyes, the picture of innocence. “I missed you.” 

Dean doesn’t take his hand and is already pulling himself back under the car. “Uh-huh. Missed you too. I’m a little tied up right now, s’all. Busy day.”

“I’m sure. All your non-existent customers and I are packed in here like sardines. It’s madness out here,” He says dryly, circling around to Dean’s feet. 

“Asshole. C’mon, I’m almost done. Just gotta make sure everything’s screwed in and working down here and then check out the rattling in the engine. Prob’ly change the oil, too—this dude doesn’t know shit about cars. ‘Specially classy ladies like this baby.”

Cas can hear the affectionate pat Dean gives the underside of the car and he scowls. He’s more enamored with this rusty old car than him. 

“Y’know, I’ve never worked on a—JESUS—”

Castiel sits on Dean’s hips and lets his knees touch the ground on either side to keep Dean from rolling back out. 

“Oh, do continue, Dean—I’m so excited to hear allll about the car that you’re ignoring me in favor of.”

“You’re such a petty bitch, Cas. You’re gonna break my creeper!” 

Cas eyes the strip of exposed skin over Dean’s waistband where the hem of his shirt pulls away. His arms must be over his head. Perfect. Castiel slides his hands up starting from Dean’s thighs to his ribs, staying over his shirt but dragging the hem up even further with the movement. “Say again?” 

Dean stiffens under him and his breathing stutters. “C—Cas. C’mon, not here. I’m—I’m serious, dude, this is—it’s my work! I gotta—NO!” He breaks off with a yelp when Cas’s fingers ripple against his ribs. 

“Of course, Dean, don’t let me stop you. Just pretend I’m not here.” Cas says solemnly as ten fingers tickle a meandering path down either side of Dean’s ribs to congregate on his soft and currently heaving belly. 

He bucks up as much as his position allows and his feet desperately scramble behind Cas, trying to pull himself out from under the car. Cas braces his knees further apart and holds the board in place. “You—Youhou fuhucker.” 

“Is that what kind of pet names we’re using now? Shall I call you ‘bitch’ instead of Darling? Honey? Oh, what about ‘my dear’ or ‘good boy’? You love those,” He lists off each example with a poke to Dean’s stomach. He can see the pink dusting Dean’s cheeks and neck in his mind’s eye at the mention of the last example. 

Dean elects not to say anything, he just writhes as much as the narrow board of his glorified skateboard allows. Cas watches Dean’s futile attempts at dislodging him with a smug sort of fondness, his hands resting on Dean’s soft sides. Unmoving, for the moment.

He gives Dean’s left side a squeeze. “You’re very cute like this.” 

Dean makes a strangled noise in his throat and Cas smiles. “Am not. Can you—we’re in public. Someone could co—nonono, Cas, don’t! Anyone could walk in—stopstopstop,” Dean hits his forearms on the underside of the car trying to pull them back to his sides when Cas starts rucking his shirt up. 

“I can’t! N—” Dean cuts himself off when Cas presses a kiss just below his belly button. He sucks in his stomach but Cas only chases after it, pressing mouthy kisses randomly along his middle. He’s stuck between a rock, a hard place, and his sadistic attention-whore of a boyfriend. All he can do is kick fruitlessly at the concrete floor of the garage and do his best not to hit the car with his twitching arms lest he undo his hard work, and giggle. 

He’s taken to pleading, now. Bribing. “C’mon, c’mohon. Eh—eheh—I’ll—I’ll clean the dishes! For a week!” Dean’s voice gets shriller when Cas brings his teeth into the mix, biting at the soft flesh of his belly and flank. “A MONTH, I’LLDOITFORAMONTH—”

“Hmm, a tempting offer.” Cas ceases his torment for a moment. His fingers catch the band of Dean’s pants and tug them down a little. He hears the panicked breath Dean drags in. “Not as tempting, though,” He continues, fingers trailing from Dean’s sides down towards his hips. “As this.” He presses his thumbs into the hollows beside the bony ridges and Dean’s entire body spasms.

“I’LL FUCKING—I’ll do yoga! I’ll do it, pleasepleasepleaseohgodno, I c—I cahan’t.” He sobs through cackling laughter. Cas raises an eyebrow and withdraws. Pleased, he stands and gives Dean some space to extract himself from the underbelly of the vehicle and catch his breath; he’s red-faced and panting. He throws his arms over his face and sucks in air greedily.

“You’re an evil son of a bitch.” He says breathlessly. 

“Mm, only because you like me that way.” Cas offers his hand and Dean eyes it warily before taking it, heaving himself carefully off the creeper. 

“Next time we keep that shit at home. I don’t wanna get fired just ‘cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” He glares at his self-satisfied boyfriend, but it holds no heat.

“Next time?” Cas smirks.

Dean pinkens even further and elbows him in the ribs. “Shuddup.”