#not immune to pretty boys

[hoforwonho]

head empty only jongup

[teddybeartoji]

suggestive; gn!reader

thinking about helping oikawa stretch after practice.

he's all sweaty and musty and he's clinging to you, asking – no, absolutely begging you with his pretty brown eyes, for you to help him. and obviously you can't say no to him, so that's how you find yourself in this position – he's on his back, scruntching his eyebrows as you press his knees up to his chest. his flexible body begs for you to angle your own hips against his in order to properly give him the stretch he needs. his cheeks are tinted pink and his bottom lip is caught in between his teeth and it's really hard to not get any ideas. it's wrong – you know it is! this is your good friend and you're just helping him and there's nothing weird about this position and—

a loud moan rips from his lips and your eyes almost fall out of your head as warmth creeps up your neck. he doesn't even say anything about it, he just grabs onto your wrists to make sure you don't pull away.

"d-don't!" you stammer when a quieter but no less lewd noise escapes him. you feel your hands get clammy as your fingers sink into his calves.

oikawa cracks his one eye open to ask what the problem is. he doesn't see what's wrong in the slightest. his brown hair is splayed on the floor like a masterpiece with some of the strands sticking to his forehead and nobody should be allowed to look this good after a rough practice.

"don't make those sounds..." you whisper as you lean more into him when you feel the resistance in his body falter.

"wha– ahh...t sounds?" his eyes shut again and he sucks in a breath, puffing out his reddened cheeks. his knees fall more to his sides, opening up the space between them and you move closer on instinct.

"tho- those ones, idiot! you're making it weird!"

your hips are now completely flush against his and he lets out another pained whine. taking one of your hands from his calf, you place it on top of his mouth instead and his eyes shoot open in an instant.

he didn't even think about this position like that, genuinely oblivious to the suggestiveness of it. the stretch in the backs of his thighs feels good but you on top of him feels even better. your body feels warm against his and his eyes flick down to where you're connected. at that you try to pull away, afraid that now you've made it weird but he stops you.

"c'mon.. don't go." his hands wrap around your biceps as his eyes burn into your avoidant ones. "you have to help me with the next one too."

blinking down at him, you gulp, unable to refuse him. oikawa twists under you, barely taking his eyes off of you as he straightens out his one leg and folds the other up and to the side.

this position is no less suggestive than the last one – it still requires you to press up right against him to help him out. his fingers grasp at your sleeve to break you from your haze and you shuffle closer again.

bodies glued together, your hands dig into his thigh as you try to not focus on your friends face. nor the proximity. from behind you, you hear a row of snickers – without turning around, you know his teammates are making fun of you for falling into their captains alleged trap.

"see, this isn't so bad..." oikawa's soft flesh is back between his teeth as he forces his body to relax under you. you quietly glare at him, just hoping he won't say or do anything weird anything, hoping that he'll let you just leave and breathe for a moment—

"h-harder."

...

you press your eyes shut as your body threatens to overheat. putting almost all of your bodyweight onto his, you watch his eyes roll back inside his skull and you hold back a flustered groan. why is he like this?

slowly peeking from underneath your eyelashes, his scrunched up face almost kills you and it's hard to keep your thoughts at bay – they just come flooding in and you feel like a terrible friend. he's like this with everyone, so why are you even thinking about it? you are the one who's making it weird and you should stop.

"hey! no more fooling around! we gotta lock up, so move your asses!" iwaizumi breaks your pervy little bubble and you find oikawa staring right back at you. his cheeks are still pink even though the practice ended a good while ago. he gives you one of his big bright smiles as he moves his leg from his body to your other side, leaving you kneeling right between his thighs.

"thanks for that!" his voice betrays nothing about what he really feels in this moment, about what he feels in his lower abdomen. he pushes himself up and before he goes to leave for the changing room, he looks down at you and boops your nose with a laugh.

you stay glued to your spot for a good moment, iwaizumi's loud voice being the thing to tear you from the floor. you stumble to grab the remaining bottles and towels from the floor and make for the exit, letting the man close up behind you.

you mutter a quiet goodbye to him and hurry off, telling him that you have some other stuff to attend to. he doesn't question it – he's fully aware of the effect oikawa can have on a person. and on their body.

+ inspired by this iwaoi art on twt!!!!! i thought it was so funny n cute so i had to write something for it!!!!

[rhapsoddity]

so one time instead of money payment Emmett asked spectrum to hypnotise him, cus hes never experienced it before, and spectrums happy not paying and fuckin with emmetts braincells so~

in my defense i was egged on to make this v self indulgent comic by my discord

[emry-stars-art]

why do you draw kevin so yummy? 🤨

[goodlucktai]

gently in the cold dark earth

scum villain's self saving system word count: 2k canon divergent / no system au; sy transmigrates into an empty npc role; gray lotus binghe loves his shixiong more than life and he's ready to make it everyone's problem

title borrowed from work song by hozier

read on ao3

x

The first thing Luo Binghe does when he escapes the Abyss is return to Cang Qiong Mountain. 

With Xin Mo secured to his back, the way could be instant if he so chose—the journey of a thousand miles reduced to a single step—but he unsheathes the elegant jian at his hip instead.

Yong Liang sings sweetly for him, the snow white blade still shining and untainted even after years of helping Luo Binghe carve his way through hell. It has never once failed him, soulbound to the one person still on this earth who has never failed him. 

“Take it,” his shixiong insisted, low and urgent. The Abyss was behind them, an even deadlier threat was ahead, and Without A Cure clogging his meridians made Luo Binghe the best choice to wield the only unshattered spirit sword they had between them. “Binghe, take it.”

He pressed until Luo Binghe’s grip curled tight around the hilt, not hesitating to put his soul in Luo Binghe’s hands even with the rosy glow of an unsealed demon mark shining on his face. 

Luo Binghe flies at a pace best described as dangerously reckless, hardly smelling the fragrant spring air or feeling the sun on his face. His robes are a disgrace, his hair a tangled, matted mess, and it occurs to him that he could stop somewhere and clean himself up, make himself presentable, but it’s a brief, fleeting thought. 

Shen Yuan would be furious to find out that Luo Binghe wasted even a single second returning to his side. 

——

He passes through the ancient wards effortlessly, feeling them fall away from him like water. It’s a simple thing to tamp down on his demonic qi, to disguise the parts of him that those so-called righteous cultivators would scorn. He ghosts through the familiar grounds as eagerly as a starving animal bolting down a fresh game trail, but one by one, all of their familiar haunts come up empty, without even a lingering trace of Shen Yuan’s spiritual energy left behind.   

The head disciple’s room is dusted and undisturbed, as if its occupant might walk through the door at any moment, but the lack of clutter and the empty book shelf makes it very clear to Luo Binghe what the truth must be.

If Shen Yuan returned to the peak after the Conference, he didn’t stay. 

All at once, images crowd the front of his mind—his shixiong grieving, pulling away, turning his back on those responsible for his heartache. 

Yue Qingyuan, always only a step behind wherever his precious Xiu Ya sword went, promised that no one wanted to hurt them. They only wanted to help.

He looked so solemn and righteous that Shen Yuan reluctantly allowed himself to be convinced. Luo Binghe, who had gone to the man for help after a bloody whipping when he was a child, only to be given a walnut cake and turned away at the door, knew better. 

He wasn’t surprised when Shen Yuan was wrenched away from him, and shizun sent him staggering off the cliff with a spiritual dagger buried to the hilt in his chest, all of it happening within a matter of seconds—but it still hurt. 

Shen Yuan’s scream followed him all the way down. 

I’m alive, Luo Binghe thinks, with no one there to tell it to. I came back to you. Let me come back to you. 

——

Including time spent in the abyss, it’s three years before they meet again. 

Luo Binghe’s revenge is his second priority at best, but he is nothing if not efficient and knows how to kill two birds with the same stone. Huan Hua affords him ample resources and opportunities to scour the world for his missing shixiong while playing the role of earnest and diligent new disciple. He snatches up each mission that comes along as though  eager to prove his worth to the sect that so graciously took him in, but he takes every excuse to wander, to search, to make conversation with vendors and innkeepers and passing strangers. 

Have you seen my heart? It lives outside of me in the form of a beautiful young man and tends to wander. Very contrary, likes to fuss over people, could argue the stripes off a lushu just for fun. You’d know it if you met it. You’d never forget. 

The days blur together, meaningless and gray, but he doesn’t stop looking. Shen Yuan still exists somewhere in this world, because otherwise Luo Binghe wouldn’t. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. 

And then, finally—an afternoon in Jinlan City, when Luo Binghe arrives in a throng of incompetent gold-clad Huan Hua disciples, to investigate a plague of all things—

He’s there. 

In dark, neutral colors and plain clothes, a traveling cloak with its hood resting down around his shoulders, as if his beauty could possibly be lessened by cheap, shapeless fabrics rather than effortlessly enhanced. His hair falls from its half-tail in glorious waves—he never did have the patience for anything elaborate, only wearing braids when one of his sticky shidimei cajoled and convinced him. Traveling alone, who could he possibly have to roll his eyes at and complain about and sit patiently still for?

A pale green ribbon is all that decorates his hair. Luo Binghe recognizes it instantly. 

“You should spend your allowance on yourself, Binghe,” Shen Yuan scolded him, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. 

“But I did,” Luo Binghe protested, widening his eyes and clasping his hands earnestly, the way he knew worked best. “I wanted it! And now that I have it, I want to give it to you.”

Shen Yuan was too clever by half to be truly fooled by the innocent act, but he always folded like paper anyway. He spoiled all of his shidimei but Luo Binghe most of all. Anyone on Qing Jing Peak would be hard-pressed to think of a single example of Shen Yuan telling Luo Binghe ‘no.’ 

Sure enough, after a second spent visibly wrestling with himself, he blurted, “Oh, fine! Hand it over.” 

He wore it every day since. He’s wearing it now. The wind catches the ends of it, sending it streaming behind him like the tails of a paradise flycatcher. Lovely. 

For a brief moment, Luo Binghe is frozen where he stands, finally faced with the very thing that he’s been missing for years, that he’s been living a miserable half-life without. 

And then he remembers himself and lurches forward. His voice is a tangle in his throat but he manages to choke out, “Shixiong!”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have jolted Shen Yuan into more perfect stillness. He stops mid-step, every inch of him as good as carved from precious jade. He doesn’t turn his head, and the sliver of his face visible from where Luo Binghe stands is very pale. 

Luo Binghe wonders suddenly if this has happened to him before—if Shen Yuan has heard a voice on the road or in the market that was almost familiar, that was almost the one he was hoping for, only to be disappointed when he turned to follow it and found a stranger. 

Luo Binghe shortens the distance between them with a few anxious steps and tries again. 

“Shixiong.”

The older boy whirls around abruptly, as if to get it over with. He’s bracing himself, but Luo Binghe barely has a second to absorb Shen Yuan’s painful-looking anticipation before it bleeds out of his face in favor of something else entirely. 

He looks like the earth has fallen out from beneath his feet, like he hardly dares to believe his eyes. Zheng Yang gleams golden at Shen Yuan’s hip, reforged and whole again.

“Binghe?”  

“It’s me,” Luo Binghe says softly. 

There’s a tableau he’s afraid to break, as if they’re in a delicate dreamscape and a move too sudden or loud might dissolve it. He wants to say I’ve missed you the way lungs miss air, immediately and needfully, I haven’t breathed at all since we’ve been apart. He wants to say you’re my light in the dark, I can only stand in front of you now because I love you too much to ever truly leave you. 

Instead, he tells his dearest friend, “This one made you wait. But your Binghe is here.”

Shen Yuan sprints the rest of the way to meet him, almost before he’s even finished talking, and they collide in a solid embrace that knocks the air from them both. 

His arms wind around Luo Binghe’s waist like steel bands, fingers digging into the back of his robes, precious face pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Luo Binghe doesn’t hesitate to gather him up close, holding him as tightly and securely as he knows how, burying his nose in his shixiong’s hair and breathing in the familiar, beloved smell of him.  

Shen Yuan is a few inches shorter than he remembers. All the better to tuck him beneath Luo Binghe’s chin, to cover and surround him so completely that not even the heavens above can get a decent eyeful. 

He wants to grab and bite and pin Shen Yuan beneath him and never let go. His jaw aches with wanting it. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Luo Binghe says, eyes wet. “I went home first.” Unsaid goes the obvious but you weren’t there. 

“How could I stay?” Shen Yuan bites out, managing to sound all at once strangled and bewildered and—charmingly—offended. He shakes his head without lifting it, an aggressive nuzzle against Binghe’s shoulder. “After what they did to you, I’d rather die than represent their stupid sect another minute.”

“Step away from it, Shen Yuan,” shizun said coldly. “I’ll put that beast back where it belongs.”

“No,” shixiong said in a voice that was smaller than usual, one that shook. He was frightened, clearly overwhelmed, but he didn’t budge from where he was plastered in front of Luo Binghe like a breathing shield. 

“Now.” 

“No, shizun.”

“Shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, offering his hand. “Come here. It will be alright.”

Shen Yuan said, “No. You can’t hurt Binghe. He’s not bad just because of who his parents are. He’s as good as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. He’s hardworking and loyal and a sweetheart to anybody who gives him half a chance. He’s so good.”

Liu Qingge was behind the sect leader, sword drawn. Shen Qingqiu was quickly losing what little patience he had, face twisted into a sneer, dark eyes stabbing hatefully at Luo Binghe from over his head disciple’s shoulder. There were more figures rapidly drawing closer, the other peak lords following the flare of Yue Qingyuan’s qi. The standoff was becoming more and more untenable, and Shen Yuan was too smart not to see that, shrinking back against Luo Binghe as much as he could without crowding him closer to the edge. 

“You can’t hurt him,” he said again, the closest Luo Binghe had ever heard him come to tears, “he’s my shidi.”

Luo Binghe is unsurprised by his shixiong’s loyalty, because it’s already been proven to him over and over. It’s unremarkable at this point, which is an absolutely remarkable thing in itself. It makes him feel warm with gratitude and affection and ownership. 

Shen Yuan is clever and quick on his feet and always three steps ahead, more knowledgeable about flora and fauna than anyone else Binghe has ever known combined, and probably a force to be reckoned with as a rogue cultivator, where the only rules of conduct he has to adhere to are his own. 

But Luo Binghe hates to think of him on the road alone, without the little martial siblings who follow him like ducklings, without his Binghe there to make sure he remembers to eat all his meals and comb out his hair before bed. He’s a creature of comfort, made for airy rooms with too many cushions and an abundance of sweets and books to read. 

Luo Binghe has fantasized more than once about building a home for Shen Yuan to lounge prettily in. It was, in fact, his favorite flavor of daydream since he was about thirteen. 

If Shen Yuan wants to rogue cultivate, then that’s what they’ll do. But Luo Binghe thinks, if he constructs a palace that’s as comfortable as it is grand, and fills it with trashy romance novels and obscure beasts and his own hand-made meals, he can convince his friend to live in it with him.

Shen Yuan needs to be taken care of. Luo Binghe needs to be the one taking care of him. They’re together now and they’ll never be apart again and those needs can both be met. 

That possessive, proprietary feeling coils dark and deep inside him, undulating lazily like a serpent who’s fed enough for days, reminding him over and over what he already knows:

Mine. 

[dustykneed]

man those starfleet changing rooms sure have. Uhh. Seen some shit. the fact that jim looks so damn good in a suit really isn't helping mcspirk's case.

...

prompt fill for @mcspirkevents' mcspirk bingo prompt "don't let them hear you". 🩵💙💛

[kaijukat-art]

(wip) i like him i think

[gotharchaeolgst]

I offer you some Nori for today. Tomorrow? Nori again ofc (or Choso. Or both)

[sergeantjessi]

when doug looks directly up into the camera to adjust it. like if you agree

[naonexe]

Raikov warmup before I attempt to draw a woman for once

[zhoras-bitch]

Romancing Vesper or f!Onyx in WTC is particularly juicy because this way MC gets to hate herself not only because of her 'unholy' powers, but also because she's gay, which is x2 religious trauma combo.

[sun-marie]

The Pale Elf, after everything 🌿

[moeblob]

Ananza realizing that Deacon's mom was a devoted follower of hers THEREFORE that's her son now, too! And she will dote on him and love him and never pick on him like all the other deities tend to do. That's her precious little boy who lives in another city and rarely gets to see her!

[zeldadou]

Bleeding-heart dove.

[m-camberry]

🌾🌼

[larkthorne]

wow a post vaccine baby is no joke! Haha I'm in danger dot gif.....