#now I have a random ass fish brush I made specifically for this and I have to figure out how to use it again

[shripscapi]

lady catelyn

[kyloswarstars]

ROOMMATES • Part 9

Divergent • College AU • Eric x Reader

ROOMMATES masterlist 💫 Divergent masterlist

You escaped your current living situation by moving in with your friend Christina – and five other college students. Little did you know that one of them was the guy who was your ultimate pain in the neck since your first semester. Now, you had to find a way to not strangle him in his sleep out of pure frustration. Also, you had to find a way to get rid of those weird butterfly feelings for him that slowly grew in your stomach.

Words • 4.7k

The enemies to lovers story no one needed.

/////

Waking up the next morning, you didn’t immediately realise in what bed you had slept. You had to turn around for a couple of times to notice the first foreign but very captivating scent. That smell had evolved to be your favorite sent over the last couple of weeks. Eric.

You opened your eyes. Stared at the wall, the wrong side of the wall. Eric’s bed. It was his bed you had slept in. You turned around and were glad he wasn’t there. By the way you were wrapped up in his blanket and totally claimed it as yours, he might just surrendered to losing his territory and went to sleep in your bed instead. Your feet tried to kick yourself free and stopped for a moment before you got out of Eric’s bed.

He held your hand as if his life depended on it. He didn’t do anything else and he didn’t say a word. All he did was grab onto it, brush your thumb and lay next to you for the time it took you to fall asleep.

With a smile on your lips you stood up, carefully opened the door a crack and observed the hallway. Clear air, so you rushed to your room. Your bed was empty. The new semester only started next week so he couldn’t be in class – where was he?

You changed into new clothes, took care of your morning routine and couldn’t stop thinking about where Eric had vanished to when you sat down at the dining table. All of your roommates were still gathered there and enjoyed their bowls of cereal.

„Are you ready for our beach day, Y/N?“ Uriah flopped down in the chair across from yours, which felt incredibly wrong because it was Eric’s spot.

You still returned his smile and asked what he meant.

„We just decided today is the day! After we didn’t manage it all summer to have a day at the beach, we wanna use the perfect weather today. Are you coming?“ You vaguely remembered Tris suggesting a day at the beach with all roommates. And that everyone was all for it – except you, which you didn’t express in words to them. Nothing had changed about that, though.

Uriah was smiling so brightly at you and the fun you possibly would have with them made you nod. „Sure, I’ll come.“

„We are all going,“ Uriah sang and darted into his room.

You didn’t want to reveal yourself by asking if ‚all‘ included Eric who wasn’t there right now. You also didn’t stand not knowing, so instead of asking them you texted Eric if he would be coming to the beach gathering as well.

He replied a minute later.

You bet your ass

The memory of your hand in his shortly banned the beach situation. And a being half naked in a bikini situation. Until Christina threw an orange skin at you to get your attention.

„Y/N, pack your swimming stuff, we’re heading off in fifteen.“ She pushed her chair under the table and left for her and Will’s room as well. Swimming. You abandoned your cereal bowl and followed after her, asking Will to give you a minute alone with Christina in their room. He left with a smile.

„What’s up?“ She asked while rummaging through her closet.

„I…“, you started but nothing else came out. You were nervous, could feel sweat building on your forehead. You hadn’t been swimming nor showed yourself in a bikini publicly since that specific night had happened.

Christina stopped searching and turned to you. When she saw you fumbling with your trembling fingers, she came over. „Are you okay?“

„There’s a lot you don’t know yet.“

„That’s okay, you don’t know everything about me either. What’s wrong?“

You shook your head. It had took you months to take off your shirt in front of Peter. It was strange that you had been mentally more ready to sleep with him than reveal your chest. That came long after. You had always kept a shirt on until you pushed yourself to ignore the insecurities one day. Logically, the thought of having sex with someone must’ve disturbed you more than getting naked. In reality that just hadn’t been the case. Revealing your torso had been the hardest thing ever. Because it showed everyone who saw it, if you wanted or not, that something had happened. And you found that not every random stranger deserved a look or even an explanation to your past.

Christina carefully shook you with a hand on your shoulder to get your attention once more. You had drifted off.

„Insecurities,“ you just said. Pushing out the thoughts running through your mind was impossible.

„Do you even have a bikini?“

You shook your head under her stare. Chris went back to her closet and fished a simple, black bikini out. „There you go,“ she shoved it in your hands. „And remember: every body is a beach body.“

Her efforts of easing your ‚insecurities‘ were sweet. You just wished you had the guts to tell her here and there that it was little bit more than ‚just’ those stupid body issues a woman was facing nowadays. With a smile you left for your room and stared at the bikini in your hands.

There was no way you would actually dress down to that thing at the beach. Just for the worst case scenario, to be prepared if shit would go down, you pulled on the bikini under your clothes. Maybe you would get away with just sitting at the beach or only going in the water with your feet. But if one of your roommates would drown and you were the only person left at the beach to help them not to, you would thank yourself for being able to shed your normal clothes and make it faster to them with proper swimwear.

You shoved some other necessities and a big towel to sit on in your backpack and waited in the living area for everyone to head out. The tension subsided once you sat next to Uriah in Christina’s backseat and her car started on the way to the beach. Will was next to her in the passenger seat and Tris and Four were taking Four’s car.

Will mentioned that Eric let him know he had gotten all the things and was waiting at the beach already. When you arrived there you knew what he meant. Eric had rammed a sun umbrella into the sand, a very crooked one, it looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. He had spread a couple of blankets and a barbecue grill, along with a big cooler was placed next to it.

„You, Eric, are my favorite person of all times,“ Uriah shouted when you got to the blankets. He was almost jumping up and down in excitement.

Eric’s eyes were glued on you, yours on his. You looked down at his hand you held for who knew how long last night. He only smiled when he noticed your stare and waved at you.

Chris and Tris dragged you down to the blankets, between them. They ordered Eric to get some beer out of the cooler and he did as he was told. When everyone was served a can and had opened it, Christina got to her feet for a toast. „I would like to make a toast to our new-not-so-new-anymore roommate, Y/N. Thank you for always paying your rent on time and your future help with my statistics class as soon as the new semester starts.“

You laughed at her, with her. She was the purest friend you ever had.

„To Y/N,“ everyone repeated and, with some burning cheeks, you toasted with them and then downed your beer in one long go. It didn’t do much for the nervousness that had come back as soon as you stepped out of the car.

„Cool,“ Christina said. „Now, let’s go swimming.“ She beamed at Tris and pulled both of you to your feet.

No. You watched them get out of their clothes so carelessly. They stripped down to their bikinis and you… you just froze. Your arms were pressed to your sides, your eyes were staring right through them. You were probably looking like a complete fool. You were a fool. You were–

„Y/N?“

„I can’t,“ you almost shouted it out only to cover your mouth right after, startled by your own voice.

„The water is warm. You have a body, so you also have a beach body. It’s just us. We won’t judge, you know that.“ Tris was once again extremely sensitive and that made you realise that not only Chris had become a very good friend but Tris as well.

„That’s not it,“ you bit your lip. You shut your eyes. You were only facing them, the guys sitting behind you. You were nervous. Were they listening in on the situation? Was Eric? Or were they drinking their beer, not even caring? Would Tris and Christina back down and just let you sit there at the beach – in your clothes? Probably not, but they would understand if you tried explaining, right? „There is something on my chest.“

„Two boobs,“ Chris tried to loosen the situation which actually caught you off guard and made you chuckle. It relaxed you a little.

„Yeah but no. Everyone who sees it would have a million questions about it and I don’t want to answer them.“

„Then we don’t ask questions.“ Christina stated that as a fact.

You were stepping on your spot, your palms sweaty and your ears didn’t hear the chatting of the guys anymore. They had caught up on your exchange. Gladly, they were facing your back.

„Come on, Y/N. Make yourself free,“ Tris started to cheer you on.

„Have fun with us in the water,“ Chris joined in.

They were both starting to jump a little and then made you dance with them to no music. They were jumping up and down, ignoring the stares from people around you. They just didn’t care for them. Your friends were beaming at you, they made you feel comfortable and save within their presence. And you allowed yourself to let loose instead of forcing yourself.

They boosted your confidence with their own insouciance so much that you stopped caring for what ifs or who could hear your words or see your chest. Since that one night you had managed to accomplish so much. Nothing had held you back, no flashbacks, no pleads to stay in Florida, no people – even though that had took some time. This stupid scar on your chest shouldn’t either. Not anymore. The world was yours and you were perfectly unperfect, just like everyone else. And today, you wanted to have fun.

„Fuck it.“

Within a few seconds you peeled yourself out of your shorts first and then lifted the hem of your shirt over your head. You tried to do it fast so you wouldn’t backpedal. Your breathing stopped when Tris and Christina stopped dancing around you.

They stared right at the big scar on your sternum. They saw it. It possibly caused them to think all the terrible things people would think when seeing such a poorly healed, hypertrophic scar. And they smiled. They smiled at you with the biggest of smiles in the smile-universe. They didn’t question it, just as Chris had said.

Christina cupped your face to make sure that this time she had your full attention. „You, Y/N, are the most beautiful human bean on this planet.“ She gave you a tickling kiss on the tip of your nose and then dragged you, together with Tris, down to the water.

And you had fun. FUN. So much fun in the water. You splashed the water around you, were a kid again for ten minutes and tried to push all the waves to your friends. You dove under the surface just like the penguins you had observed with Eric at the zoo. Christina and Tris made you float with them, pushed you under and then surrendered when you threatened to do the same with them.

Letting loose felt incredible. Would have you expected to do so this morning? No. Did you want to do it more often now? Absolutely.

The water was filling your ears, drowning out all the people sounds as you floated on the surface. The sun kissed your skin, lit up every cell of your body and made you live.

Sometimes, when doing things that seemed so big, so scary, and then successfully accomplishing them, your brain couldn’t recall anymore why it had been so hard in the first place. Like all the reasons that had prevented you from doing the thing were suddenly not seizable anymore. Puffed into thin air. Sometimes, it would be really helpful to get to that realisation before the thing you were so scared of held you back from simple joys such as swimming in the water.

Eventually, you got out of the water with Christina and Tris. You rushed after them to the roommate gathering and grabbed the towel from your backpack to dry your hair some. Within that movement you caught someones eyes.

He stared at your chest, his expression totally unreadable, and his eyes found yours. You delicately wrapped the towel around your shoulders to hide your chest. Eric’s glance was so demanding that you just couldn’t sit down. A million questions were popping up in his eyes and you were close to feeling uncomfortable again but then you decided not to be. You just decided. You found out that you could decide how to feel. And then you smiled because today you had learned more than one lesson. When Eric smiled back, you finally sat down and enjoyed being at this beach.

You decided to shed your insecurities for today and breathed the sea breeze as if it was Florida air and that night had never happened.

/////

A delicious barbecue, a lot of swimming and a couple of beers later, the sun slowly began to set. The roommate gathering collectively decided to break it off and head home for a good old living area bender.

„I’ll ride with Eric,“ Uriah stated and was almost at his car.

Eric was packing things up in his trunk and shook his head. „Sorry, but my passenger seat belongs to Y/N.“

„Okayyyy.“ Uriah turned around to you and smiled mischievously.

You shut your eyes in embarrassment of your other roommates stares. No problem, you told yourself, took a deep breath and quickly got into Eric’s passenger seat. He came to sit next to you a second later. „What are you waiting for then?“ You gestured to his steering wheel. „Drive.“

And so he did. He pulled out of the parking lot and started on the way home. You just didn’t get far. You got stuck in traffic pretty soon, unable to drive around, turn to a side or reverse. Cars were everywhere and… oranges on the ground. Oranges were everywhere. For a second, just to make sure this was not an option, you looked up at the sky to see if there was an odd occasion of orange hail. That was not the case, though. A big truck was blocking the street way ahead of you – that must’ve been the orange source.

You heard some smacking to your right. When you turned, you saw Eric peeling a big orange and shoving one piece after another in his mouth. „'ant one?“ His question was mumbled with all of the orange slices bloating up his cheeks.

The sight made you laugh and for a second you wondered if it was stealing that Eric had picked the orange from the street. But then you just shrugged, reached out and got a piece yourself.

He tossed the skin out of the window and turned the radio on. Only bullshit music on, so he turned it off again after thirty seconds. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, you pulled your bare feet up to the dashboard and rolled your window down and up and down and up and down.

„Do you think this will take long?“ You were maybe stuck for five minutes only and your patience was wearing thin already.

„I don’t know.“ Eric’s patience didn’t seem to the best as well. He rested his head against the steering wheel. Before your hand could develop a mind of its own and reach for Eric’s, he sat up and looked at you with an Eureka expression. „Truth or dare?“

„You’re first,“ you immediately replied, thankful to be able to do something, only to realise a second later that playing truth or dare with Eric probably wasn’t the best idea.

„Dare,“ he chose.

It might wasn’t the best idea but you could at least make it as hard as possible. „Touch your elbow with your tongue.“

„Y/N,“ Eric gasped but this time it was real consternation. „That is anatomically impossible.“

You winked. „I know. Point for me.“

„So we’re cheating? Fine. Truth or dare?“ He turned in the drivers seat and rested his back on the door, but not without taking an attempt to touch his elbow with the tip of his tongue. Just to make sure it was really impossible.

„Dare,“ you said unafraid but still a little distracted by watching his tongue.

A devilish grin spread on his face in the sunset glow. Holy shit did he look pretty. „Compliment the most handsome person you see,“ Eric said as if he had read your thoughts. He even pointed at his own chest, to make you laugh.

You had no oomph to make it an easy win for him – or to admit how attractive he was. There were a lot of people around, you were stuck in a damn traffic jam. A deep laugh escaped your body.

„Watch this,“ you pushed out between laughs, rolled down your window and waved to a guy in the car next to Eric’s. He rolled down his window as well, when he saw you waving at him. With full volume you shouted over: „Just wanted to let you know that your tires are sick!“ You pointed at them and he just nodded with a knowing smile.

The whole car started shaking with the fit of laughter you had sent Eric in. His voice was roaring in your ears and it activated those butterflies in your stomach again. It made you feel warm, so warm that you couldn’t stop smiling anymore. „Two points for me I think,“ you stated already in triumph because this game was all yours to win. „Truth or dare? Or are you giving up already?“

„Never!“ A hand clasped onto his belly to stop the pain in his muscles the laughing must’ve caused. „Truth then.“ He leaned closer instead of back against the door again.

That was your chance. „Why did you take those classes, Eric.“ You didn’t form the question with a question mark at the end. You wanted to know, your face serious, and this time he couldn’t just brush it off. „And don’t lie! Truth or dare rules apply.“

His cheerful mood dropped within a second, reflecting your own seriousness. „I first took them with the thought of possibly solving some of the problems I was facing. I knew there had been more strategies than only the medical way. And then I saw you.“ His eyes locked with yours. In the setting sunlight they almost seemed to glow just like his skin. He was orange like the fruits on the asphalt. He was beaming and it made you nervous but for once it was the good, anticipating nervousness. „You initiated all of those mind-blowing debates and no-one seemed to fully understand on what level they were on. Your cleverness slipped over all of their heads and I couldn’t let that continue. And I enjoyed it thoroughly to debate with you. So there was no way I could stay away for long. Even after I had found a good amount of knowledge in that classes that helped me with my project.“

Your throat went dry with his words and the way his glance softened but also got more intense. The butterflies collected around your heart, made it speed up. „And why always pissing me off?“

Eric leaned a little closer once more and flashed a grin. „You’re cute when you get angry at me.“ Fuck. The butterflies made your heart stop because they ripped it right out of your chest and placed it in front of Eric. But he didn’t seem to notice or decided not to pick it up.

Eric tried to break that tense moment but not your eye contact. „Truth or dare, Y/N?“ He asked and you didn’t care for winning this lethal game anymore, yet you answered.

„Truth.“

„What happened?“ Two words from his lips and all the remaining, unsaid words were provided by his eyes.

„My scar?“ You had to make sure that this time, you were reading him right. He nodded.

That liberating feeling you had felt at the beach today suddenly flooded through your veins again. Somehow letting loose had been the key. „Life isn’t always sunshine and rainbows.“ Even though you decided to tell Eric and that his reaction or questions couldn’t throw you out of track, you still closed your eyes for a moment. His stares were intense but so where the nearing flashbacks that came with the words which would describe how you got that scar.

Before you opened your eyes you heard the seat’s leather squeak when Eric moved. He had gotten, again, closer and would’ve been able to close the gap between your sides if he moved another inch in your direction. He didn’t close it and you just looked back in his eyes. The way he was talking about his past in the zoo came back to your mind and it eased you in opening up about yours. „Life is harsh. And people are not nice all the time. People can get very angry at times when they don’t get what they want.“ Instead of pictures before your eyes from that night, this threatening feeling of being hunted creeped in your muscles. You decided to ignore it, to be stronger than that feeling because it was only a memory. And a memory wasn’t the actual thing itself.

You sighed. „Someone wanted something and I didn’t want to give it to them. They decided that my rejection was unforgivable. That it justified hurting me.“ You didn’t see that disgusting smile in front of your eyes but you could hear the bewildered cursing. For a second you smiled at Eric but you didn’t know if you did in sadness or relief. „Turned out they only knew very little about the human anatomy. I don’t recommend stabbing someone into the sternum from above. It won’t work out too well because the blade gets stuck and you get caught and you have to face more than a bloody rejection.“

For a while it was quiet. The cars around you didn’t move, just like you in your seat. Or Eric. His hand was close to grab yours but instead of doing so you heard him speak.

„Can I see it again?“

„I’m not gonna undress in front of you,“ you whispered – in real consternation.

„Please, Y/N.“ He was super serious. Eric had never been so serious. Ever. „I need to see it from a doctors point of view.“

„You are no doctor yet.“

His frustrated groan made you think over and over why it was so important for him. It was okay that he didn’t respond anything to your story. To be honest you hadn’t expected a response because what should someone say to this? Maybe ‚glad that bastard got what he fucking deserved‘?

Eric didn’t stop rubbing his face and seemed more agitated than you were. „Damn, fine,“ you exclaimed. With a quick look out of the windows you checked the people around you. No-one in the other cars cared what happened in this specific car. You pulled down the collar of your shirt to reveal the scar. The fabric was tight when you held it down because you never wore shirts or tops with a deep cleavage.

He observed the big scar that looked more like splash of paint instead of a blade wound. It wasn’t uncomfortable to reveal it as you imagined it would be. It was… natural. Eric looked at it from different angles and was suddenly startled by himself when he realised he had almost touched it without your consent. He quickly removed his hand as you let go of your collar and the shirt went back into its original shape.

„I mean…,“ he started and it took a few more seconds for his eyes to divert from your shirt to your own eyes. „Christina was absolutely right, you know.“

„With what?“

„That you are the most beautiful human being on this planet.“

That was the exact moment when you felt your body spiralling out of control and leaning in. You leaned in. To kiss him. Your body got closer to his, closed the gap Eric had left. Probably for you to decide if you wanted or hated it being there. Your heart deafened your hearing. You couldn’t hear bis breathing, when his nose touched yours. You only heard: „No. Stop it.“

„I didn’t start,“ Eric whispered, not moving away from your face.

It had been your own voice that told you to fucking stop yourself. „I know. I’m talking to myself, Eric.“ Still, you lingered exactly where you were. You just couldn’t remove yourself.

Eric swallowed and bit down on his lip. His head was micro-shaking. „I’m not gonna kiss you if you don’t want me too.“ He swallowed again. It must’ve taken him all of the self-control someone could muster up. You sensed his hands clenched into fists, still he didn’t move away yet to relieve the pressure he was under. For you it wasn’t any different, though. He was being so damn understanding that your heart wanted to explode in your chest. And still something held you back.

What was holding you back? You couldn’t grab it. Was it the time you still needed? No, you didn’t need more time. Was it the insecurities? No, he accepted you they way you were and not even your dumb, always misunderstanding brain could believe anymore that Eric didn’t care for you in some sort of way. Was it the fear of falling for him, right into him like that meteor, that let dinosaurs die out by falling down to the earth? Because you knew deep down that falling for Eric would be just like that. It would have such an impact on you that you would still feel it fifty years later. You didn’t know if you were ready for that.

You didn’t know if you could fall for someone again only to find out that you weren’t meant to be with them.

You couldn’t kiss him.

You ripped yourself from him, crashed back into the passengers door and breathed in deeply because you hadn’t done that in over a minute. You stared at him, could feel the tears burn in your eyes and felt so, so incredibly dumb.

Self-protection was one thing but this was close to the border of self-destruction. And you couldn’t escape it. You were stuck with Eric in this car, in a stupid orange jam and all you wanted to do was kiss him but the sheer thought of loving someone again freaked you out to the point where your brain won the fight over your feelings. And it left you sitting in his passenger seat with a burning face and your nails digging into the palm of your hands.

/////

Taglist • @longlostinanotherworld • @dosentier • @dhunhdchrih • @coryisagee • @liiinetti

[mihorapendeja]

happier than ever | tsukishima x you

the one shot in which tsukishima basically falls for a female version of everyone's favorite sunny tangerine.

genre: fluff/soft core smut lmao i haven't done this in years i feel silly but here you go

pairing(s): kei tsukishima x you (referred to as "ria kihira" in part 1 bc this was originally going to be an OC thing but nvm a/n's: show this some love and interaction pls.

PART 1: THE PAST

❝Again?❞ Even though Tsukishima complained again, this time he made it easier for her as he even stood completely still. Such a good boy.

❝Let her beat your face!❞ Shoyo exclaimed as she smiled in delight, then moving on to pat the powder puff on his stupid face. Of course she only took a few seconds for him, but all the time in the world for Hinata.

While the two chirped about the new reboot trailer for Dexter, Kuroo's sleazy self slid beside his lanky child with an extra smug look on his face. That man was a menace.

❝Say, don't you think they look related?❞

Tsukishima was a difficult man to catch off guard, but right then and there, a mini existential crisis kicked in. His eyes darted back and forth between Shoyo and Ria Kihira, the makeup artist on set for the commercial filming day.

Kei knew Kuroo was a slut for all the pretty things in life — he constantly had a trope of hot women surrounding him.

But this time, he'd really outdone himself.

Not a stupid man entirely, a huge shit-eating grin formed on Tetsuro's face. He followed Kei's eyes who desperately wandered back and forth their matching hair, skin tone, lack of height... "please let it be a mere coincidence because it's bad enough that—" Kei shut his own intrusive mind from further thinking as he slapped his hand over Kuroo's mouth shut. Tight.

That hyena laugh was not being unleashed today.

THE STORY OF HOW YOU MET:

ca. 2019, on set of a commercial for one of Kuroo's production companies. After Tetsuro had defeated Kei in a game of beer pong, he had to comply with the loser's bet -- be part of the damn commercial along with Shoyo, for a viewership boost. So he said. Ria was the makeup artist on set that day, and it pretty much went from Tsuki acting like a feral cat who didn't want to be touched by any makeup tools, to blissfully passing out in a chair while she gently stroked his face with a soft powder brush.

Near the end of the day when he'd no longer back away from her with animosity, it was Kuroo's stupidly astute observation that left him rattled. The boy was put into a choke hold because he refused to like someone with the same orange hair and milky skin tone as Hinata. Someone equally bright, bubbly, and stupid ... yeah that refusal didn't last long. Ria spoke her mind so freely, being direct but never pleading because she respected herself in that regard. He liked that and before Kei knew it, he found himself admitting to her that he was, "actually quite fond of you." She understood it was his way of saying those pesky 3 words, 8 letters.

PART 2: THE PRESENT, 3 YEARS LATER.

THE ALARM CLOCK rang it’s deathly siren like tone, nearly sending you into cardiac arrest. Although he defensively stretched an arm out over your chest as if ready to protect, Kei did not get up.

Of course he wouldn't.

Like every morning at 4am, it was you who suffered the most when getting out of bed to grab the phone to silence that torture down. As you had deeply sighed and turned to face the bed, Tssuki was now face up with the covers all the way up to his nose.

Even in your groggy state, you could tell he was smirking. That smug bastard stared at you intently, dead still. While Kei typically minded his own business and was at times thought of as quiet, the boy was definitely not shy. You wouldn't call him a total flirt, but he could so hold onto a gaze without so little as batting a long eyelash.

Kei was, extremely competitive. Lightning would have to strike his literal eyes to keep them from staring at you, specifically at your curvy thighs.

The way your soft cotton shorts rode up them was always a very pleasant sight, so he just kept staring, happily.

He loved that little penguin walk you busted into every morning when shutting the alarm off.

It’s like you couldn’t balance properly, and he swore that you were always shorter looking in the early hours of the day. He didn’t know how you could lack more height than you already did at barely 5 feet 2, but it always seemed that way.

It was especially cute, like he could just grab you and keep you in the palm of his hand.

Tired, you sat back down on the bed. You scooted until meeting the headboard, and then just let her head dip back.

It was so incredibly peaceful until you could no longer ignore his obvious glaring. “If you’re awake already, why don’t you get up?”

“It’s barely 4:05,

we don’t go in till 5am.”

He said so factually that you just deeply exhaled. Tssuki was definitely not a morning person, and neither were you.

Even though you were much more energetic, it was a Friday and you could not wait for the end of the workday already.

While Tssuki could be late to practice because let's be honest, few would even confront him, you could not pull off the same irresponsibility.

You cared way too much, and in general, hated the feeling of being late to anything. "Come on." You murmured, nudging Kei as he completely ignored you and kept on sleeping.

You waited for another minute before climbing out of bed, grabbing his attention once again. This time, your black shorts were scrunched further up. So far up that your ample ass cheeks were out in all their glory.

“Arigato, thank you god.”

Nishinoya would say.

“Well I’m not as naturally good looking as you so I’m gonna go shower and start getting ready.”

You huffed, truly riling Kei up inside. Hearing you say that genuinely made something inside of his stomach stir, so he instinctively reached out towards your wrist.

Even in the dark room, he could see your face clearly and tell you weren’t joking. "The fuck is wrong with her?" He thought, not angry, but extremely concerned because you weren't fishing for a compliment.

The two of you had been together for over 3 years now, and so he more than knew that you were not that kind of girl.

Yes, you lacked height at 5’2, but you were physically strong. Literally, you could carry all the grocery bags in one go with no issues. Lifting abilities? Check.

Even though Tssuki cruelly chose the apartment with extra high kitchen shelves, you would never ask for help to reach for stuff. "Help I can't reach" was not a phrase that existed in your world.

Literally, he’d sometimes walk in for some juice and find you on top of a chair reaching for something, if not on the literal counter tops to store items.

Independent? Check.

Resourceful? Check.

On top of all that, you had a voluptuous body he thought was fucking scrumptious. He understood that the norms for women in Japan could be vicious, especially if you weren’t a slender door like he was, but despite your insecurities, you still wore it all so well. You didn’t let it stop you from wearing whatever you wanted (as you should).

At times he did think you were a little bit stupid for fretting over such body image issues, but Tssuki was okay with that.

He didn’t want a know it all like himself, that be beyond insufferable.

Before he knew it, you were teaching him a thing or two as well. So Tssuki then knew you were not a vapid pick me girl, and that was honestly a pretty big turn on for him.

SPEAKING OF TURN ons, Kei found it incredibly hot to have you pinned beneath him, like you currently were.

It wasn’t an ingenue kink, to have you below him so submissively and weak, no. It was the way you fought to assert yourself, and the way you writhed. The way you tried to break free was no half assed attempt either.

Sometimes you'd even throw in a few knees into it, and Tssuki didn't mind it one bit. Two dominate personalities, things were always bound to be feisty in bed.

This time however, he sensed some a defeat in your soul.

Convinced to rekindle your spirits, his brows furrowed as he lowered himself closer to your pretty face.

“Take that back.” Tssuki growled in a low, oh so sexy deepened morning voice.

“I can’t, It’s true.” You protested, sighing as he pulled himself away only to then wrap his arms around your waist and throw you over his shoulders.

Misreading the situation, you first protested before breaking into full on laughter as he stormed into the shower with you still dangling, kicking your short legs in the air.

You had thought this was playful Tssuki, the version no one was too familiar with.

Except you … and Yamaguchi. You and Yams lived to exchange Tssuki-isms.

You were mistaken when trying to approach him as he had stripped entirely. God, you so badly wanted to touch his defined chest and close the space between —and that’s when your favorite salt mine smirked as he instinctively reached back to swivel the shower handle on.

Grabbing the detachable shower heard, Tssuki sprayed you down.

"That son of a bitch." You thought, having jumped back in shock, literally. The water was so fucking cold.

Tssuki raised a brow, testing you. On one hand, he thought you looked like a helpless kitten that was abandoned on some random parking lot on a rainy day.

He was an asshole, but if he ever came across a lonely stray cat, he'd so scoop it up and take home for some warm milk.

On the other hand, he thought you looked even more hot with the way your baggy shirt now clung onto every part of your curvaceous body.

Tssuki had to exhale as he saw your nipples peaking through your smaller but perfect chest. He just wanted to cup your perky tits, squeeze them and hear you moan in delight—your hot breath on his ear as you rested a side of your face on his.

“Can’t touch me till you take that back.”

He warned as you tried to take a step forward.

“Tssu— you whined, sighing as you crossed your arms, cold.

“Admit it, you’re beautiful. Say it.” He insisted as you tossed your head back. "I’m beautiful … kinda, I mean” you trailed off, too distracted by your own cruel thoughts to notice when he raised the shower head again to spray you down.

“Ouch!” You gasped this time, burned by the super hot water. Tssuki turned, realizing that instead of increasing the water’s pressure, he had turned it to the hot side.

Steaming hot.

He rubbed them back of his neck, sheepishly trying to play off. That stupidly cool bathroom is literally what had sold him into choosing that apartment.

After a long day of training, having a large bathtub to soak in, or large walk in shower that doubled as a sauna to rest in was a treat. Not only that, but curative. You swore that this man's epsom salt baths were the reason his long limbs were always good to go, pain free.

Tssuki rushed to place the shower head back on, pushing a few buttons on the digital control panel to get some therapeutic steam going.

On a good morning, he'd already have you pinned to the wall. Your face buried into his neck as Tssuki spread your ass apart, drilling his every inch into you.

But sadly, this wasn't a good morning ... yet. When you waved a hand out in defeat, eyes swelling with tears, Kei grabbed you right before you could step away.

You slammed into his chest with a light thump as he then grabbed your shoulders to keep you balanced. "My clumsy pumpkin." He thought as you raised your head to meet his warm eyes.

Tssuki lowered his face, gently planting a kiss on your forehead. Pulling away, he grabbed your arm & extended it out as he begin to plant a trail of kisses over the burned-pink area. His kisses deepened the closer he got to your neck, stopping only when at your jawline.

Now, the two of you were staring directly at each other, his eyes radiating all the comfort you wanted to see: love, adoration, lust. It was so quiet, but your heartbeat was so damn loud.

His actions were doing all the talking. Now completely soaked, you looked down at the hem of your shirt as Tssuki grabbed both ends and begin to lift the blouse up and away from you.

Left in nothing but shorts, he kept his eyes locked on you as you nodded while he lowered himself to help you out of them.

Now, completely naked, he just stared at you in awe.

You were his goddess, and he was going to happily worship, service, respect, love.

ARIGATO GOD.

“I don’t know why you hesitate” he softly whispered as you took in a deep breath, suddenly feeling overly emotional. Near tears kind of overwhelmed.

To keep yourself from actually sobbing, you cleared your throat to speak up, “I love my job, but I guess sometimes working with so many beautiful models, I can’t help but to compare my—

Tssuki had heard enough about your delusions. His hands flew the sides of your face, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You felt such a thrill surging through your body as he so easily hoisted you up.

It was your favorite thing in the world, to wrap your legs around his long torso, and it was Tssuki’s favorite thing to dig his hands into your firm ass, your soft thighs.

Pulling away, he takes slow steps forward so your back gently meets the wall. With one hand, he caressed your face , thumb gliding over your cheek before connecting his forehead with yours.

“As I was saying, - I don’t know why you hesitate to say it, but I think you’re the most beautiful person in this whole goddamn world.”

A pesky tear escaped onto your cheek, and Tssuki blotted it away with a kiss, burying his face closer to yours. So close your noses are now touching.

When he wanted to, Tssuki could be so completely soft.

“You don’t know every single person in this world.”

You laughed, still touched by his bold declaration.

“I mean it. Waking up to you every morning I think wow, I’m so lucky.”

He admits as you then break into another chuckle. “You’re so full of shit, that’s not the first thing you think of.”

Tssuki pulls on your lower lip down with his thumb, chuckling back. “You idiot sandwich I didn’t say it was the first thing, but it’s a close second.”

You find yourself laughing out loud, his frisky smile fully plastered on his face as your nose scrunches in that way he finds so fucking adorable.

“Begone negativity.” He both teases and shudders at the thought of how Suga burned that in the back of his mind.

“Do I have to sing that stupid One Direction song to you?” Tssuki then jokingly added as your eyes widened.

“You wouldn’t!”

“You’re right that’s disgusting.” He scoffed, hoisting you further up as he took your breath away with another kiss, this time, his hands running through your hair.

It was always a mystery with him, never knowing if he was going to pull on your hair, or caress it.

This time however, as his tongue slipped into your mouth, eager, you couldn’t help but to squeal. You had to give it to him, the man was great at multitasking. While he deepened the kiss, Tssuki tapped the melody of that dumb song on your thighs as if drumming.

"You're insecure, don't know what for, you're turning heads when you walk through the door / don't need makeup to cover up, being the way that you are is enough --

Everyone else in the room can see it

Everyone else but you

Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground, it ain't hard to tell

You don't know, oh, oh, you don't know you're beautiful."

Tssuki had really taken SMACK MY ASS LIKE A DRUM to a whole other level, and you couldn't even be mad about it.

"Having fun, ya happy doing that?" You teased as he now gave himself a quick rub, fully erect. Your man was so well endowed and that was both exciting and terrifying at times. While you loved dominant Tssuki, today he was a bit more mellow and less gimp man.

"Fuck, Kei-" You moaned as he slowly entered you, rubbing your clit with his thumb, the pressure just right. "I'm definitely having fun, in fact" he smirked as you moved down to slam yourself further into him, begging for more, "I'm happier than ever."

[writefinch]

Family-Owned Small Business

(CN: incest, sex work, mentions of sexual assault & suicidal ideation)

The worst part of my job is administration. Last-minute rescheduling when a client flakes on us. Chasing up payments. Booking accommodation at short notice. Answering messages! Jesus, every time in the last year when I've slumped, sighed, and thought to myself "fuck working, I need a break from all this" it's been when I've opened my messages and seen thirty different texts that need a reply. Some people are fine with it I guess, but for me it's boring, time consuming, and stressful.

Big deal though, right, I mean nobody loves doing admin, why even bring it up? Well, if I tell someone that for work last night I ate a client's cum out of my mom's pussy, I'd expect that they'd get fixated on the sex work and the incest. I'd expect them to freak out and not pay attention to the specifics of what I'm saying. So, first, I'd like that person to know that the thing I hate about my job is probably the same thing that *they* hate about *their* job. I would rather lick my mom's asshole for five minutes than answer emails for five minutes, and I answer a lot of emails.

Do we have to worry about violence, danger, cops, and legal trouble? Yeah, we do. Am I scared of these things? Yeah, sometimes, but I had to worry about all of those things before I started doing sex work. At least now we've got the money to buy our way out of the worst of it.

I'm not saying that what I do with mom is an objectively healthy relationship, let alone a perfect one. If you took me back in time and told me I could pick a completely different life for me and my mom, I'm sure there's a bunch of choices I'd pick over this one. But I never had that choice. I got hurt a lot growing up. I feel like I've finally escaped the things that hurt me, but I know that I've barely started to recover from them.

That's why I'm writing this. We've saved enough money to afford some therapy and my first session is next week. I want help with the fear, the nightmares, the mood swings and insomnia, I want to stop the rush of rage and terror that flows through me every time I see the word 'dad,' I want help untangling the stuff that came out of being told I was a pansy when I was growing up, then figuring out I'm gay, then figuring out I'm a girl, then figuring out I'm all three of those things while I was living in a place that kept trying to kill me for it. What I don't want is for the psych to pin it all on the two least harmful and least fucked-up things about my life, and worse, I don't want them to make me believe it. This journal is a prophylactic, an assessment of my job, my relationships and my life that I can refer back to if and when someone sticks their fingers in my brain and swirls them around.

I'll start with a problem statement: my dad. The memories that hurt the most are the ones where he almost appeared human, the flickers of joy, curiosity and humor that stood out from the bland cruelty that made up the rest of his personality. I'll remember him buying me ice cream or talking about a book or a movie with me, I'll doubt myself and wonder if I just went crazy and cut him out of my life for no reason, and then my brain will hook onto a random act of sadism he inflicted on me.

The physical abuse was bad all on its own, real psycho shit like driving me out into the woods and making me pick through the brush for a switch he could hit me with and a whole lot more I won't go into, but the emotional abuse was worse. When I was eleven, I forgot to feed my cat one day. He gave her away to my uncle, but told me that she'd developed malnutrition and had to be put down. I didn't find out the truth for another two years, when he just let it slip at Easter. He bragged about it, even, like he'd invented a really smart child-rearing technique. I don't want to write too much down here because I don't need to, if anything I want therapy to *stop* everything he did from running through my head. He's a punishment-obsessed sadist, a Baptist, and he works as a judge. Did he ever sexually abuse me? No. Parent of the year, right? He kicked me out for being a fag the day I turned eighteen, so it's ironic that my biggest fear is that he comes looking for me. He doesn't even know I'm a girl.

On the other hand, my mom has had an interesting life. She's kind of a fuck up. When I was one year old, mom and dad split and dad got full custody--being a judge helped with that--while mom left the state. She spent a decade trying to kick a heroin habit and a year and a half in prison for related stuff, got banned from even entering the state I lived in on account of her parole--again, dad being a judge helped with that--illegally emigrated to Canada for a while, and went to Oregon by mistake, doing a mixture of bartending, delivery driving, MDMA dealing and whoring to stay afloat.

The only reason we met again is that I was in the same city staying with friends, also whoring. I don't remember the first time I saw her, but the first time we talked was in a mutual friend's tiny studio apartment with a few other hooker friends. We ended up comparing our Pest Lists, shared a few drinks, and swapped numbers. A week later we fucked, and a month after *that* we realized that we'd Oedipus'd ourselves. It seems funnier now than it did at the time.

That was an emotional time. We cried with joy that we'd found each other, we started tip-toeing around the ideas of rebuilding our lives together, and we agreed to pretend that the sex had never happened. Of course, we got drunk together a week later and fucked again. She's hot! I have a thing for older women, I have a thing for breaking taboos, and I have a thing for being mommied in bed. Blame dad for raising me like this, I dunno.

We started doing sex work as a team after she got a dental abscess. The bill for the hospital stay and the tooth removal was insane, and the dentist straight-up told her that she'd end up with another in a different tooth within a year if she didn't get two root canals. Even when she was recovering, we could only afford fish antibiotics off of Amazon. We crunched some numbers and made some inquiries, and figured out that we could pull in two week's worth of our combined income with one night of mother-daughter stuff.

Our first joint session was with a real estate pervert I'll call Stan, a chubby balding powerlifter in his fifties who we'd both had as a client before. Mom took me over her knees and switched between spanking me and fingering me while he watched. I sucked him off while mom made out with him, made out with my mom with his cock between our lips, licked his balls as mom licked my ass, then let him fuck my ass while mom sat on my face. That was the first half hour. He came six more times before we passed out in the early hours of the morning, and I drifted off nursing his finally-limp cock in my mouth. He paid us the price of a used Volkswagen for our trouble, and I blew him one last time before we left as a thank-you.

Six months later, mom's teeth were fixed, I was on spiro, and we had just under a dozen clients for our "doubles sessions." Only a few of our appointments are ones with me and mom together, three or four a month, we mostly work alone. That's not out of a deliberate choice, it's just that we've got a strict criteria for who we'll double up on.

Trust is one thing: depending on the lawyers we can afford, what we're doing is either kinda illegal or extremely illegal. Since my dad is presumably still a judge, I don't want him to ever find out about this. He'd put us in a prison or a mental institution. We won't do a double session with a client unless we've both had individual sessions with them.

Money is the other thing. Getting your dick sucked by a hot mom while her daughter sucks your balls costs a week's wages for the average person. Hiring us for the night is more like a month's wages. Even in a city like this, there's only a few thousand people that can drop that kind of money on hookers. Then, they've got to *want* to fuck a trans girl and her mom together. Don't get me wrong, more people are into mother-daughter incest than you'd expect, but it's not a universal thing.

Clients are, on average, annoying. It's a fact of life. The thing that all clients have in common is a ton of disposable income and a fondness for fucking hookers. They're not necessarily bad people, but there’s a heavy ‘What can a banana cost, ten dollars?’ vibe to them. It’s not that they’re adrenochrome-drinkers who don’t see regular people as human, it’s more that they don’t have an intuitive awareness that other people don’t have savings accounts, health insurance, an investment property, and four figures of walking-around money at any given time. I guess I'd feel differently if I was like, a concierge or a PA, but there's a lot more pillow talk in my job.

I've had bad and dangerous clients before, there's been at least two occasions where I was pretty sure I was going to die--one where the hospital afterwards stay wiped out four months of income, not counting the month where I couldn’t work--but they were all before I met mom, when I couldn't be so careful about screening prospective clients and dropping them if they threw up red flags. I'm sure we'll get bad clients in the future, but we're in a better place to deal with them safely.

I also wanna write down what a "normal day" is like. Friday was a good example. I woke up early at 9am and cooked breakfast for mom. She was up already doing the laundry. We entertain some clients in our apartment, so we go through a lot of clothes and a lot of sheets. You can't fuck a guy on top of another guy's cum stains, that's rude. Some of the job is Housework But More. We don't really use the main bedroom or the sitting room because we treat them like bed and breakfast guest rooms. It's annoying but every time we have a session without getting an actual hotel or motel room we save like $50 minimum.

After breakfast I epilated, showered, and went for a run. Personal grooming isn't that big a deal in terms of time, I'm not saying I don't spend a lot of time on it, I do, but I'd be spending that time even if I worked in a bar or an office or something. Look: I'm hot. I might have been a weird-looking spotty nerd when I thought I was a boy, but as a girl I'm a fucking dime. I could get like, 25% uglier before it had any impact on my earnings. The only part of personal grooming that's necessary for sex work and I wouldn't do all the time anyway is power-washing my guts an hour before every session.

After lunch, mom went to see some friends and I played Magic for a few hours. At two pm, the actual work started. I picked up the work phone for the first time that day and began answering texts. An hour later I'd cancelled the 6pm appointment, blocked out all of Sunday evening, checked in with a few regulars, and provisionally moved three guys to the 'Time Wasters' list.

I spent a while sexting with a good prospect. He was a good prospect because he paid up-front for the sexting instead of treating it like a free samples platter at Costco. We scheduled a tentative appointment for next Tuesday, when his wife would be out of town on a business trip. Most of the guys I fuck have kinks, and I swear that 'cheating on your wife with a sex worker' is the most common one there is. Do I feel bad about it? At my hourly rate, absolutely not.

Mom got back at half four, so I took a break. We made tacos for lunch together and ate while watching Billions. She nudged me and told me that I need to do my injection, and, well, we have a little ritual for that. I'm scatterbrained and I'm not great with needles, but mom has been incredibly supportive with my HRT, and when I told her I was having problems taking them on time, she came up with a way to make me as comfortable as possible. As soon as the needle is ready, I laid down in her lap and she cradled my head in her arms, pressing her bare chest against my face. I took a nipple into my mouth and nursed it softly while she stroked my hair. She called me a good girl, telling me how proud she is of her daughter, how much she loves me, and asked if I was going to take my medicine like a big girl. On good days I inject myself while she pets me and coos over me, and on bad days she takes the needle and does it for me. As soon as I dropped the needle in the sharps container, mom pressed a Hitachi against my cock and took one of my nipples into her mouth, called me her big brave girl, and asked if I was gonna cum for mommy.

As usual, the answer was yes.

Late afternoon and early evening is when the messages start flowing in, especially on Fridays, when the kinds of people with hooker money have either left work early and thinking about getting laid, or are still held up at work and are desperately thinking about getting laid. This kind of messaging gets trickier, because it comes down to what I'm providing. Like, setting up a session is the kind of normal administrative stuff that's baked into the price of a session. It's also partly a sales job, so I'm naturally flirty and solicitous, and because I do sex work I talk openly about sex.

However, *sexting* is not normal administrative stuff. If I'm sending you messages for jerking-off purposes, I can charge by the hour or by the text but I will insist on charging for it. Also, it's not just sex that me and mom provide. There's a reason that 'companionship' is an old euphemism for whoring, it's because whores are good company. I'm a good listener and I don't judge, which means I'm like the fun parts of a therapist but without all the homework and self-improvement. I'm (unsurprisingly) friendly with all of my clients, and I have more than a few clients and former clients who I'd consider good friends and vice versa. I talk to a bunch of them outside of a business context, especially the ones I met outside of my job, and that's a normal part of maintaining a pool of clients for any sales job, but on the other hand... it's a demand on my time and it's a part of my services. I can and have bluntly told guys that they're wasting my time when it comes to uncompensated sexting, but the platonic stuff requires a lighter touch.

One of my regulars, Fintech Pete, sent me a message. Two messages later, he sent me $100, and we're off. Describing in gratuitous detail exactly how I'm going to suck his cock, begging him to fuck me until my clit is drooling all over the sheets, sending him feet pics, things of that nature. Pete is great for sexting because he barely jerks off while he's doing it, he saves all the messages and pictures and jerks off to them later, because he's got some biohacking routine where he only cums once a week. He said once that part of the reason he hires sex workers is that he takes each nut a lot more seriously if he's paying three digits minimum for the privilege. He does this teleconferencing report with the board of directors at his company four times a year, and every time he hires me to kneel under the desk in his home office and suck him off while he makes his presentation.

Anyway, while we were going back and forth like that, he mentioned that I'd made a joke one time about doing a joint session with my mom. I told him it wasn't a joke, and to cut a long story short, half an hour later I was asking mom if she was up for an overnight session starting at 9pm. She agreed, Pete confirmed, so we both got ready--think getting dolled up for a night out but with a more thorough enema--and drove to his place. He lived outside of town in a two-bedroom suburban home, alone with his two dogs.

As soon as we were parked in his garage I did the safety call in front of him: I rang a friend of mine, told her we were visiting a friend, told her it was at the address I sent her earlier, and told her we'd call her again tomorrow morning. Was it really necessary to do that with someone like Fintech Pete? No, but practice makes permanent. If you let these things slip when there's no danger, eventually they'll slip when there is danger.

Now, I don't want to imply that I'm in a lot of danger! There's a reason that most of the faces you'll see on the Trans Day of Remembrance are of poor black and brown women, because real danger comes when you can't turn skeevy jobs, when you can't afford to take precautions, when you have to make the choice over and over between maybe starving and maybe getting murdered. I'm white, I've got a good support network, and I've been relatively lucky in that I can do all these things to minimize my risks. I've still got to do them, though! Things like safety calls are a good habit to get into and it helps all sex workers if there's an expectation that they've all got someone looking out for them.

...I get that there is some bravado creeping into this journal. I start off saying that admin is the worst part of the job and a page later I flippantly mention that the job has put me in the hospital. On a day to day basis yeah, the admin is the bit that sucks the most, but if you offered me a deal where the admin is twice as bad but I never took that session, I’d take it in a heartbeat. This job has left me with some scars. Any time something cold touches my wrist I get a vivid flash of the first time I had my hands zip-tied behind my back in a cop car. I've had nightmares all my life, and more than a few of my nightmares are about stuff that's happened since I got into sex work.

If it seems like I’m downplaying it, it’s because the harrowing stuff is where the job has gone wrong, it’s not baked into the everyday stuff, and most importantly it has nothing to do with my mom. The work I've done with her is some of the least stressful and dangerous I've had since I started this job, and whatever wounds I have, she's not the one who caused them.

On a more positive note, a cool thing about doing sessions with my mom is that we can dress pretty conservatively and still have it come off as insanely lewd. Mom wore a black cocktail dress with an imitation pearl necklace and her hair up in a bun, I was in a white blouse under a lambswool sweater, a pleated short skirt, cheap dark tights--Pete has a thing for tearing them--and patent leather shoes. When you're going to suck a guy's world entirely off alongside your mom, the more modestly you're dressed, the more perverted it looks. Out in the suburbs it also means you get to avoid the microskirts and fishnets look which screams to the neighbors 'I've just hired a pair of hookers' or the mid-range raincoat over microskirts and fishnets look which screams 'I've just hired a pair of pricey hookers."

Pete's living room looks like the back room of a Radio Shack, computer guts everywhere, every surface turned into a makeshift workbench. It's not a suitable place for lovemaking; I don't want to have to pull shards of a soundcard out of my perineum. His bedroom is a lot neater, with a king-sized bed to sit on, a ton of pillows to lounge up against, and a TV mounted on the wall. Mom poured out some wine, a mid-range red zinfandel that we'd picked up on the way, Pete brought out some imported dark chocolate that costs like $40/kg, and I swung my legs over his lap and turned on the Food Network. I took a bite of chocolate, mom took a sip of wine, and before either of us swallowed she pulled me into a deep kiss, mixing the wine and the chocolate. It's a good combination, and Pete enjoyed the show.

The night started off with chatting. None of us were in any rush, not with an overnight session, and since Pete has been a client for each of us for a while it was a pretty relaxed atmosphere. Pete's fingers danced over my thighs, absent-mindedly plucking ladders into the fabric as we talked baseball, business, sex work, the difference between the gentrified fag bar downtown and the really gentrified fag bar downtown, programming and other nerd shit, local politics, the contestants on Cutthroat Kitchen, just normal stuff. Mom and Pete started talking about fancy cooking stuff so I started annoying them both by claiming that sardines are just fully-grown anchovies, that DOP labels are all fake, and that instant grits are better than the regular ones until mom jabbed me with a finger and told me that my mouth should be put to better use elsewhere.

You know how some people say "Cilantro tastes like soap, that's why it's good?" Same thing for how weird it feels to go down on my mom. The first time I ever jerked off, watching a 144p clip of Rocco Sifreddi fucking a girl in the ass while flushing her head down a toilet bowl, knowing that this meant I was going to go to Hell unless I begged God for forgiveness and never did it again, I came so hard I passed out. It feels good, it feels wrong that it feels so good, and it feels even better because it feels so wrong.

She was already wet when I got between her legs. I kissed her clit and started licking, her bush tickling my nose and her thighs squeezing my ears. Fabric rasped over my head as she hiked her dress up to run her hand through my hair. Everything was muffled but I could hear kissing and clinking, and I knew that mom was undoing Pete's belt and jeans to give him a Catholic-quality handjob.

I got mom worked up, bucking her hips and getting all breathy, until she asked me to get up here and give her some help. I crawled up to his groin and winked up at him. He blushed and grinned back. Pete's not a bad-looking guy. I mean, I don't care about looks in general, I guess I can look at someone and say that objectively they're ugly, and if someone is beautiful it adds something to the experience, but like... it doesn't really figure into it. Obviously most johns don't look like supermodels but they're not uniformly ugly, as I said before the thing that johns have in common is being horny guys with a lot of disposable income. Still, Pete is towards the better-looking side of that scale.

...Okay there is one thing about him that's weirdly common for my clients, I call it 'John Balding:' where a guy is losing his hair but in a slow, uneven, and kinda weird pattern, so that even when they cross into being more bald than not, they never bite the bullet and shave it all off. Pete is only like 30% of the way through that process so it doesn't look terrible yet, but he's on that track.

Anyway, back to the sex. A fun thing about double blowjobs is that you can take them a whole lot slower than solo blowjobs. Me and mom have had a lot of practice so we go at about 1/4th speed and it feels twice as good. She started off by wrapping her hand around the shaft, slowly stroking it while she softly kissed the tip, and I licked his balls, gently lapping at one, then the other, cleaning away the day's sweat and musk, carefully taking both of them into my mouth at once. Mom swallowed half his length, and I started kissing my way up his shaft as she pulled back up, my lips touching the head as hers reached the very tip. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me into a deep French kiss with his cock in the middle, precum mixing with spit, moaning as we felt him twitch and grunt, mom's hand on his balls and my hand on his shaft. We broke the kiss and repeated it in reverse, taking his cock in my throat as mom kissed her way down to his balls. He came after five minutes of gentle little schoolgirl kisses on each side of his cock from the pair of us. The first rope caught mom on her cheek, the second hit her hair, but I wrapped my lips tight around the head and sucked him dry before he could spill another drop.

You can't give a client a mother-daughter blowjob and not snowball the cum back and forth in front of him. We've done it enough times to get the timing down: wait until he sits up straight, because if you don't he'll be too dazed from nutting in your mouth to really appreciate it. Make sure he's looking at you, move your hair out of the way so it doesn't obstruct his view, open your lips so that a trickle of jizz almost sloshes out, move in close to your mom so that your noses are touching and it's clear that you're about to kiss, sink a palm into her tits as she grabs your ass, and then you gotta really go for it: wide-mouthed, feral, energetic, like you're trying to reach each other's sinuses. If a little bit of cum spills out because you're being so sloppy, that's a sign that you're doing it right. You're going to lick it up afterwards anyway.

We broke the kiss, I licked mom's face clean, and we took a break. We drank some more wine, he offered us cigarettes--the coolest clients are the ones that let you smoke indoors--and we cuddled and relaxed for a while with Guy's Grocery Games playing on the TV. Pete went to get some water, and returned with three bottles and a strip of Cialis. He downed two pills, we both stripped off--it was sweltering by that point--and got ready for the next round.

Mom played with his nipples and I got between his legs again, this time going lower than his balls to eat his ass out. Rimming is a trusted client privilege like the mom-daughter stuff is, except it's less about trusting them in the legal sense and more about trusting that it won't be grainy down there. I like it when a client is clean enough to rim, because I'm extremely good at it. Mom says she's better, she claims she once made a guy no-touch cum with a rimjob, but I don't fucking believe her.

He got hard after a minute of digging my tongue into his ass, but his cock was still super-sensitive so we figured we'd tease him for a while longer. We swapped places, mom ate his ass while he made out with me, squeezing my tits and playing with my cock. I like it when guys touch my tits, my cock is... fine, I guess? I don't viscerally dislike people touching it but it doesn't do much for me. After a minute of that he reaches around and works a finger into my asshole, which is much more my speed.

By the time he was two knuckles deep I looked down and saw his cock twitching, leaking precum onto his stomach. He seemed pretty worked up. I kissed his neck, nipped at his ear, and whispered, "Do you wanna breed me, Mister?"

He sure did.

I use condoms unless I've got an extremely compelling reason not to, and mom has a cool trick for getting them on. She grasped Pete's cock around the base, placed her lips around the tip, deepthroated the entire thing in a single stroke, and as she slowly lifted her head back up, his cock was neatly fitted with a condom.

As soon as I lubed up he put me on my back, pushed my ankles up to my ears,  pressed his cock against my hole and sunk into me inch by inch. He muffled my moans with a kiss and rutted me into the bed. I gotta give it to him, all that biohacking and cardio is doing something right because he railed me at a fast, steady pace until my dick was leaking all over my tummy and I couldn't form sentences in my head any more. Mom made out with him as he finished, and at that point I was just babbling nonsense. He was gentle and cautious as he pulled out of me, stroking my hair as I reached down to take off his condom. I poured the contents out over my tits, slumping back against the headboard as mom licked them clean.

It wasn't yet midnight by then, and we went on like that through the night. Licking his feet, mom-daughter 69, him sucking my cock while mom rode his dick like a Sorority cowgirl champion, more wine, more double-blowjobs, tacking an extra $200 onto the fee for the privilege of pissing in my mouth instead of having to get up to go to the bathroom, a whole buffet of fun whore stuff.

We woke up at around ten in the morning, stayed for breakfast, then said our goodbyes. Me and mom thanked him for his custom, and he thanked us for a good time. By midday we were at home, we both showered, checked our calendars, messaged our evening clients to confirm that they were still on, and then... well, the rest of the day kinda evaporated. I played Demons' Souls until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, passed out in bed, and woke up when my alarm went off in the evening.

That's one of the things I don't like about overnight sessions: you're technically only spending like, ten to twelve hours with a client, and for some of that time you're either not fucking or actively asleep, but it kinda feels like it destroys two days. By the time it's scheduled, everything in the rest of the day is either preparing for it or doing it, and when you get back it takes the rest of the day just to recover. I don't like that part of my job, and if I sit down I can probably go through a whole bunch of things I don't like about my job. I still know that my job isn't a *bad* job, because the last time I had a bad job it was at a chicken processing plant. Know how I know that the chicken job was bad? Because I excused myself for a bathroom break four hours into the shift, walked off site, and never came back.

You know what, there's another reason I know that this isn't a bad job and that mom isn't a bad mom, and I guess it's part of the reason I've written all this down in the first place. I was seven years old when I first wanted to die. By the time I got to high school, suicidal thoughts were just the radio static in my brain. I can't remember any point after like, grade school where I didn't daydream about suicide every single day.

Now? I sometimes go for weeks without thinking about killing myself. It hasn't gone away completely, it still pops up when I'm upset or stressed out or tired or really hungry, but what I do is I talk to mom about it, and she talks me out of it. I feel guilty sometimes about putting that pressure on her, and taking that pressure off is part of the reason I'm going to therapy I guess.

I hope it works out.

I really think it will.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

A "could be sexy, could be fluffy" request: what if the Yiga Husbands had a beach date? Can these two knuckleheads swim? Does fucking on the sand create logistical problems? Would Kohga have a heart attack if something brushed against his leg underwater because OH GOD WHAT IF THAT WAS A FISH EW EW SOOGA KILL IT!?

I COULD do a little snippet of such a cute idea!

“Sooga! Check it!”

“Master Kohga! You MUST cover-”

Kohga swatted his hand away, already tired of his fussing. They had agreed to do another double date with Link and Mipha, this time, at the beach, just a bit away from the Lurelin village. More specifically, Clarnet Coast. Link was actually the one who suggested the place (and he even did the honor of slaying all the monsters for them, less they become a pain in the ass), and Kohga dressed accordingly. Aka, In nothing but his mask, and his swim trunks. It was TECHNICALLY against Yiga culture to be so exposed in public, but you know what, he was a slut without rules. The one WITH rules however, was Sooga, who was apparently quite surprised by the sudden change of attire. Hell, he was standing in front of him, as if Kohga was nude. 

“Don’t be a prude, Sooga! If anything, YOU’RE overdressed!”

Sooga cocked his head to the side, clearly confused.

“I...beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, we’re at the beach! It’s the PERFECT excuse to be more or less nude! We gotta get you something that lets you BREATHE in this heat.”

“....Yiga clothes are made for the Gerudo desert, how-”

“Shhhhhhh, I brought you shorts JUST in case.”

“You...planned this, didn’t you?”

“Get changed.”

Kohga threw the attire at him, and pointed to a nearby palm tree. Sooga sighed, walking almost shamefully to the tree. Kohga grinned as he joined the happy couple, who seemed to be making a sand castle. Oh this. This was precious. Kohga squatted next to them, holding up the sheikah slate, and snapping a pick of them both. Mipha pouted, playfully throwing some sand in Kohga’s direction.

"I wasn't READY for that! I'm covered in sand!"

“Shhh! You guys were cute, shut up. Adorable sand castle by the way.”

Mipha looked him up and down, chuckling into her palm.

“And adorable shorts, Kohga.”

Kohga looked down at his shorts. Red, littered in the best thing to exist; bananas. Kohga posed, much to the amusement of Mipha (and even to Link).

“Well I mean, not EVERYDAY I get the chance to show off the manliest body you’ve ever seen, might as well wear it in STYLE!”

“Did I have to do the same, Master Kohga?”

Sooga was suddenly right next to him, clearly a bit self conscious, given the way he seemed to be hugging his own chest. Kohga looked him up and down, nodding in approval. It was nice, seeing those scratched up muscles under the candlelight, up close and personal, but there was something so incredibly sexy about seeing those muscles out in the open, lit up by the bright sun. Honestly throw some chilly elixir on those titties, and you had yourself a big, sexy time. Kohga gestured wildly to him, making quite the scene out of it.

“Look at you, Sooga! You’re fine as HELL! Here, put your hands down.”

“W-what? I can’t be seen like this!”

Sooga took his hands away, gesturing to his own red shorts, decorated in pictures of salmon. Kohga took the chance to snap a pic, and Sooga immediately covered himself up again, turning away from Kohga. Kohga looked at the slate, showing it to Sooga.

“Look! You look great!”

“I did NOT want you to take a picture! Now that EXISTS! It’s bad enough I’m like this in public, AND in front of a princess, but now It’s in a PHOTO!”

Kohga rolled his eyes. Sooga had the body of a god, with the confidence of a fucking pebble.

“You look GREAT, Sooga! I have no idea what’s the issue, you fill those shorts out NICELY!”

Sooga sighed, rubbing at his quickly forming headache.

“Master Kohga, that's very sweet, truly, but this is humiliating.”

Kohga smacked his forehead, now getting a headache of his own.

“You know what- Link, make Sooga feel comfortable, take off your shirt.”

Link looked down at his island lobster shirt, and shrugged. He stood up, dusted the sand off of his hands, and peeled off his shirt, tossing it on the blanket Mipha brought with them. Sooga looked at him confused, Mipha covered her face, and Kohga...Kohga was looking.

“Good, but you know what, take off the pants too.”

Link didn’t even hesitate, peeling off his trousers. Leaving him in nothing but his underwear. Kohga loved Sooga, but god DAMN Link was a hot piece of ass. Kohga nodded in approval, totally not thinking about what he’d do to that body.

“See? Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

“W-no? How is this supposed to help ME?”

“Good point, good point. Link, ditch the undies.”

Link made the motion to do just that, before Mipha intervened, stopping his hand. Kohga scoffed.

“Prudes, all of you. In all seriousness, Sooga, there’s nothing ‘dishonorable’ about your body or whatever. We’re at the beach! It’s what you do!”

Sooga forced himself to put his hands down, but he didn’t look very pleased by this.

“Master Kohga, while that’s sweet, I very much disagree. NO ONE but you wants to see me like this.”

“I doubt that, honestly.”

Kohga motioned to Link in the back, who was...well, looking at Sooga’s extra weapon, suffice to say. Sooga groaned a bit in defeat, mainly because the Hylian champion staring at his crotch was a bit much for him to deal with right now. Mipha, ever the helpful one, offered a soft smile.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure it feels nice to be free of your clothes, even for just an afternoon. It’s good for your health to get some sun.”

Kohga motioned to Mipha, shaking his head.

“See, this is what I love about Mipha, team player. Now, let’s get some fun under our belts!”

Mipha tried not to gawk at the tattoos that littered their bodies, watching as they both started to make a fire. As in, Sooga made a fire while Kohga seemed to be basking in the sun. Mipha and Link continued to add to their sand castle (with her ignoring how shirtless he was), merely enjoying one another's company. Mipha waited till Sooga took a dip into the water, before turning to look at Kohga.

"I noticed you both have tattoos. Why is that?"

"Oh EVERY Yiga gets that once they're officially in. The one I got was gifted to me by my old man, and I did Sooga's."

Mipha leaned up to hand Link a seashell, making sure he wasn't going to fall.

"I take it he really does trust you. Tattoos ARE quite the commitment."

"Oh he does, totally,"

Kohga nodded, laying back and soaking up the sun. Kohga LOVED the feeling of the nice, hot sun, and the feeling of hot sand in between his toes.

"It's cute honestly. HE'S cute. Don't tell him I said this, but I'm kinda. Serious about him, I think. Which is weird. I'm usually not serious, in terms of my relationships."

He turned to look at her, and she was squishing her own cheeks, practically fawning over him.

"Oh! That's very sweet! May I ask what separates Sooga from the bunch?"

Kohga saw that both Mipha AND Link were looking at him, excited half to death. Kohga put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

"Don't get so mushy on me. I said I MIGHT be serious about him, I'm not getting on one knee here. I'm just saying he's...different. It's not just sex with this guy. He's genuinely and honestly sweet. He cares about me, and takes everything head on. If I told Sooga right now, to get me a piece of a sky, you best believe he won't rest till he got it for me. He's...serious. And it's so weird, how much I like it. How much I like HIM."

"That's terribly sweet, Master Kohga, truly."

Kohga noticed the sun was being blocked. He opened his eyes, and saw Sooga right there, dripping wet with water, a fishing spear over his shoulder, and that big, knowing smirk on his lips. Kohga glared at the two next to him, who conveniently went back to their sand castle. Kohga grumbled in embarrassment, before waving Sooga off.

"Shut up. Cook your stupid fish or whatever."

"Right away Master Kohga. But...one thing, if I may,"

Sooga leaned down, till his mask was inches away from his Master's.

"I like you too. More than anything in this life."

Before Sooga could get barked at, he turned, and skewered the fish, putting them by the fire (with some bananas and apples on a separate skewer for Kohga), and letting them roast. The sun was starting to slowly dip into the horizon, making for quite the view to go along with dinner. Kohga tried not to chat much, letting Mipha have her turn. She bit into her fish, nodding in approval.

"Thank you for dinner, Sooga. I'm really glad you picked this spot, Link."

Link was too busy fucking up his fish skewer to fully notice what she was saying. It coated his face in grease and random bits of food, making her chuckle.

"Oh Link, look at you, making a mess of yourself. Here, let me…"

Her voice trailed off when she held onto his face, wiping it free of food. That was when they seemed to have a moment, with Mipha holding onto his face, staring into his eyes. Kohga put the food down (and smacked Sooga's food out of his hands. Wasn't the first time), lightly shoving Sooga's side.

"Sooga, you, me, water, now."

Kohga was NOT going to mess with Mipha and Link having an ACTUAL kiss by the sunset. Kohga sighed once they seemed to be a decent space away from them, sighing.

"Hoo, we almost ruined their moment."

"I mean, you ruined my dinner though."

"You and your fish- look I'll make you some once I'm home, you baby. We just had to leave,  I didn’t wanna ruin it for them. If it makes you feel better though, least you and I get some water time together!"

Sooga just now seemed to realize that they were ankle deep in the water, and something about that made him chuckle.

"I suppose taking a swim with you is a fair exchange. You do know how to swim, yes?"

"I can! I'm no Zora, but I do a killer doggy paddle. I just don't LIKE swimming exactly. It's usually just cold and wet, and I HATE cold."

Sooga held onto his hand, taking him as far into the water as he could, chuckling.

"My elder sister taught me how to swim. She had a Zora boyfriend, so she was well versed. I remembered every Sunday she'd take me out for a swim, we'd have enough seafood to feed the whole town."

Kohga chuckled too, gently making them stop before they got TOO deep into the water.

"You liked your family, huh? You talk about 'em like you still miss them."

"I do. Family is VERY important to me. I don't talk to them very much, for...reasons. But it's fine."

Suddenly Sooga pulled Kohga right to his chest, looking right down at him.

"I'm planning on having another family quite soon."

Kohga would've been creeped out by that,  the idea of a huge family. But there was something so tender, so honest about his eyes. It made the idea sound...nice. Kohga chuckled, reaching up to cup Sooga's face in his hand.

"Good to see that Mipha isn't the only one getting that picture perfect moment."

Kohga reached up a bit to try to kiss him, before something touched his leg. A fish. A goddamn slimy, slippery, DISGUSTING fish. It made Kohga jump up, just in time for Sooga to catch him in his arms.

"What's wrong?!"

"A FISH touched me! Sooga don't just stand there, kill it!"

Sooga would question it, but he was smarter than that. He sighed, gave a quick apology to the fish, before bringing out one of his weapons, and stabbing the fish below him. At least it was a quick death.

"Happy?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Stupid, gross fish. If it was up to me id just get rid of them all. Ew. It TOUCHED me. Imma cut off this foot. Can we get back to dry land?"

"Yes, Master Kohga."

Sooga threw the dead fish towards a pack of birds (he'd feel evil, wasting a life like that) as he walked back up to land. Just in time to catch the two young lovers trying to keep their composure after what was most likely a heavy makeout session, given the blushing faces, and the lipstick smears all over Link's face. Perfect opportunity for a picture, which Kohga was more than happy to take. Mipha chose to change the subject entirely, chuckling awkwardly.

"So uhm, have a nice swim I t-take it?"

"Great, up until a fish touched me. Take it Link over here was having the same problem, eh?"

Mipha hid her face in her hands, whimpering in humiliation. Their relationship was still so new, so she was VERY embarrassed about it all. Kohga however, just found it adorable. Kohga looked up at Sooga, grinning ear to ear.

"I'm SO proud of myself for this, let that be known."

"I can tell, Master Kohga. The clan will be excited to hear of today's endeavor."

Mipha nearly jumped up, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You TELL them about me and Link?!"

Kohga shrugged.

"Well yeah, we ALL ship you guys. Everytime something cute happens, I tell 'em."

Mipha cupped her hands over her mouth, as if in terror. Link seemed to take that as a cue, and drew out his sword. Kohga glanced at Sooga.

"Sooga, you can run fast, right?"

"Fast enough."

"HYAH!!"

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

"Come on, that was KINDA fun."

Kohga chuckled. Link chased them for a good bit (the stamina on this boy), before they all seemed to collapse. Link and Mipha had ended up just a bit away from them, with Link being cradled in her arms. They seemed to be under a deep sleep, and it was a cute sight, seeing these two cuddling under the moon. Sooga sighed, shaking his head. Kohga was currently in HIS arms, and while that was sweet, the whole chase was something he could've done without. 

"It made you laugh. That's enough for me."

"You sap."

Kohga chuckled. He hadn't recalled when was the last time he had so much fun. Though…

"You're cold."

"Yeah, kinda. Who knew being wet at a beach during night time would make you cold?"

He chuckled. Kohga was a master at making a fuss of things, and Sooga was SUCH an enabler. Constantly tending to his needs. Sooga pulled him closer to him, clearly holding worry on his features.

"I can make another fire, Master Kohga, would that help?"

Kohga shook his head, a very sneaky, very nice idea in mind. Kohga cupped his cheek in his hand.

"Actually….I know what you can do for me."

"Anything."

Sooga meant it too. So honestly and openly. So cute. With his free hand, he tugged at those pesky boxers of his.

"Let me ride you~"

Sooga sputtered, clearly not expecting such a proposition. He looked around wildly, as if someone heard Kohga say something so lewd.

“M-master Kohga! We’re not in the safety of our quarters. What if we-”

“Look, if YOU don’t wanna do it, that’s a different story. But I know that after a long, long day of seeing you baking in the sun, I want you.”

Sooga looked hesitant, even as Kohga dug his face into his neck, pushing his mask aside a bit to kiss at just that sweet spot. Sooga wanted him, he could tell. He peered over to where Mipha and Link were resting a bit reluctant.

“I...suppose if you can stay quiet.”

“If I can stay quiet? Sooga, YOU’RE the moaner in this relationship.”

As if to prove it, Kohga tugged at his ear with his teeth, making Sooga moan far too loudly. He slapped his hand over his mouth, blushing up quite the storm. They stood still when they saw Link move a bit in his sleep, and sighed when neither seemed to wake up. Kohga chuckled, patting at his chest.

“See? You’re a loud boy. We’ll be fine though, I promise. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to keep a pretty boy quiet for me.”

Kohga put his hand over his mouth, sliding onto his lap and grinding in his lap.

“There we go, big boy. We’ll keep you nice and quiet, I’ll ride that cock of yours, and no one will know. YOU just have to sit there, let me do my thing, and let me know if the lovebirds behind us are starting to stir. Nod if this sounds like something you wanna do. If not, I’ll get off of you right now.”

Sooga seemed to stiffen, before he gave a nod. Kohga grinned, and peeled down those pesky swim trunks. Not fully, just enough to get their dicks out, and just enough, in case they had to cover up quickly. Kicking up a bit of sand in the process, Kohga got comfy on his lap, slowly sinking himself down onto that dick. That dick always felt DAMN good inside of him, and he relished in the feeling. He started off nice and slow, just how Sooga liked it. He kept his face buried into his neck, giving Sooga that voice kink he seemed to have.

“You handle me SO well. So nicely, like a good, good boy. It’s so great, isn’t it? Fucking you out in the open? Anyone can see me with you. Anyone can see me fucking MY Sooga. ANYONE could catch me riding this nice, big dick of yours. Anyone can see me taking you up my ass. You like my ass, don’t you? Like how it feels wrapped around this cock?”

Sooga nodded to his words, whimpering against his palm. He’d occasionally look over to Mipha and Link, just to make sure they wouldn’t get caught, but as Kohga kept going, kept riding his dick and nibbling his ear, Sooga wasn’t looking over to them anymore, focusing solely on his Master’s movements. Sooga even kept his hands on his ass, desperate to cop a feel for any part of his master.

“You’re so pretty like this. Liking my ass, liking my voice, liking ME. Do you know how cute you are? How pretty you look, getting FUCKED under the moonlight? It’s that bullshit romantic stuff you love so much. I hate that about you, but in the best way possible. You’re such a big, pretty wuss, and I’d LOVE to be caught taking you like this.”

Kohga loved the big, wet man underneath him, and Sooga loved the dirty talking, passionate man above him. It was stupid, it was bullshit, and Kohga hated the fact that Sooga came inside of him so goddamn quickly. The thick, sticky cum felt good inside of him, but it was so sweet, knowing that Sooga loved him so much, that he couldn’t help his cock. Kohga panted, stopping just for a second to watch Sooga lay there, shaking and panting. He could see the steam pour out of his mouth from behind his mask, and damn was it pretty. Kohga peeled his hand away, wiping his drool off on his swimming trunks. Sooga found his voice, though it was rather shaky.

“I...I love you, Master Kohga. I want to mar-”

Kohga felt the sudden rise of panic fill his heart. Oh no. Oh no. He was saying THAT word. The shit that scares the crap out of commitment issues guys like Kohga. It was why he pushed his head back, and shoved his dick inside of his mouth. He tried not to show that he was nervous as absolute shit.

“I’m not done. Let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours.”

Sooga didn’t hesitate. Of course he didn’t. He sat there like a good boy, sucking and slurping on his dick, soaking his drool (and Kohga’s cock) in his drool. His eagerness, his moans, even the fascination in his eyes. It felt damn good to shoot a load of cum into his mouth, and even better to watch it dribble down his pretty chin. Kohga rolled off of him, letting himself thud onto the sand like a fat sand seal (but like, in a sexy way). They both sat there for a moment, covered in cum and the smell of the sea, just staring at the moon. It was so awful and romantic.

“Sooga?”

“Yes?”

“I have so much sand up my ass.”

“....me too.”

[gorewhoreonthedancefloor]

Elizabeth is a Guro-Sue.

Summary: Elizabeth Alby has been working at a London strip club for several years, and she's always kept herself aloof. She has secrets, and fantasies, but she's in it for the long game. When the strip club is finally bought out and taken over by someone nice, a man she can befriend and manipulate in order to get what she wants, she's excited.

But her old boss just can't keep his sleazy self away.

She's not about to lose out on a chance to better the club for herself and all the dancers. Maybe it's time to finally give in to what she wants to do oh so badly. Again...

A/N: This is a piece detailing my OCs second ever murder - the one which pushes her into continuing her enjoyment of such. It's set in an original universe based around a strip club called The Deadly Sinners, which features several of my OCs as well as friends of mine! If you're interested in getting to know her more, feel free to ask anything you like! And consider following my new gore centric twitter as another way of talking! I'm very open to expanding the universe and talking about my characters and what makes them tick, etc. In present day, Elizabeth is 28, and has a kill count of maybe a dozen+ kills. This is just the beginning...

WARNING: Explicit detail of murder, violence, and death. Involves stabbing, head trauma, broken bones, and additionally sexism and sexual misconduct. Please do not read if such topics may trigger you!

~🔪 Enjoy 🥰🔪 ~

2015.

About an hour ago Elizabeth had been in the back office with Alix, the new owner and boss of the club. She'd met him almost a year ago when he walked into the club and draped himself over a bar stool. He didn’t square up to any of the girls, didn’t stare them down with carnivorous hunger - he just laughed with the bartender. Elizabeth walked up to him, ready to offer him a dance, but he beat her to introductions. 

"Oh Jesus, you’re a stunner! Sorry, sorry, where are my manners?! Forgive me, I get a little tongue tied around beautiful women, and if I can be so bold, you’re one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever seen.”

Usually compliments don’t leave Elizabeth speechless. She’s used to them. They’re like white noise for the most part. Him though, Alix, he was different. He had wide eyes, and a smile to match, and he looked at her like she was a friend before he even knew her name. It was like the rushing wind that encapsulates a person when they’re falling from a 50 story building. She felt like she’d finally taken the cleanest, deepest breath in a long time. 

Now, Alix is the new owner of the strip club, and he has big plans to refurbish everything. He wants to tear down walls, redecorate the whole place, give dancers a better backstage area - for a man who’d made the decision to buy a business on a drunken impulse, he was surprisingly serious about making it something. 

The construction team will start working early afternoon tomorrow. An hour ago Alix had been telling Elizabeth his plans, what he wanted to do with the whole place, and that, to her surprise, he wanted her input. He really respects her, and all the dancers. Having a boss who treats her well, looks in her eyes and not over her scantily clad body, it was the kind of unbelievable luck Elizabeth didn’t believe in. 

The pair left each other in good spirits, excited for a new start, buzzing on a shared hopeful high. Alix offered to walk her home but she'd respectfully declined, wanting to enjoy some quiet before she was home. After a few blocks, she reached in her handbag and realised she forgot her keys in the office. She turned around and walked with an urgency to pick them up - ironically, she had the spare key to the club Alix gave her, but not the ones to her flat. Her dad and sister were out of town, so she had to go back…

That’s when she saw a shady looking figure at the club’s entrance. He couldn’t see her from the distance, and if he did, if he caught a glimpse of her when looking over his shoulders in a haste, she’d just look like any other blurry figure walking home. It wasn’t a break in, he had a key, and knowing that, Elizabeth realised who it was. So she waited, let him enter, and snuck in herself a few minutes afterwards.

Now, Elizabeth stands behind the bar, filling a shot glass with vodka, and throwing it down her throat swiftly. She makes it look easy, cracking her neck and muffling a cough in reaction to the burn. It's how she likes to start her shifts usually, with liquid courage. 

Now it’s 3AM on an ordinary Tuesday. The rain has suddenly begun to pound the pavement outside, loud enough to rattle the building - it punishes the world, cleansing the treacherous stains left by sinners.

Vodka splashes out of the glass and onto the bar. Elizabeth takes the nearby rag and wipes it up. She turns around and peers into the wall mirror behind the bar shelf, liquor lining the wood and obstructing a clear view. She pulls out the dark red lipstick from her bra. It's accustomed for her to look her best at every given opportunity, addicted to perfection. She runs it over her plump lips, pouting and popping them to rub in the smooth colour, then stares at her reflection for a minute. Honey brown eyes stare at her, understanding what is about to happen has to happen...  

Now is the time to kill someone again, and not just any random patron off the street. She gets to revel in the joy that her old boss, Stewart, will die by her hands.

She's been working at the club for around 5 years now. It wasn't what she had planned, but it kept her safe in a way she couldn’t explain. She only started working there as a side gig, to get some decent money while she studied. The plan was to be an electrician, get a secure job working on the railway lines. She enjoyed tinkering with electrics. She got her qualifications with ease, but nowhere would accept her at the time. Whether it was the lack of positions available, or the familiar judgement that a woman like her couldn’t possibly be competent, she will never know. Life got hectic, after her mother's death everything began falling like the devil's dominos. Stripping should have been a cash grab, but she adapted to fit the narrative that the dancers she worked alongside became like family.

She’s well liked, though mostly from a respectable distance, with only a few exceptions. Some people find it hard to know what to say around her - she’s usually so quiet, with a look like she’s always thinking. She's never been a shy character. The correct term is aloof, bordering impassible, and smart. She let her co-workers find comfort around her, and she gave patrons the illusion they were her saviours. Everything Elizabeth did was calculated to cater her neverending poker game, and now, still in to win at life, no one truly knows who she is. 

No one knew she thought about murder every day. No one knew she craved the crazed euphoria of killing someone, that which she felt when she’d blugend her mother to death. Every day for the past 4 years she’s been wondering if she’d get the chance to relive that high, planning over and over again in her head when she would do it, who would be her victim - she didn’t expect it to be on a whim like this.

It’s titillating just thinking about it. Damn near erotic. Since she started working at the club, she’s had to deal with the sleazy stare of her boss almost on the daily, knowing his eyes linger on her ass, while his hand cups his groin. He licks his lips staring at her tits, and when she meets his eyes with her evil glare, she can see the unsure arousal lingering in his pupils. He’s putried, truely, pleasuring himself in his office during work hours after watching a performance. Stewart is a predator. He preys on his vulnerable staff, and uses them to gratify his animalistic cravings.

"If you want to rake in the money, sweetcheeks, you’ve gotta smile more. Guys like tits, but they don’t like miserable bitches, kay?”

Elizabeth had imagined his death a thousand times over the second he said that. When he dared to raise his index finger under her chin, condescend her in such a way, she hoped there would come a day she’d get the courage to kill him.

After a few more minutes priming herself like a proud peacock, she reaches into her handbag and pulls out the hunting knife she keeps on her at all times. She used to just have a switchblade, until she passed an antiques store one day and saw the beautiful blood red hunting knife calling her name. She conceals the weapon in her thigh high boots, checking the handle is at a viable point she can grab it with ease. Wrapping her hand around the sturdy rubber, a rushing anticipation of her murderous excitement buzzes through her fingers and up her arm, just like electricity. Her heart is racing. 

She leaves her coat over the bar top, walking out from behind the bar on the first floor and heads downstairs. She can hear his grunting every so often, the slamming of desk drawers and flustered footsteps as he searches for something. Last time she saw Stewart, he'd been wishing Alix the best of luck. Now he's breaking in the day before renovation is scheduled. 

She stands outside the office door and knocks. Light, flirty knocks. A loud gasp followed by a rough, irritable command to enter. Elizabeth hides it well but she's beyond excited to gut Stewart like a fish. She wishes she'd been more prepared for the moment - wishes she made plans, figured out specifics and wasn't going off instinct. There were so many nights she thought about the how's, knowing if she had to feed that beast inside her, it had to be perfect. This isn't perfect like she wants, but it's perfectly good luck, she can't bear passing up the opportunity.

As she walks in, she sees Stewart sitting behind the desk, leaning back, cheeks furiously red and his forehead clammy from sweat. His thinning hair is swept back, more sweat than gel, and clearly only styled by his hand brushing it back. He looks like he always did, in a tight white shirt and scruffy tie, the years of loneliness aging him more than his crow's feet. His lips pull up into a shark like grin when he sees her, all teeth on show, and he chuckles, darkly, kind of like he's been expecting her. Out of all the girls, it's clear that Elizabeth was his favourite, and she plays into that favour by popping her hip to accentuate her curves. His eyes unashamedly fall down her body, taking in the sights, and though it repulses her to let him have the pleasure of just looking at her, she knows the payoff is worth it.

Maybe she can gouge his eyes out while he screams for mercy, deprive him of the tools he wastes on depraved thrills. She's had so many fantasies where she wriggles the tip of her knife's blade into someone's eye socket, and pops their eyeball out their skull.

"Lizzy, sweetheart...what're you still doing here?" He asks, almost timidly, like he's nervous, but still maintaining a confidence he can no longer afford. Elizabeth gently closes the door behind her and leans back on it, crossing her legs over one another. His line of sight hasn’t actually met her eyes yet.

"I left my keys," she nods toward the set on Alix's desk, and smiles when Stewart visibly gulps. "But then I thought I heard someone rustling around in here. Strange to see you here." She pushes herself off and struts seductively toward him. The space between them is only a few steps, but Elizabeth manages to walk it like it's a runway. She leans her head to the side, looking at the mess of paperwork on his desk. "You looking for something?" She asks, just barely above a whisper. Stewart's hot breath pours out on her arm, distracted, then jerks back to the subject matter.

"Oh, yes! Uh I left some paperwork, very important documents, uh confidential actually, so you should--"

"All of this is Alix's." She picks up one of the sheets and inspects it. It's a building permit. She looks over the other papers - a scattered mess of plans and expenses and permits but all distinctly Alix's. Elizabeth hums and sits against the edge of the desk, crossing one leg over the other. Her legs are long, gorgeous, and she knows he wants to touch them. He practically looks enslaved to her beauty, he's forgetting about being caught up to no good. "Nothing here is yours."

"Right. I'm still looking," he answers too easily, but the sweat on his brow is a give away. Elizabeth chuckles under her breath and places the paper back down. She shakes her head at him in disbelief.

"You should have gotten a business partner to help you run this place." Her tone is devilishly flirtatious, dripping in false promises. She looks around the cramp office and shrugs. "A second set of eyes to help you spruce the place up. Maybe then the club wouldn't have been failing and you wouldn't have had to sell it."

His mocking laughter hits her hard. Her gaze snaps back to him.

"You're so naive, Lizzy." Stewart muses, too cocky for Elizabeth's liking. He wiggles his finger in her direction and chuckles. "But naivety doesn't mean shit when you're a stripper, so who cares!" And with that he starts rummaging through the drawers again, unbothered by her presence.

Her blood boils with a heat as intense as a volcano. It takes every inch of her being to resist grabbing the bunch of pens in the coffee cup on his desk and ramming them down his throat. He's still chuckling, like he's the funniest man to walk planet earth. She hates him, truly, but she doesn't let that show on her face of course. All she can do is keep smiling. 

She crosses her legs over, exaggerating her leg outwards so he notices how long and slender she is. She tosses her hair over her shoulders and leans back accentuating her breasts. It doesn’t take a lot to distract Stewart. Her leather skirt and bralette reflect under the dim office light, clinging to her figure, squeezing her curves like a boa constrictor. Her mesh top sparkles like it's covered in every constellation, it’s a wonder she can breathe carrying such beauty. His fingers ache to feel her melt. She tips her head to the side and bites her lip, hypnotising him. 

"What did your girlfriend think of you working all those late hours surrounded by half naked women?” She smirks when he laughs.

"I don’t have a girlfriend.” He pushes himself out of his chair and rolls his shoulders. He’s nervous, hands shaking at his side and sweat dripping down his brow. God she wants to slice the skin off his face and make him screech in agonising pain. If he could read her mind, he might run for the hills. “What about you, Lizzy,” He places his hand beside her and leans in uncomfortably close. “What does your boyfriend think of you, dressed like this,” he motions his free hand around her breasts, “Alone in your bosses office?” 

Elizabeth is almost insulted that he thinks he even has a chance with a woman like her. Of course she represses the disgust in favour of chewing her bottom lip, reaching out to toy with the loose tie around his neck. "Ex boss," She corrects, smugly. His breathing gets heavier, halting only when she harshly tugs on the tie to bring his face mer centimeters to her own. He pathetically puckers her lips, and she snickers, looking at him darkly beneath her eyelashes. 

"Do you really think I’d care what a man thought of me?” Then she throws him back forcefully, standing up and dusting herself off as he stumbles to regain his footing. The force practically winds him. “Besides...I don't have a boyfriend. Boyfriends annoy me too much."

Stewart bumbles through an exasperated laugh, insulted by her statement as if it somehow could apply to himself. He straightens his tie and puffs out his chest theatrically. "You've obviously never been with a decent guy."

"A decent guy?" Elizabeth repeats. "Does such a thing exist?"

"Of course they do."

"Where?"

"Well me for starters!" Stewart blurts out, too wound up to consider the implications of what he's admitting. Before the words settle, she's already looking at him with disdain. A wicked smirk slithers across her face and she rolls her eyes, to his annoyance. "Hay, I'm a nice guy!"

"Nice guys don't break and enter places that don't belong to them," she sharply closes the space between them and backs him up against the back wall, her sweet devil's grin swapping for solid rage. "Nice guys don't make advances on their barely legal employees. Nice guys don't cut corners paying the people that keep their shitty business going."

"Woah, what are you--"

"Why don't you save the bullshit and just fess up to whatever the fuck you're actually doing here, hmm?" She puts her hands on her hips, staring him down. There's a tense silence, his eyes wide and frantic, thoughts visibly racing in the wind of his dilated pupils, and Elizabeth wonders if the pounding drumming of her heart is as ear shattering for him as it is for her. 

She could slit his throat so perfectly at this angle. One sharp sweep of her blade, watching the flimsy pale skin tight across his neck rip too easily, allowing blood to spill and move like a glacier. She could wedge her thumbs into the tight wound and bury them further into his flesh, feel the rigged bone surrounded by squishy meat and warm blood. He'd feel her inside of him, invasive, denying the boundaries no one should know, and she'd laugh as he slowly dies. She wants to rip him apart like a wild animal on a hunt. 

The cracking of bone. The squelch of flesh. The adrenaline rush. It's always just out of reach.

Stewart looks intimidated, but just as Elizabeth starts to enjoy the clouding of her twisted fantasies, he laughs boisterously and daringly places his hands on her hips to move her over. He picks out another folder from the drawers and opens it up, looking over his shoulder to laugh at her, looking at her like she’s some hysterical woman. All Elizabeth can do is stare back at him in disbelief, the clouds suddenly vanishing in favour of making him a clear cut target. Him with his sweaty upper lip, the uneven stubble shading his jaw, his figure a few weeks skipped from the gym - he who dares to break into what isn’t his and still look down on her. It’s a bloodthirsty rage, almost delusionally so, she wonders if it’s all a hallucination, but his laugh is sharp and loud, and she wants to rip his tongue clean out of his mouth.

"Look, babe, you should get out of here, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Elizabeth doesn’t move though, just stands her ground, secures her stance and practically growls at him. He rolls his eyes and drops the folder he’d been flicking through on the desk with a loud thud. 

“Fucking hell, what’s it gonna take to get you to fuck off, huh? What, money?” Stewart asks, ridicule thick on his lips as the corners of his mouth curl upward. He digs into the pocket of his trousers and fishes out a worn out wallet, waving it in her face aggressively. She doesn’t flinch, even when he throws it to her feet forcefully and glares at her. “There ain’t shit to even give you.”

Elizabeth softens her brows. She looks down at the wallet splayed out on the ground; bare of any family photo, like most the men who ask for a dance do have. “I don’t want your money.” She replies through her teeth, eyes looking up at him under her lashes. She clenches her fists and squeezes - tries to pop the tensions wrapping around her bones, making her fingers stiff, eager. Then she lifts her head. “I want you to get out.”

Stewart laughs again. This time as he looks up and down her body, it’s with disgust. “Or what?” He mocks, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. He sticks his tongue in his cheek and scoffs when she doesn’t respond immediately. “This will always be my place, it don’t matter who’s name is on the deed--”

“That’s not how it works--”

“Shut the fuck up, okay?!” He bites back at her, specs of spit flying from his lips, his eyes filled with impatient irritation. Elizabeth’s shoulders drop, something snaps. Not like a flimsy stick, more like an aged, cracking tree finally giving in to the woodsman’s axe. The falling weight, the impending thump, it’s all so familiar and yet intimidatingly unrecognisable at the same time. Stewart closes the space between them. He’s only an inch or two taller, but the way he juts out his jaw and looks down at her even with his head held high, he must see her as an insignificant little mouse. “You’re nothing special, sweetheart. You’re just another pretty face in a town with dozens of ‘em!” 

The muscles in Elizabeth’s body burn almost uncontrollably. She’s minutes away from a forest fire, it festers uncomfortably in her fingers. She digs a pointed nail into his chest and pushes him back, seeing shock briefly flicker across his features. “You’re a disgusting waste of space.”

He lets out a mocking laugh, clearly becoming more frustrated at her stubborn disdain. There’s a brief pause, and before she has time to react, Stewart grabs her by her shoulders and shoves her forcefully against the back wall, unconcerned when she grunts from the pain. Her hands grip his wrists to move him off, but he manages to keep her there, trapped by his sweaty palms. He leans in close with his teeth gritted, a smug, infuriating grin lifting his features.

“You think I give a toss what some slag thinks about me?” He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head, clearly enjoying how she struggles to push him away. “I need money, darling. I know some nasty fuckers who’ll leave me in a body bag if I don’t pay ‘em back, so I’m not about to let some skank get in my way!” He takes a deep breath, and growls softly, looking down to admire the plush of her breasts against her see through top. His hands slide down to grip her hips, force her to stay in place, perfectly for his pleasure, setting in the uneasy claustrophobia. 

Elizabeth already hates affection, it sets off alarm bells in her head, the overwhelming disgust ricocheting through her nervous system. The weight of his hand bruises her bones, aches her something fierce, she wonders how long it will take before the ground beneath her feet caves in.

“The things they’d do to a girl like you. I’m not against telling them who you are, the slut that prevented their pay back--”

“I’m not afraid.” She says through her teeth, quietly, confidently. She can feel the boiling adrenaline coursing through her system with every rage inducing second ticks by. She takes his hands and moves them with an uneasy calmness, offering them back to him like he'd lost them.  She lets her hands return to her sides. She tickles the top of her thigh, inching close to the handle of her hunting knife. “You’re a sad wannabe gangster, and nothing more. If I gave even half a shit, I’d pity you.”

Stewart’s face tightens with a frown. He growls some generic sexist insult and attempts to grab her again, but Elizabeth is faster. She finally reaches into her boot and whips out the knife, plunging it deep into his stomach before he knows what's happening. The impact of the knife rips through cotton and flesh with laughable ease, the burst of skin ripping around the weapon's teeth practically ricocheting through Elizabeth. The anger he had is replaced with fear. She loves it.

She keeps him steady with her hand firmly against his collarbone, eventually turning them around so he lands against the wall she was pressed against seconds ago, with the knife still firmly in her grasp, in his abdomen. Taking a guess, she figures the blade is caught amidst the small intestine, probably snagged the bottom of a kidney, maybe even severed a ureter too. She looks up at his face and smiles wickedly. Blood begins to trickle from the wound and down the pooch of his belly. Watching his face slowly fade a ghostly complexion fills her with glee.

A pitiful plea fumbles past his lips, but she can’t hear it over the drumming.  Her heart thumps like it wants out of her chest, pounding so violently like it's going to crack a rib. Her senses have never been so sensitive, the adrenaline sending her on high alert. She’s always so composed, always trying to be perfect, and now…

She pulls the knife from his body swiftly, dragging his breath on the end of the blade, and watches blood come through the flimsy wound opening, staining his shirt a crimson red. She brings her bottom lip between her teeth and flares her nostrils, mesmerized by her work. Stewart tries to beg for help, taking back the cruelty of his ego, but it’s white noise, only encouraging her to make her own music with the tunes of his screams.

She takes his chin in her hand and grips him tight, nails digging into his cheeks harshly. She lines up the knife with where the tear in his shirt indicates the wound and pushes it back inside, catching his flesh and tearing his torso open more than it previously was. She pushes the knife in deeper this time, up to the bolster of the handle, and twists the blade to grotesquely shift Stewart’s organs. The slippery feel is obvious even without skin contact. More blood begins to pour from his wound urgently. Angling the blade upward, she catches something squishy and tender, and swiftly rips it in a flash as she recoils the knife back to her side. Stewart groans in agony, as he has been doing throughout; Elizabeth was just too excited to notice.   

Tears spill down his face, wetting her fingertips where she still has his face in her hold. She tuts and shakes her head. "Here, let me distract you from the pain," and without wasting a second, she grabs a fistful of his hair and swiftly slams his face down on the desk. A loud sick, wet crunch bounces off the walls, his nose certainly broken. Blood pours from his nostrils and he howls like a wounded animal, dropping to his knees, hands pressing against the agonising pain in his belly. 

Elizabeth moves around to be in front of him. She kneels to get eye level and waits until he finds the energy to look at her. He's fading, it's clear in the whitening of his skin. She enjoys how the look of death illuminates the little colour left in his eyes. An endearingly manic smile lifts her face. The memories of her mother etch their way across Stewart's busted, bloody face.

"Fuck you." She whispers, pronouncing every letter with finesse, punctuating the words with venomous hatred. Stewart's face is more blood than skin, but she can still make out the aching fear as he realises he's about to die. Elizabeth wants to drink it up, savour it in a bottle so she can enjoy it again and again and again. She's been waiting for this. She's needed this.

As he opens his mouth in an attempt to speak, she quickly strikes upward with the knife and forces the blade to puncture through the bottom of his jaw. The jagged teeth tear without strain, pushing through his skin and tongue and the roof of his mouth like they’re delicate pieces of tissue paper, but the blunt surface of his skull catches the blade and brings it to a halt. With his mouth open a crack, Elizabeth can admire the grotesque bursting of his flesh. It resembles the inside of a cherry cobbler.

Stewart tries to scream, but his voice drowns in his own blood. The sound is horrendous, just garbled nonsense as he convulses and regurgitates blood, everything finally shutting down. Specs of blood fly from his mouth, a river of red pours out the corners, and Elizabeth holds eye contact all the way through to the end. When his body finally sags, his eyes hollow of any remaining life, she keeps staring like they have the secrets to eternal happiness. Maybe they do. Maybe this is her happiness. In the ravenous, depraved violence of a murder so messy, she can finally feel something real, something that makes her think everything in her life wasn’t all in vein, but rather were the stepping stones that brought her to her wonderland.

After a few minutes enjoying the glamorous solace, she takes a deep, cleansing breath, closing her eyes. Her heart and mind are both racing like they’re trying to outrun one other, and her senses that were so frantic in murderous pursuit begin to steady. She feels hyper-focused. The million questions filling her mind slot into place perfectly one after another, filing away for later inspection. Who was after Stewart? Will they try to come looking for him? Did he tell anyone where he’d be tonight? Important, but they can wait. Now, the seconds she has in the quiet, looking at the blurred reflection in the framed picture on the wall ahead of her, she listens to the cruelty that’s been haunting her for so long.

“This world’s gonna eat you alive, Lizzie. I can see it in your eyes, you have no fight in ya. Why are you such a weak little bitch, huh? Ever since you were small, I knew you’d amount to nothing...just a pretty face, nothing more.”

Her mother’s voice has been taunting her for too long. She carries on living, thriving, trying to forget her wicked memory, and she continues to abuse her. Things get harder, the stress eats her alive. Merry men throw their wallets with no care, supporting coke stashes, and hiding their wedding rings like they were method acting their bachelor days. Lingering hands, security that didn’t care, and the eyes of a predator always lingering out of view, no matter where she went. Elizabeth was the prey, just like any of the girls, relying on the generosity of vultures. All these years, the repressed rage her mother fueled just getting worse in the lion’s den. Killing the first time was like taking a deep breath before drowning again. Now she can really breathe in the fresh air. She feels clarity better than she ever has.

Elizabeth cracks her neck and pulls the blade out on a deep exhale. She stands up as Stewart’s body collapses in a heap on the floor. Now she has to dispose of his body, clean the office, and act like nothing happened. Tomorrow a construction team comes by to knock everything down and rebuild. Death won’t matter as long as it’s hidden, and Elizabeth doesn’t feel a shred of worry over covering her crimes. She has a plan.

Now she knows what she wants. She wants to tear people apart, see what's on the inside. She wants to do this again, and again, and again...

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 89

Wee-oo-oooooooooooo!

I thought long and hard about this chapter before writing it, and it just felt like it fit more into the narrative. Will it raise questions later? Probably.  Am I prepared to answer those questions?  I’m pretty sure.

Thank you, @satan-parisienne for being such a lovely person to bounce ideas off of, and for being an amazing sister (real and fictional).

The following week was a fog of exhaustion and mind-numbing soreness.  Tyche insisted on sparring each night, either with fencing or some other form of combat, while adamantly refusing to speak other than instructions and taunts regarding my form.  Any stretching to relieve my over-worked body had to be done in the gym, at home, or in my office, as those were the only three places I was allowed for the time being.  I didn’t even have the relief of walking to stretch my legs, since any time I spent in transit was seated on a transport with two escorts, one on either side.

Conor and Maverick were as patient with me as could be expected, but I could readily admit that I was in a sullen mood and would have done anything for some privacy.  Eventually, they both told Tyche to come keep an eye on me herself, they both needed some space.  Since she had been working me to the bone, not to mention was responsible for my ongoing rotation of guards, she was honestly the last person I wanted to see at the moment.  The second she walked in the door, the feeling was clearly mutual - she wouldn’t even look at me, just stood staring at one of my plants, arms crossed.

“You couldn’t even bring Mac with you?” I glared.

“I haven’t seen him in two weeks,” she snarled back. “Pretty sure you scared him off with your crappy attitude.”

“Maybe it’s because I haven’t had five minutes to myself in the past fucking week,” I muttered, turning away from her. Stomping into the kitchen, I got two cups of coffee, set one on the end of the table closest to her with a thunk - being angry didn’t mean I was going to be rude - before flopping down in her favorite armchair.

The next hour was the most tense round of sipping my walls had ever seen. She surrendered first, standing to pace. “Where the hell are they? They didn’t say how long they would be gone.”

Before I could respond, a chirp came from the ceiling. “Human Conor and Human Maverick are at the Undine, playing a Terran game with needles and a target.  They advised me when they left that they would return when both of you have categorized your defecation, although I am not entirely sure what that means.”

Against my will, a snort of laughter almost sprayed my coffee onto the deck. Tyche’s eyes tracked as she parsed what was just said, and I recognized her scowl as the one she used to keep from laughing. “I know for a fact that you have a better grasp of human euphemisms than that. You knew what they meant.”

“Simon has informed me that it is a standard Terran practice to diffuse tense situations with humor. Did I do it wrong?”

“We aren’t tense,” she argued.

“Tyche. There is currently less strain detected in the hull plating than there is in that room. Please re-evaluate your statement.”

She gaped like a fish at the remark, while I dissolved into breathless laughter. “Oh my gods, who taught you to say things like that?”

“Several humans on the Ark display a propensity for conversational rejoinders using wit. I find it very unique and pleasing.”

“I don’t care how witty you think you’re being, we don’t need to sort our shit out,” Tyche asserted airily.

It was my turn to gape. “You have me under house arrest! Don’t you think that needs to be addressed!?”

I was less than intimidated by the finger she pointed at me with, despite her gesturing like it was loaded. “First of all, it’s a protective detail, not house arrest. You’re free to go wherever you want, in a transport, with escorts.”

“How is that any - “

“Second of all,” she raised her voice to interrupt me. “Do you really think I have the authority to make that decision?  Yeah, you’re my sister, and I love you, but you are also my boss, dork. Not the other way around.”

Every processor that I joked existed in my head stopped with a grinding screech. How fucking stupid am I? “You mean to tell me I could have just walked off at any point?”

“Pfffft. No.” Annnnnnd now she was looking at me like I was an idiot.  “I mean, you can try. But the door won’t open.”

If I wasn’t already sitting down, I’d have fallen on my ass. It hurt itself in its confusion! Something supplied from the back of my head.  “So. I’m not on house arrest, but I also can’t walk out that door by myself. You don’t have the authority to assign a protective detail to me, but you did assign a rotation of escorts… Ohhhhhhh.”  Apparently ‘turning it off and back on again’ worked for mental processors, too.  “I am under house arrest, or protective custody, or whatever, but it wasn’t your call.”

“Finally!” she threw her hands in the air and flopped elegantly across my couch.

“Which means it was someone on the Council. So Xiomara did this.”

An exhausted thumbs-up popped comically from the pile of scarves and sweaters formerly known as my sister.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” I demanded angrily, chucking a pillow where I thought her head was.

A muffled voice came from under the pillow. “I did manage to make sure you actually like and trust your escorts.”

“What do you mean my escorts? Who else’s… The entire Council?”

The thumb popped back up.

“And you couldn’t tell me.”

Second thumb.

“Why not?”

One hand dropped and the other flashed me a middle finger.

“Okay, can’t answer that either.” I thought for a minute. “Can’t as in, not supposed to, or can’t, as in you don’t know?”

Index finger. First one.

“Is there a penalty if you do tell me?”

Thumbs down.

“So, really, there’s not anything stopping you from telling me except you keeping your word,” I pointed out.

Thumbs down.

Wait, what?

“There is something other than your word keeping you from telling me, but it’s not a penalty.”

Thumbs up.

“You literally can’t tell me, can you?”

Thumb still up. That explained the twenty-questions game, and her terseness lately.

“Are you physically incapable of making the words go, or is something preventing the words from getting there once they go?”

Two fingers. Second option.

“What is Xiomara thinking!?” I blurted angrily.  “This is over the line. She may have the authority to put the Council under watch for our safety, since Safety is her jurisdiction, but dinking around in your head!?  She can’t do that!”

I glanced back at Tyche, her hand in a thumbs down. “Something I said was wrong.” Thumb up. “She doesn’t have the authority to go poking around in your head.”

Thumb stayed up.

“Who does?”

She flapped her hand. Apparently can’t tell me that either.

“Did they have your permission to do this?”

Tyche made a ‘sort of’ waver with her hand before giving a thumbs-up.  At this point I wanted to scream in frustration. 

Keeping my eyes on her hand, I started talking, playing a sort of hot and cold. “The only person who has the authority to poke around in your head is you…” Thumb up. “Unless you’re unconscious.” Thumb down. “So you were awake and aware, and gave permission…..” Sort of, yeah, again. “But someone suggested it…” Thumb up. “Was it Xiomara?” Thumb down. “Antoine?” Thumb down. “Was anyone else in the room?” Thumb down, to my relief.

Wait. Thumb down?

“This was your idea!?” I shrieked, resisting the urge to tackle her when she gave a thumbs up.  “And you thought I was being an idiot!? Tyche, how could you do that!?”

She sat up, gasping for air. “I knew I would tell you at some point.  I let it slip a dozen times, and you were so distracted you didn’t notice. So, since Antoine and Derek were clever enough to set up the proximity alerts for those of us who are triggered by random strangers touching us, I asked if whop could set it up so you couldn’t hear me, even if I did slip.”

Hang on. “Say that last part again, slower.”

 “I asked if wherb could set it up so you couldn’t hear me, even if I did slip.”

“Oh my gods,” I whispered. “That’s why you haven’t been talking.  It’s garbled when you say something I shouldn’t hear, isn’t it?”

She nodded and started talking. It sounded like someone speaking backwards, through a voice distorter, while underwater. “Tyche, it sounds like I’m having another stroke.”

She nodded, and made a ‘keep going’ gesture. 

“It’s supposed to, isn’t it? Because even though the brain damage was fixed and I can hear fine now, I had hearing issues for so long that you knew I would brush it off and not think anything of it.”

She nodded again, lips pressed in a firm line. “Because I would notice not hearing you at all, or any noise replacing it, or anything like that. But I literally never noticed that my hearing was garbled again until I was looking for it. Which I wouldn’t, because I should be able to hear fine.”

“Yep,” she confirmed with a firm, final nod.

“Sneaky bitch,” I muttered.  It was clever, I had to give her that.  I thought back over the past week and all our interactions, trying to determine if any specific topics triggered the parts I couldn’t understand. I started at the day she punched me, and something stood out in screaming neon with alarm bells attached.  “We.  When you were chewing me out in the gym that day, you kept saying ‘we’. We were counting on Bjornson thinking I’m helpless. We thought we had the advantage.” I paused as one sentence stood out, even clearer and louder than the rest. “This time, he’s got more people than Arantxa did, but we thought we had the advantage…. Because we knew who they were, we knew what they thought…”  I focused on her, and felt nothing but fear and confusion as I whispered. “Tyche, how do you know who they are and what they think? How deep into this did Xio drag you?”

 She stared at me, wide-eyed and helpless as garbled words fell from her lips.

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[rikacain]

hitsuzen

many thanks to homefield and magnus.

written for the kakairu mini bang 2020 @kakairu-mini-bang​. just in time!

summary: 

All of Konoha’s citizens knew of her prophecy, one that predicted her future with alarming consistency. It had led her people well, through times of prosperity and the darkest of days, and would remain a guiding light for the murky future. It was an honour to be named within the most important record of Konoha's past, present and future, as one of the people significant to her survival.

Even if it named him only for his death.

----

Or, Iruka returns to Kakashi for a much-needed respite.

read it on: ao3

----

When Iruka stepped through the portal, Kakashi was waiting for him.

Inter-dimensional travel was far from easy. The boundaries between dimensions required a tremendous amount of energy to breach them, a natural resistance that kept dimensions from consuming and colliding into each other. Even with the most intricately painted of arrays that converted and channeled energy with minimum loss, to walk between worlds inevitably required the caster’s own energy.

For all of Iruka’s skills, his energy stores had always been far smaller than Kakashi’s.

The portal closed, burning itself out of existence. The exhaustion hit the moment right after, draining him of all his strength and leaving only an ache that settled itself deep in his bones; he listed to the side, automatic.

Instead of the ground, he fell into Kakashi’s chest: warm and steady, supportive. Kakashi had moved to catch him, having expected this very outcome; his kimono barely rustled from the motion. Today it was the swirl of painted koi fish against a shimmery azure fabric and the chartreuse flair of embroidered fronds, and the collar boasted an intricate pattern of smaller fish - guppies, perhaps.

Iruka let his eyes trace their flickering fins as they swam along and under the right collar where the pattern began.

“I’m home,” he told the fold of Kakashi’s kimono.

“Welcome home,” Kakashi murmured. All at once the exhaustion that dragged at Iruka's body turned into something less, something sweeter - the ache of setting down his bags at the end of a weary but fruitful day. And, not for the first time, Iruka recalled that words could hold as much power as the crispest of incantations and the smallest of sigils.

He tipped his head backwards, his tired gaze meeting Kakashi’s own. A smile spread across Kakashi’s face and tugged at that beauty spot - if Iruka wasn’t so comfortable in Kakashi’s arms, he would press a kiss to it.

“At least I didn’t faint this time,” he said instead as a yawn built at the back of his throat. “I think I’m building up some resilience.”

“I’ll believe it when you can stand on your own,” Kakashi hummed. He led them over to the engawa, settling Iruka next to a wooden pillar that Iruka might lean against. Iruka utilised it for all of three seconds until Kakashi sat down on his other side. It took the barest of efforts to shift his weight, to lean into the comforting presence of Kakashi.

“Believe it,” Iruka declared, even as his head tilted to rest on Kakashi’s shoulder, as he let it stay. As his heart warmed at the answering chuckle, low and fond.

They sat in silence, staring out into the expanse of the courtyard. The moon hung round and heavy in the sky, illuminating the zen garden that took up a good quarter of the space. Kakashi had rearranged it again with concentric circles rippling out from the centrepiece of the largest rock; in his signature whimsical touch, he had placed Mr. Ukki on the peak of said rock. A splash of green among white and black and grey.

Iruka turned away from the garden. “Any customers lately?”

“Some.” An answer more surprising than none, but not unexpected. The shop was accessible only through a highly restricted set of parameters - Iruka had painted it that way. “I had a boy in here the other day.”

“What did he wish for, then?” A saying came to mind, to keep your wish to yourself lest it did not come true. But there was also a saying - from another country, dimension, or maybe even time - that to say it aloud was to actualise it, to enter it into the realm of possibility. “More wishes?”

Kakashi sighed, a deeply mournful sound. “Every time you say that,” he complained, but there was a gentle pressure just atop of Iruka’s head: Kakashi's head, coming to rest lightly on Iruka’s own. “He felt constricted and wished to cut the ties that bound him.”

Bindings were often more than physical. “Which ones?”

“Debts and duties.” Iruka thought as much. “His teachers expect him to listen. His parents want him to become a doctor. His partner, a commitment, and his peers, to conform.”

“And his creditors want money,” Iruka guessed.

“And his creditors want money,” Kakashi confirmed. “I couldn’t help him with that, but I gave him the shears.”

“Oh, those?” Iruka had received them a while back, in a dimension where the red string of fate was visible and tangible. Where you could cut that string with the very shears, if you so desired. “I don’t suppose that went well at all.”

“I told him to be careful which ties he cuts.” Kakashi’s hand settled warm and comfortable over Iruka's hip; the heat of it comforting even through the fabric of his robes. “But you know children, and you know how closely they listen to warnings.”

Kakashi continued to talk about the boy, the strings he cut and some he regretted. How he had eventually returned the shears, and the price he paid to knot together the strings he had severed. Exhaustion pulled heavy and insistent at Iruka's eyelids, as Kakashi’s words subsided into a distant murmur, as the soothing motion of a hand carding into his hair lulled him closer to slumber.

It was all Iruka could do to remain awake, let alone listen to Kakashi’s story.

A chuckle, and the press of warm lips near his temple. “Rest, Iruka,” a voice said, unbearably fond.

Iruka rested.

-----

Something hard was sticking into his head.

Iruka pushed at it if only to sleep on something softer, like the pillow beneath it. It refused, and he grumbled at it, shoving at it again. When that yielded as much success as the first attempt, he elected to crack an eye open - only to be met by a stack of books balanced precariously on the edge of the bed.

“The Summer Prince,” one title read.

“An Inconvenient Flame,” another title declared.

He rolled over, all the better show that book its proper place, specifically somewhere more conducive to his slumber. Inevitably, he came face to face with more stacks with equally florid titles - all romance or more likely, erotica. The offending book - “Temptation of the Knight” accompanied by the depiction of a woman in shining armour pressed up against a wall by an apparently amorous and skimpily dressed princess - he grabbed and slapped it on top of a random stack where it had probably fallen down from.

The library was full again. Iruka would have to expand it.

The sticky cobwebs of grogginess still clung to his thoughts and eyelids, but he easily shook them away. A slow exhale, just the once, before he got up and extricated himself gingerly from the bookshelf pretending to be a bed.

Kakashi had taken the liberty to change him into something familiar and comfortable to sleep in. A liberty that Iruka gave freely, gratefully - and anxiously, as his hand reached down to cover the ugly scar etched into his side. The best kind of healing was one that did not care for aesthetics - it was from that kind of healing Iruka had to benefit.

Kakashi could not have overlooked it, as large as it was.

“You’re up.” His hand jerked away from the scar, as though magnetically repelled. Iruka looked up to see Kakashi standing against the doorway, clad in his sleeping yukata - a soft and worn thing that Iruka had brought back from their apartment long ago. It matched Iruka’s own. “Feeling better?”

“Much.” Iruka swept a doleful eye over the stacks of books all over the bedroom floor. “Making the bedroom into a library again?”

“All the better to get inspired with.” Kakashi leered openly and unashamedly. “I think you’d appreciate page 157 of ‘Wanted for Pleasure’.”

For all of Iruka's familiarity with sex, sex with Kakashi to be precise, it was too early in the morning for him to retain composure of any sort. The flush crept over his face and Kakashi, the terrible person that he was, saw that flush; his grin widened.

“I’m not appreciating anything until this room is cleaned up.” Iruka said as steadily as he could. “I don’t fancy getting hit in the face by a book while you’re getting inspired.”

Besides, expanding the library meant he could check on the wards. He gingerly picked his way across the floor, mindful of the mini-avalanches of literature he could set off. It was when he finally reached the door that he met his true obstacle: a hand curling smoothly around his waist and pulling him in until he was pressed up against Kakashi’s front, that smug grin all the more noticeable now that he was up close.

The hand slid downwards to squeeze at Iruka's ass. Twice.

“I’m already inspired,” Kakashi purred as his other hand joined its brother on Iruka’s other cheek. That hand squeezed, too, settling into a kneading that only pushed Iruka closer to Kakashi, to let him feel better the lean muscle of Kakashi's body against his own. “We don’t have to clean the entire room. Just the bed.”

“But the wards -”

“Can wait,” came the reply, right before Kakashi kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, gentle even, one that made Iruka chase Kakashi’s mouth for a second, and a third. Kakashi drew back and insisted, “They’re fine, Iruka.”

He relinquished his grip to hold Iruka close, closer, instead. To brush a strand of hair out of Iruka’s face, and twist a gentle finger around a lock of Iruka’s hair.

“It’d be a quick check,” Iruka tried to reason, before he noticed where Kakashi’s gaze had gone. Iruka looked, and - oh.

“A grey hair,” Kakashi said softly.

And so there was, mixed in with the dark brown strands.

Iruka knew the thoughts running through Kakashi’s mind just then. But the gentle morning light made him want things - things he did not have to sacrifice for, or feel guilty over. It made him want to pretend.

So he said with a smile he did not wholly feel - “All the better to match you with.”

Kakashi’s thumb rose to stroke that one grey strand, pale enough that it could have been his own, and Iruka waited as still as the mainspring of a watch, in that precise moment it could wind no further. It was only when Kakashi lifted that lock to his mouth and kissed it that a furtive relief unwound within Iruka - further still when he leant in to kiss Iruka again. When he held Iruka tighter.

“If we take off our yukata, we’ll match even better,” he said, dipping his head lower to mouth at Iruka’s neck. “Don’t you think?”

“I could be persuaded,” Iruka said and shivered as Kakashi nipped at the soft skin of his collarbone. But there was no persuasion needed, not really. A spell to lift all those books and put them into a tall stack - or several - in the corner hardly required little more than a wave of the hand. “Keep on doing that and maybe I will be.”

And when Kakashi finally pressed him down onto the book-free bed, their yukatas discarded carelessly across the toppled pile of books on the bedroom floor, Iruka found himself quite persuaded indeed.

-----

"I brought you these."

A squat brown pot, for feeding unwanted whispers and unreturnable secrets. A paper net, like the ones in the goldfish-scooping stalls, for catching something but surely and catching something but once. A book, the latest instalment in the Icha Icha series.

That last item was less a product and more an indulgence, but Iruka set it down on the table alongside the rest. Not everything had to be business, he thought.

Kakashi apparently agreed. "Icha Icha Blizzard," he said appreciatively as his finger traced the blocky script of its title. "I thought you didn't approve."

"I don't approve of you reading it in front of children," Iruka corrected and said nothing of his approval or lack thereof of the book itself. It was cowardly, but Iruka entertained the hope that it would appease Kakashi a day longer.

Apparently too much to hope for, as Kakashi set it back down onto the table if gently.

“So where did you go,” he asked.

“A dimension with ships that could fly in the sky.” The rush of the wind and the valley of clouds had been exhilarating, and Iruka could recall Naruto’s whoops as they soared over sprawling peninsulas and continents made miniature from their vantage point in the emerald sky. “Steam-powered, they claim. I would have taken a closer look at the engines, but…”

"There's never enough time," Kakashi finished the sentence, nodding. He would know. "Why?"

“There was a report of an unauthorised breach.” Kakashi kept staring at Iruka, expectant - the gaze of someone who was once meant to lead them all. “Tsunade suspected Akatsuki.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.” Iruka watched the line of Kakashi's shoulder draw taut. Inevitable. “We got into a skirmish.”

“How many of them?”

“Only one.” Iruka's hand twitched, perhaps towards the pot, momentarily weak and wanting. He kept both his hand and the pot where they were. “They don’t really consider me a threat.”

Not as much as you.

The unhappy tilt of Kakashi's mouth told Iruka he had heard the words left unsaid.

“Enough of one to run you through.” His eyes flicked to the newest scar hidden beneath Iruka's yukata. “Who was it?”

Iruka exhaled. He felt tired, far more tired than walking between worlds could ever make him. At the corner of the table, an hourglass stood - within it, the fine grain of sand suspended in a perpetual fall. A good conversation partner as any, more so when Iruka did not want this conversation.

“Does it matter,” he asked the hourglass instead. “Does it really matter?”

“As much as checking the wards does to you.”

His head shot up. Kakashi stared at him coolly, impassively. Iruka could only bristle.

“You know why I check them,” he said, a furious hurt sitting low in his chest. “You know -”

"And you know why I ask," Kakashi cut across him, merciless.

Iruka did. He did know why. Their reasons, they were the same.

Across the pot, the net and the book, that line dividing them - they stared at each other in a tense silence, neither willing to yield. Until Iruka finally bit out, "the masked one. Tobi."

Better Tobi than Itachi. Kakashi relaxed, if only the slightest bit - but he also said, "he's been appearing a lot lately."

"He has." Previous reports of Tobi described him as fickle and irresponsible, the weakest of the Akatsuki. From their various encounters and the sheer effort he put into his attempts to char Iruka into dust and ashes, Iruka begged to differ. "Maybe there's a promotion on the line."

Kakashi’s face darkened, and Iruka regretted his words - but not enough to apologise. Not when Kakashi brought up the wards.

"What do you want me to do, Kakashi?" Iruka asked before Kakashi could ask for every detail of that fight, that mission, and every mission after. He loved Kakashi, he really did, but he could not bear him picking at every decision Iruka made and comparing it to his own. They both knew Iruka never received the training that Kakashi did, that he never expected to. "What can I do now?"

“I don't know.” Kakashi's hands curled into themselves, into fists. Once they were renowned as the quickest hands to draw a wand, to spin a staff, to fight and to win - now they were as good as useless, here in this house that Iruka built. “I want you safe. I want you to stay.”

“I also want to stay.” Iruka said. He wanted to leave more, both of them together, but that was not an option. Not after what Iruka did. “But we can’t, and you know that.”

“Do I really?” Kakashi said, something dangerous and bitter curling in his tone. “We never tried, have we?”

“The prophecy -”

“Fuck the prophecy,” Kakashi said venomously.

“Like how you did, and now here we are?” Iruka snapped. This, he did regret saying, sucking in a sharp breath when Kakashi flinched. “I'm sorry. I -”

“I'm not,” Kakashi said sharply. He reached across the table for Iruka's hand, and for all of Kakashi’s impossible demands Iruka could not stop himself from reaching back, from grasping Kakashi’s hand tightly in his own. “I'm not sorry for what I did. Not if it means that you're still here.”

“I know,” Iruka answered. He could not ask Kakashi to feel guilty over his choice, not when Iruka had made his own. Their choices together, leading to where they were today. “But with all the acts I've done in your name, it's too late to turn back now.”

The strings of fate must be followed; all rivers led to the sea. The prophecy must be fulfilled.

Even if it had to be Iruka who carried it out.

They didn't have to bear it together. Kakashi would not say it, but it was Iruka's selfishness that kept him here. That same selfishness that kept Iruka's mouth closed, that kept him from offering what Kakashi could have.

If Kakashi ever asked, Iruka didn’t know if he’d be strong enough to let him go.

"I suppose it is," Kakashi finally said. He looked no happier for this admission - only bitterly resigned. But his hand remained in Iruka’s, substantial and warm, and for that Iruka was infinitely grateful. "I just want… I wish..."

“I know,” Iruka said heavily, even though they both knew that wish could never come true. “I know.”

-----

On his twentieth name day, Iruka was told of his impending death.

All of Konoha’s citizens knew of her prophecy, one that predicted her future with alarming consistency. It had led her people well, through times of prosperity and the darkest of days, and would remain a guiding light for the murky future. It was an honour to be named within the most important record of Konoha's past, present and future, as one of the people significant to her survival.

Even if it named him only for his death.

Prophecies were not fought against. Not when it guaranteed the survival of the dimension and certainly not when deviating from it meant another sacrifice, a greater one. But it was human, desperately so, to think of leaving for another dimension so obscure and unknown that no one could find him -

And human still, to stay. The stories of those who fought fate never ended well - and to never see the village he loved and the people within it again, to let them down so terribly and expose them to a crueler toss of the dice - that was a death unto itself.

So Iruka accepted his lot in life and lived on. He continued teaching, because his lessons would stay beyond his passing; he continued developing his sigils and arrays, because there would be a later scholar to further his work. And he continued to dote heavily on Naruto, because one day he would be unable to, and because he no longer knew how to do otherwise.

He had chosen to withhold the prophecy from Naruto, knowing that the boy would be young enough to not heed certain warnings, and impetuous enough to put it into his head that he could do something as grand as changing Iruka’s fate. Instead, Iruka penned a will bequeathing him the meagre possessions and rights under Iruka’s name, and a letter. Carefully updated with every milestone Naruto met and shot through, the letter contained a tangible proof of Iruka’s pride, and Iruka’s hopes for his future both written within and beyond the prophecy.

He hoped that when the time came, he would be able to say goodbye.

It was around then that he also met Kakashi: another figure in the prophecy, far more significant to Konoha’s story that the footnote Iruka’s death was. Important, larger than life, amazing - the Copy Magician, master of a thousand spells, a protector of Konoha and one of her saviours in the upcoming war. It had been a shock that Naruto would be apprenticed alongside two others under such a figure, and a surprise that Naruto’s instructor would meet his student’s parents - that Iruka qualified as such.

The Kakashi Iruka met was not the man lauded in the prophecy but someone much closer and within reach. He carried the weight of the prophecy with less assurance of his victory, and more direction towards success. The prophecy was not the be-all-end-all of their lives, a lesson he was intent on imparting to his students among others - it was not meant to be.

“Resting too much on the strings of fate may snap those strings one day,” he told Iruka once. It made Iruka certain that under all his flaws Kakashi was that figure that the prophecy spoke of.

It was only with a tinge of regret that Iruka would never witness him saving the village Iruka was fated to give his life for.

Yet Kakashi was also more - more than any description a prophecy could encompass. There were things it did not deem significant, like the crinkle at the corner of Kakashi’s eyes that was his smile, or the way his spine straightened just the slightest degree when meeting his friends - or the warmth that bubbled within Iruka’s chest when he realised Kakashi considered him one. And maybe there was the slightest bit of greed in Iruka too, to be the only one who knew the warmth of Kakashi’s hand in his own; the sweet vulnerability of his hesitation, in that moment before he pulled his mask down - before he leant in to press a kiss to the arch of Iruka's cheek and confessed.

It was the least cruel thing that Iruka could have done then, to tell him of his role in the prophecy.

In the wake of Iruka’s halting explanation, that vulnerability withdrew into something that curled tightly into itself, protecting itself from a pain it could not defend against. “That is an awful way to reject someone,” Kakashi said quietly.

Iruka shook his head.

“It would be easier,” he confessed, “if I could reject you.” That part of himself that still yearned for a chance to grow old, a life beyond his fate, knew that he could not. Surely this weakness was forgivable. “But you deserve an explanation that is better than a lie. I can at least give you that.”

It would have been easier too if Kakashi had steered clear of him after. Iruka was a herald of inevitable heartache, the worst kind of pain - it was only normal to avoid it, he thought.

But within days Kakashi returned, accosting him at - of all places - a supermarket, in front of the radishes and turnips display. There was a strange and determined gleam in his eye, one that made Iruka put down the blessed daikon he was holding instead of instinctively tossing it at Kakashi's head for the suddenness of it all.

“We all die one day,” Kakashi said in a rush and clasped Iruka’s hands in his own, before Iruka could even greet him with his politely rehearsed let’s-pretend-nothing-happened greetings. “I know everyone thinks I’m that magician in the prophecy - hell, I probably am - but it doesn’t feel that way to me. Every time I step into another dimension, every time I fight someone, any misstep I make means I could die.”

Kakashi dying before he could do all the things Konoha expected of him - the very idea seemed impossible; preposterous. But Iruka did not remove his hands from Kakashi’s grasp. He did not want to, when he had resigned himself to a muted regret when the chance - improbable and inadvisable and infinitely tantalising - remained.

And in that supermarket aisle, surrounded by radishes and vegetables of all kinds with the fluorescent light illuminating his face, his eyes, and all of his quiet sincerity - Kakashi declared, "I'd rather spend your remaining days with you than have no days with you at all."

When he put it that way, well. Iruka could hardly find it in himself to refuse.

-----

They had years, more than Iruka ever expected.

Every birthday filled Iruka with an intense gratitude that that year had not been the last; every anniversary he celebrated with a reckless and possessive joy. Sometimes he dared to hope that he might just live to see Naruto reach his age of majority when he would be told of his part in the prophecy, and imagined Naruto declaring that prophecy or no, he would carve out his own fate.

(And silently, selfishly - that maybe in that fate Iruka would still be there to see him do just that.)

Every year Kakashi remained, a constant presence in Iruka’s life. There was something invigorating about an achievement shared, a reciprocal celebration, a constant that could not be controlled - that someone would feel as happy for and with him, and every other emotion besides. In his more fanciful moments he imagined it was for this reason that birds sang, for the possibility that someone might just sing back.

That did not mean their relationship was without hiccups, naturally. Just because Iruka had a fixed date of expiration did not mean he could (or did) use it as an excuse to win every fight that they had, though at some times he did feel rather tempted to. The one time he did use it was to tell Kakashi in no uncertain terms that he would not spend the last of his days dwelling on his fate and jumping at shadows - that it was no way to spend a life at all.

Besides, it was immensely satisfying to show the master of a thousand spells one that he would be unlikely to ever master: Iruka’s latest array, so intricately designed it could freeze the passage of space-time.

“An entire month,” Kakashi said, appropriately impressed as Iruka proudly showed him the spider-lily, vivid red and petals unfurled in a perfect curve, the striking centrepiece of the array.

“There’s still more tweaking to do, of course,” Iruka interjected before he rambled on its limitations - that it could only anchor to a single object within the array, and the immobility of the array itself once affixed to the chronospatial coordinates - and future paths to development. Kakashi took in this information with the bemused expression of someone who knew the basics of the field but was still overwhelmingly aware of their lack of knowledge beyond. “But this is a huge step, and…”

I’d never thought I’d live long enough to get this far.

“I’m proud of you.” Kakashi said in that interval Iruka took to breathe and dropped a kiss onto Iruka’s head. For the briefest of moments, Iruka could focus on the press of warm lips against his skin, and forget how there were no events left in the prophecy between the present and his death. That it might come any day now. “I really am.”

“If you weren’t,” Iruka said, a beat slower than his usual repartee. “I’d have bound you to the couch for a month.”

Kakashi affected a gasp. “For an entire month?”

“Of course,” Iruka said in mock seriousness. “Results need to be replicable for propriety.”

With an air of great resignation, Kakashi shook his head gravely. “The lengths we’d go to for science,” he sighed theatrically.

Iruka could have extrapolated further on other array-based punishments - would have, on any other day. But all at once his darker thoughts surfaced: that the prophecy had not found his achievement sufficiently significant to record, only his death. And Kakashi, who was far more perceptive than he made himself out to be - and more so for all the people gathering about him wanting to know the legend and less the man - noticed.

“Iruka,” he prompted gently.

“Do you think they’ll remember me?” The question burst forth from him, unbidden. “I know it’s self-centred, but I want to be remembered for this, instead of being just… for my death.”

Though they went into this relationship with open eyes, Kakashi did not like to talk of Iruka’s impending death - and despite his general playful detachment, much less appreciate the gallows’ humour Iruka took to the matter. Iruka didn’t begrudge him that, not when he knew well the pain of being left behind.

But in the little time they had, whatever was left of it, maybe Kakashi saw fit to indulge him this once.

“They will,” he promised, a surprising ferocity in his voice that compelled Iruka to keep on looking at him. To listen and to accept what he had to say. “They won’t celebrate your sacrifice - they’ll mourn that it was necessary. Your knowledge, your skills, your presence - they’ll miss you.”

And, quietly, more devastatingly: “I’ll miss you.”

The urge to pull Kakashi into a hug, to cling to him as though death could not wrench away his grip, flooded through Iruka. He gave into it, stepping into Kakashi’s space and breathing in the scent of him, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw.

“I’ll miss you too,” he whispered just the slightest bit wetly into the crook of Kakashi’s neck, and did not see the steely determination that suddenly shone in Kakashi’s eye.

-----

This was what was supposed to happen:

The alarms sound. Iruka joins the forces in defence of Konoha. He dies, the tide of the battle turned, her invaders expelled. He is mourned, and Konoha lives on.

This was what happened:

The alarms sounded. Iruka got up from his couch, to join the forces in defence of Konoha. He turned to Kakashi for one last moment, grateful he would have a last goodbye.

Then, darkness.

When he woke up, he found himself in an array of his own design, one that offered a nigh impenetrable defence against almost everything. It had been a romantic gesture in his thoughts, to give Kakashi something that would help and protect him on his missions. That would be of use after Iruka was gone.

But Kakashi, the great idiot, had used it to trap Iruka instead. And Kakashi was missing, was gone, and Iruka was panicking as he dismantled his own creation. As he stepped out of the rubble of his apartment to an ongoing invasion and the unmistakable sounds of dimensional walls tearing apart as something forced its way through.

Did the prophecy account for this? Was it too late to set it to rights? He entered the fray, fighting and assisting and searching, frantically searching for Kakashi who fate would likely take its recompense from. Eventually, he found him - Kakashi fighting and defending and losing, against a foe that controlled blackened rods of magic-nullifying steel, driven into the ground and through bodies.

It was salvageable, Iruka thought wildly. This was where he was surely supposed to die, sacrificing himself for a loved one. It was a death he could be proud of.

He rushed forward -

(Fate was a finicky thing, obvious only in hindsight. Maybe it took its due when Kakashi pressed a goodbye kiss to Iruka’s forehead as he lay unconscious in the gifted array. Or when Iruka focused not on his loyalties and on Kakashi, a singular mindless goal instead of the selfless one he would be known for. Or when he decided that it was his death and not his sacrifice that was the prophecy’s call.

They would never know.)

- but not in time to prevent a rod pushing itself clean through Kakashi’s chest.

What happened after, Iruka would never fully recall. There had been another spell, a desperate attempt by Kakashi to protect Iruka from his foe: they were both teleported into the woods, where the sounds of Konoha under attack rang in the far distance. There had been Kakashi laying on the ground, dying, blood bubbling up through his lips and down his chin.

The cold and hard ground under his knees, the cold and clammy hand that rose to cup his cheek. The constant whine at the back of his head, drowning out Kakashi’s dying words.

There had been Kakashi’s last breath.

Then it was gone.

-----

There was a brush in Iruka’s pockets.

(Kakashi was dead.)

This was wrong. It was all wrong. Iruka should be lying there. Iruka should be dead. The wave of cold realisation washed over him: he was supposed to face that man with the nullifying rods, to tire him out for someone else to take down. This was supposed to be Iruka’s sacrifice.

Why did Kakashi put him in the array?

(Laughter. A kiss pressed against his forehead. I’d have bound you to the couch.)

The spider-lily. Stopping time. He had thought it a way to halt someone’s time, to allow them to seek the medical attention they needed before death could take them away. He thought...

(I’d rather spend your remaining days with you.)

The physical body alone was no good. What he needed was the soul. What he needed was Kakashi’s soul, if it was still here. Souls could be an anchor, couldn’t they?

(Your knowledge, your skills, your presence - they’ll miss you.)

A sigil to represent the soul. A sigil to represent Kakashi’s soul, specifically. He needed to draw it onto the body - the one anchor, piercing through the body and into the fabric of spacetime itself. Like pinning a thread into its place. He needed…

(I’ll miss you.)

He needed Kakashi to be alive.

-----

There was a brush in Iruka’s hands.

-----

It was raining.

Iruka looked out at the sky. A truly dreary day, with grey clouds blotting the sun entirely out of the sky, and the constant drum of the rain against the curved walls of the array. They formed rivulets of water, flowing down the transparent walls and seeping into the muddy ground below. The boundaries revealed: the furthest that Kakashi could go.

After the entire ordeal of binding Kakashi’s soul to his body, Iruka himself verged on the brink of exhaustion. It took several days of rest for him to return to the capital (surprisingly intact for having undergone an attack) and several hours to dissuade everyone aware of the prophecy from executing him then and there in a belated attempt to fulfil it. Specifically, it took telling them of Kakashi’s ‘death’.

In the grand scheme of things, the Copy Magician's death was probably more important than Iruka’s (absent) own.

The entire council was sent into an uproar. They sent for sigil experts from across the dimension in varying attempts to unbind Kakashi from the array; medi-mages next to effectively reverse death. When it became evident that there was no way for Kakashi to fulfil the prophecy from within the array, the desperate question became how to appease fate before she came collecting her dues.

The original oracle, Uzumaki Mito, had long passed. The Uzumaki line too had perished, save for Naruto who had no chance to learn the soothsayer ways of his bloodline. But there were other seers and oracles that Konoha could consult, and one such oracle was seated on the council of Konoha.

Utatane Koharu was a dour-faced woman, her white hair tied back into a stern bun. No one on the council was pleased with this turn of events, but it could be said that out of the entire congregation she was the most displeased, having advised more control and oversight over the subjects of the prophecy than Hiruzen and Tsunade was willing to accede to. But it was her voice alone they were listening to when she claimed that Kakashi occupied the unique space of being neither dead nor alive, and of having fulfilled the prophecy and being unable to.

The prophecy had foretold Iruka’s death. To subvert that, Kakashi had paid with his own, and in doing so he assumed Iruka’s duty to die for Konoha. But Kakashi was also alive, and still capable of performing his duty - to have someone, acting as his agent, to fulfil them in his name.

And as the beneficiary of Kakashi’s actions, it was only right for Iruka to fill that role.

“Koharu,” a fellow council member objected. “Hatake was an accomplished battle-mage. This man… how could he possibly fulfil the prophecy?”

“Hatake chose him,” she said coldly, her piercing glare landing squarely on Iruka. From that single glance Iruka suddenly knew that to her, Iruka was of more worth dead than alive. “For better or for worse, that was their choice. Umino would have to pay his debt or die trying.”

And the council so decided.

As master of the array, Iruka’s first task was to seal Kakashi and the space he occupied into a liminal space - that space, infinite and inconsistent, between dimensions. The safest place to keep things hidden in the impossibility of mapping an infinite plane. It was important to preserve Kakashi, at least until someone could figure out how to remove him from the array - to cheat not only the laws of magic but also death.

But the safest place was also the loneliest. The thought of Kakashi locked away, forever, with no one to talk to…

And that was how the shop was born, and the endless rumours of how to find it. Under the constantly flickering street lamp of the streets at midnight; in the shimmer of the air of the blistering summer days; cramped at the far end of an ignored alleyway. Some of them were true, most of them were not - but the mystery of the shop that grants wishes were far more compelling than its occupant.

Besides, Iruka reasoned, the council did not have the time to check on every urban legend and rumour, especially with the reconstruction and restoration of Konoha to undertake.

But even as he began the slow process of slicing and pinning the fine fabric of the dimensional walls apart - just the right amount to avoid cutting into the dimensions adjacent - Iruka couldn’t stop thinking about the protective wards that would best buttress the boundaries of the array, the characters that would repel every council member and the people they would send after them. An extra stroke, a sprawling script - things that would buy him more time to spend with Kakashi, finite though it was.

He could not stop himself from thinking, wondering, imagining - but he could stop himself from doing. Iruka loved people in Konoha, and was greedy enough to think about keeping both.

So mere days later, he set off on his second task and stepped through into a different dimension: to perform acts in Kakashi’s name.

The acts of prophecy were never straightforward, else they would not be told of. And for all the support Iruka was provided, Iruka was not Kakashi - he could never be. Utatane’s words were but a guideline, and not a certainty - and so there was always the constant awareness that failure was possible and usually imminent. That death followed closely in its footsteps, hovering and ready to claim.

And with every success, Iruka only stitched himself tighter into Kakashi’s fate. Tighter and tighter, to the point where referring to the Copy Magician could also mean Iruka himself, that they could expect amazing things from him when he was far from capable - so tight that sometimes he could not breathe, that he could not move in a way that the prophecy did not expect him to.

It was only here in this prison he made that he could breathe just the bit easier. That he could be relieved from that oppressive duty - that he could be Iruka, just Iruka, and nobody else.

A rustle of cloth just off to his side jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Kakashi stepping out onto the engawa and dropping to take a seat next to him. His clothes carried the muted scent of tobacco - it had been a habit Iruka had told Kakashi off for before the entire debacle, if only out of concern for his health. Those concerns seemed so very trivial now.

They stared out into the garden and the untouchable sky beyond, where the rain was still trying its damndest to pierce through the veil. Existing in a liminal space meant surrendering certain aspects of the weather: the natural breeze sweeping in from an open window, the pervading heat of the sun beating onto his back, the petrichor of the early summer storms.

He wondered if Kakashi missed them. Iruka would.

“The shears.” Kakashi finally said. Iruka turned to look at him, at his hands - and there they were, small, smaller than Kakashi’s palm. The blades gleamed silver and sharp even in the muted light of the sun drowning in the clouds; the red tassel that swung from the curve of the handle the same vivid red of that spider lily so long ago. “You wanted me to use them.”

There was no accusation in Kakashi’s voice. There did not need to be. After Iruka left them with Kakashi and went onto the next dimension, he had thought of Kakashi holding the shears up, in front of himself. Of Kakashi tracing the red string that connected them together with one finger, lifting it apart from the rest.

Easing it between the blades.

Cutting it.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘want’,” Iruka said truthfully. There had been nights where the fear that he would return an empty shop and an emptier fate took hold of him, keeping him awake in the middle of the night. But... “But I did want you to have the choice.”

Any other person would have accused Iruka of not wanting to be tied down, of seeing or maybe even wanting a future without Kakashi. But the fact was there was no other way for Kakashi to release himself. Kakashi was not wrong - the wards were fine, would always be fine when the passage of time halted for them as much as it did for Kakashi. And Kakashi too would be fine, would always and forever be fine, and would continue existing here on this lonely plane for as long as Iruka existed - and beyond that, too.

The simple fact was, Iruka never needed the shears when he always had the opportunity. The choice.

Kakashi set the shears down in the narrow space between Iruka’s thigh and his own, where it glittered in the shadows. The silence that ensued after was less than happy, but wholly expected. They had lived long enough to know the way the other thought, the path their arguments treaded, the reasons behind the reasons that they would not say.

Kakashi would not cut the string for the same reason that Iruka always returned to him.

(Their reasons have always been the same.)

But walking in the circles, the same endless loop - it was tiring. Not only for Iruka, but for Kakashi too: no matter how much they wished to, Iruka could not ask Kakashi to not worry any more than Kakashi could ask him to stay. The shears merely represented a choice out of the few they could take.

Iruka could offer another.

“Am I…” Iruka began and stopped just as abruptly. There were the words he knew, yet he did not want them actualised, to open them to the realm of possibility. Words, once spoken and spoken carelessly, could bind people in the most unpredictable of ways. “Am I selfish?”

Kakashi did not answer immediately. For that Iruka was grateful - that Kakashi was giving his offer his full consideration.

And when his hand reached past the shears and curled into Iruka’s clenched fist, Iruka knew the answer.

“No more than I was.” His hand slipped further into Iruka’s own, holding it proper; from it relief rushed through Iruka’s entire body, tinged with the faintest aftertaste of bitter guilt. “No more than I am.”

He raised his gaze to meet Kakashi’s own - both of them hesitant, both vulnerable.

“We’ll be selfish together then,” he said softly.

In Kakashi’s eyes he saw the same steely determination that set off this entire chain of events - that led Iruka to say yes to a doomed relationship, damn the consequences. And Iruka could only watch as Kakashi placed his other hand on Iruka’s face, cupping it gently, as though he was trying to memorise every of Iruka’s features before he was inevitably called away.

“I once told you,” he began lowly, “that I would have what little you could give than to have nothing at all.”

How could Iruka forget? He nodded mutely and Kakashi continued as sincerely as that day when he stood among the rows of radishes, as the only thing he had eyes for then was Iruka. “I still feel the same way. I’d rather wait for you, than to have less of you, or not have you at all. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Iruka echoed fiercely, as he placed a hand over Kakashi’s, keeping it in place. Like he could imprint Kakashi’s warmth onto his face and into his skin, an indelible handprint to keep him warm in the coldest of dimensions, in its snow-swept endless plains. “I’ll always return, for as long as you’ll let me.”

“Then grant me this wish,” Kakashi intoned, the formal beginning of an incantation. The heavy pressure of magic settled onto Iruka’s shoulders - not the pressure of the strings that council had bound him, that he bound himself with, constricting and unyielding - but the weight of a heated blanket in the middle of a chilly night, spread across weary shoulders with gentle hands. A weight he could shrug off if he so chose to. “I want to go when you go.”

Between them, the string of the tassel began to unravel, its frayed end rising upwards. Neither of them looked at it, not when Kakashi had not finished what he needed to say.

“Whatever dimension you’re on,” he told Iruka, “I’ll find you. I’ll find you and we’ll go together, but you’ll have to let me go with you.”

The offer, made. All Iruka had to do was to accept. But there was one last amendment he had to make.

“We’ll find each other,” he corrected. “We’ll go together.”

“We’ll go together,” Kakashi echoed, the glow between casting his face into sharp relief. His hand tightened on Iruka’s own, and Iruka squeezed back, as the string wove between their fingers, binding them together. As their fates were tied together, far more tightly than any prophecy could.

The contract, complete.

-----

Several days later, they stood together in the courtyard.

The sun was a good ways to its zenith, but Iruka only needed an afternoon to run errands in the capital before heading off to whichever dimension the council saw fit to send the Copy Magician to next. In fact, the morning had been particularly well spent by Kakashi wheedling all sorts of favours out of Iruka, ranging from helping him undress, washing his hair - “I can’t very well go out for a hairdresser,” he said and pouted exaggeratedly up at Iruka - making him breakfast, and sitting down while Kakashi made the actual breakfast after Iruka charred the bottom of the pan a thick and crusty black.

“I’m not sure what you expected,” Iruka had said helplessly as Kakashi set the table. “I mean, I told you -”

“I expected you to make a sandwich,” Kakashi said. “Bread, some tuna. Maybe vegetables if you’re feeling adventurous.”

“But you like -”

“But mostly I didn’t expect you to burn the pan,” Kakashi finished cheerfully. “How d'you even do that? Pyromages would be jealous of your natural talent.”

Iruka bit into his rice ball and sulked, but relented shortly after when Kakashi made the appropriate please-forgive-me noises and fed Iruka out-of-season chilled melon balls.

Now here they were in the courtyard, a few minutes away before Iruka would open the portal back into Konoha. It would be an equally exhausting trip back, but in Konoha there were medi-mages on call to get travellers back onto their feet after walking through worlds.

“I’ll bring the children next time,” he told Kakashi even though Naruto was close to shooting past Iruka’s height. “I’m sure Sakura has some stories to tell you of her adventures in other dimensions.”

“But I’m only interested in those that include you,” Kakashi said in a show of unredeemable sappiness, especially when Iruka knew he would listen to whatever tales Sakura (and to a reasonable extent, Naruto) had to tell even if she had written them all down in the previous letters to Kakashi. In Iruka’s hand was such a letter to her, a reply, and more letters to many others who did not quite have the expertise (or the authorisation) to open dimensional tears at will or the knowledge where this particular tear was. “Especially the ones where you get naked.”

“You want me to get naked in other dimensions?” Iruka asked dubiously.

“In this dimension only, please,” Kakashi amended.

A small chime went off somewhere in the folds of Iruka’s robes, his cue to feed energy into the transportation array. It began to glow a familiar blue, as sigils flickered into existence midair, almost as brightly as the unrelenting sunlight.

“I’ll be off,” he said, entirely reluctant, as the seams of the dimensional walls came apart, carving a fiery hole into the air. On the other side he could see the arrival platform for cross-dimensional travels, busy as usual. “Try to keep the books in the library instead of your bedroom, won’t you?”

“I make no promises,” Kakashi declared playfully, even as his hands curled tightly into the collar of Iruka’s robe and pulled him in for a kiss - and another. The last kiss he left lingered, and Iruka could not stop himself from missing him already. “Stay safe?”

“I’ll try my best.” He stole one last kiss from Kakashi before taking a step through the portal, and into Konoha proper. The energy drain set in immediately, knocking the breath out of him; from the corner of his eyes he could see the medi-mages hurrying towards him in anticipation of his certain collapse.

But there was something he wanted to say before he went off to his next task, a certainty that hung between them. He turned back towards Kakashi. “See you soon?”

Kakashi lifted his hand for one last wave. Around his little finger was a strip of red string from the tassel, tied in a simple knot; around Iruka's own, a matching string and knot. Binding them across dimensions and time and even fate itself, so tightly that even the shears might not be able to cut those ties away.

“Of course,” Kakashi promised. “I’ll see you soon.”

As the portal burnt itself out of existence and Kakashi out of Iruka’s sight, there was the slightest tug on his little finger. The gentlest of reminders.

We’ll go together, Iruka thought to himself, and knew it as a certainty, reassuring.

A promise that they could always fulfill.

[jvc-yearofservice]

9/30/19 - 10/7/19

           Aaaaand I'm back, baby! (better late than never, I suppose) We started the week by celebrating Rosh Hashanah which was super fun. Our Jewish housemate spoke Hebrew as she blessed our meal, and we all dipped apples in honey in order to start out the new Jewish year on a sweet note. We ate brisket, mashed potatoes, matzo ball soup, noodle casserole, challah bread, pomegranates, and we toasted with apple cider and champagne. Traditionally, you can also dip your bread into water or run water over your hands in the sink to symbolize a cleansing of the person as the new year begins.

           Someone in my house had a birthday on Friday, and since I was away for my cousin's wedding, I baked them a cake and painted a watercolor horse for her on Wednesday. I told her that I could bake her a cake from scratch since I am the descendent of German bakers, but she specifically insisted on having Confetti Cake Mix from a box. While I was getting the cake mix from a Rite Aid, someone stole my bike from the bike rack outside (even though it was locked), so I had to walk at least an hour on foot to get home which was a bummer. When I realized that it was stolen and had not just disappeared into thin air, I became upset and started asking people if they saw my bike. Some scary-ass looking bikers were really upset for me and offered to look for it, which I thought was sweet of them. I went back into the Rite Aid and asked if I could see their footage from the video camera outside, and they simply answered, "No. Sorry about your bike, though." I wasn't in trouble with anyone even though the bike belonged to the house/the Jesuits, but I'm just mad that someone got the jump on me, so I might still put up signs that say something like, "Hi, I know you stole my bike. This is not a warning to bring it back. No, I am telling you instead that I know who you are and will find you. I know where you went, and I am coming to get my bike back. When I find you, you will wish you had never even looked at my bike in the first place. Good luck." This doesn't really seem in the spirit of the JVC, though, so I might pass on that idea. If anyone is in the Sacramento area and sees a cute little teal-colored bike, it's mine!

            Anyways, here are a couple of random things that need to be noted. Firstly, I have decided to return to St. Louis for Thanksgiving, and I will be there from November 27 until December 1st, so if you want to hang out, text me and we can make plans! Secondly, I keep calling the organization for whom I work by the wrong name which everyone thinks is hilarious. I keep saying "Fishes and Loaves" instead of "Loaves and Fishes". Thirdly, I am now able to make coffee in a pot all by myself (so watch out world).

           Work has been too strange and funny to believe. On Monday, a woman waiting in line for the free lunch, at the organization Friendship Park, attempted to come into the playground area while the kids were at recess. She made eye-contact with a couple kids and tried to beckon them over to her and pointed to a bag, shaking it like she had something for them. While I was walking over to the fence to confront her, she snaked a hand around to the inside of the fence and started to try to unlock it from the outside. I grabbed the lock and held it closed and told her very icily, "We're not interested. No thank you," until she gave up. She tried arguing with me, saying she wanted to give the children treats and that we were mistreating them, but I just kept telling her we were not interested, so she left but not before calling me a "bitch". All I can say is that she is lucky that she was on the other side of the fence from me. I also led PE classes for the volunteer who went home over the weekend, which was exhausting because I had to do all my work responsibilities and hers too so I was running around all day without a break.

           One of the girls who I drive to and from school is an absolute hoot. One morning, she told me in all seriousness that I need to brush my hair more. Another favorite thing of hers to do is to roll down the window of our car and try to talk to people in other cars. Today, she called out to some little boys at a red light, "Hello! Do you want to be my friend?" One day, she said, "I have a secret to tell you," and I replied, "Do you know what a secret means?" (a joke she didn't get/appreciate, haha) Unfortunately, despite her super sunny demeanor, her living situation is a tragedy. One morning, I went to pick her up, and I saw her and her mom sitting outside on the sidewalk with all their stuff around them. The mom said that she had just been kicked out from their friend's apartment and had nowhere to go. On the way to school, the little girl told me about how she was worried about where she would stay tonight. Also today, I found out that a family of seven kids was taken into CPS custody and nobody knows where they could be.

           Last Friday, I was having my one-on-one with my supervisor, and a homeless man asked for some adult diapers because he had IBS and was wearing the same thing all week. We eventually walked with him to another building and got some, and he was very grateful. It felt good to be able to actually do something because sometimes I feel like I die a little bit any time I have to turn someone away or tell someone 'no' when people ask for money.

           Thursday through Sunday, I was at my cousin Caitlin's wedding, which was amazing. I basically traveled all of Thursday and got in at night. On Friday, we rehearsed walking in and standing in line for the wedding. Afterwards, we went to lunch together outside, and I made the very unwise decision to wear a romper in Michigan in October. That night, we had the rehearsal dinner at a brewery. On Saturday, I met up with the rest of the bridal party in the hotel lobby at 9am and went to the salon to get our hair and makeup done. We drank mimosas and coffee as we got ready for the wedding. We all got dressed together in Caitlin's hotel room and ended up walking a couple blocks to the venue which was really fun because people kept cheering us on and commenting on Caitlin's wedding dress. The ceremony was so sweet, and I loved the part where Caitlin and Kyle washed each other's feet as an act of service to each other as a married couple. Afterwards, we took group pictures and went to the reception in a building nearby. I'm so happy for them, and I'm still so grateful for being included as a bridesmaid.

Sincerely,

MK

[tae-pollux]

House of Cards: Sacrificial Lamb 3

{Chapter Three}

Rated M Pairing: ReaderxOT7 Genre: Horror? Angst? Vampire/Demon AU a/n: I’m still trying to figure out how to do this bit lol. I’m open to any pointers on how to improve the appearance of my blog and posts. o-o

You didn't know how long you spent curled in a ball, willing yourself to wake up. But you didn't want to stand idly by while waiting for these.. these monsters to come looking for you, either.

Sliding out of bed, you quickly went to the door to check it, finding it unlocked. Which is odd considering you were a prisoner..

Back tracking, you slowly approached the floor length mirror across the room, taking in the damage. Even though you were bandaged up, it was plain as day where you were wounded, as blood seeped through the cotton patches and wraps.

Gingerly touching the two on your neck, you took in the rest of your wan, pale appearance.

Wasn't someone helping me before?

As you thought back on it, there was a person taking care of you while you were coming to. Would they help? It's possible they aren't like the ones who attacked you. After all, what killer would give you tea? Maybe they would help you escape..

Swallowing down your hopes before they get too high, you explored the room. At first, you assumed it was themed specifically in an older style, but now you could see that it was almost like a collection of things from several time periods and cultures. Chinese fine china displayed next to a Walkman. A french vase filled with coins from all times and all countries by the look of it. Rapper bling necklaces wrapped around the artworks neck.

Raising a brow, you couldn't help but notice the 1950's pin-up calendar with scantily clad women, and the modern playboy one right next to it, hung up above a beautiful statuette of a Grecian woman.

“I'm sorely judging whoever’s room this is..” You grumbled.

You turned to take in the rest of the room, but instead of the weird collection aesthetic you were expecting, all you found were books and the bed. What must have been hundreds of books. Put away on shelves, all stacked on one-another. New ones and old ones alike. Some scrolls and some parchments.

Ok.. So the pervert likes reading.

You spot your dress and jacket you were wearing before, resting on one pile of books. The jacket was a goner for sure. Stiff and completely saturated with blood. But the dress was still mostly clean aside from the dirt and smell of alcohol from when you must have spilled on yourself.

Quickly sliding it on, you had to laugh to yourself. They even grabbed your heels that you thought you left behind.

Yeah, fuck that. You weren't about to try and sneak out and run for it in those things again.

Padding to the door, you softly pushed the handle until you heard the faintest click. After a brief silent moment, you peaked your head out, scanning the area.

It seemed like an ordinary house except.. More weirdly random decorations. As you made your way down the hall, you even spotted a pinball machine in another room. Next to work out equipment.

The house was dead silent, however. Giving no hint whether anyone was home. All that could be heard was your uneven breathing and the slight creak of a floorboard every now and then.

Taking the steps two at a time, you went downstairs and turned a corner, finding yourself  the kitchen, which you assumed was where they.. Where they fed from you.. Shuddering and feeling nauseated, you unconsciously scratched at your neck, continuing through the silent expanse.

You were just beginning to think you were home free once the front door was in view, but then you spotted a figure sitting in a chair just off to the side of the door. As if they were waiting for you to make a run for it. He just blinked, unsurprised.

“I was just-”

“So you are that stupid.” He simply stated. Entirely deadpan.

All you could do was gape your mouth like a fish before he was already in your face. Intense silver eyes staring a hole right through you.

“Where exactly did you think you could run to? From us?” The black haired male mocked. Clearly thinking little of you. Backing up against the door, you eyed him wearily, watching as he stuck his tongue into his cheek, annoyance clear in his piercing eyes.

His skin was soft perfection like the others, looking more like a painting than a person. His exotically almond eyes aglow with their silver coloring. Black hair standing out against the white. He was startlingly beautiful.

Like a black widow.

Reaching for the handle behind your back, you managed to slip out just as he reached for you, his fingertips brushing against your back.

In your head, you imagined a grand escape, running like a rabbit away from wolves. However, the reality was much different. More pitiful.

The bite on your thigh stung as your muscles worked, attempting to run down the porch and the stone paths, but more like hobbling. The getaway being made only more difficult once you ditched the path, running over rocks, pine needles and sticks with your bare feet.

You could just cry in frustration.

When you heard him approaching from behind, you began screaming, trying to call for help even though you couldn't see any other buildings in sight. Only forest and the lake.

“Shut it!” He snapped, just before you were bulldozed to the ground, a much larger body over yours, pinning you down, then picking you up off the dirt despite your thrashing, kicking and screaming.

“I got her, Yoongi.” The new stranger bit out as he tried to subdue you, carrying you back to the cabin they were holding you in.

“Oh, yeah. Looks like you have a real handle on it.” The shorter one with black hair, Yoongi, commented with sarcasm dripping from his tongue. But not arguing further, he walked ahead of the one carrying you, hands in pockets.

“Let me go!” You screeched, clawing his brawny arms.

“You should be grateful I caught you instead of Yoongi, you know. He wouldn't have held back.” He grunted, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, giving you the perfect opportunity to jab him in the ribs with your knees, earning a resound swat on your ass from his gigantic hand.

Yelping, you stilled. The stinging making you freeze up until you were inside, being thrown down on the floor of the living room with a loud -oof-

The one standing over you brushed his fingers through his soft brown hair while glaring down at you. His towering muscular figure intimidating you to the spot. He was young, but with masculine features. Looking like a jock or Calvin Klein model as he clenched his teeth, his cheek and jaw muscles flexing under the soft flesh.

“So you managed to catch the fish, hm?” Another gigantic male questioned, entering the room. This one, also with black hair, was more matured, his fair-skinned face statuesque.

What's with all of them looking like masterpieces? Why can't they be as hideous as they act! You briefly thought to yourself, looking between the two would-be models with disdain.

The taller, older male kneeled beside you, making you flinch as he reached for you. “Shh little one.” He murmured, plucking a stick from your hair. “Y/n, was it? I'm Jin.” He then gestured to the muscular one. “This is Jungkook.” When you didn't respond, the muscular one, Jungkook, huffed.

“We should get her back to Namjoon's room before the others see her out here.”

“You're right.” The one named Jin nodded in agreement before standing, then looked about for the 'others' they were so concerned about.

Jungkook held out his hand, clicking his tongue when you didn't take it. “Come with me, or you get fed to my friends.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.

Taking the offered hand, he had to pull you up himself because you were too weak, then you limped after him, anger seeping through your bones and frustrated tears forming in your eyes.

You were so close.

Or was I? Did the attempt even matter? Would I have been caught, even at my best? But you knew the answer. You remembered how the blonde angel toyed with you in the park. How he could be all around you all at once with no effort. Any normal escape attempt would just end up the same way. With you getting grabbed when they wanted to grab you.

Once you were back in that initial room, the brunette left you with a nod, locking the door behind him. As you heard the click of the lock trigger, you slid down the door, tears falling from your eyes.

You were tired and sore and bloodied with disappointment and fear wracking through you. All you wanted was to go home to your friend's house and put on your sweats, eat all the ice cream you could handle, and go back to when your ex was your only nightmare. Now, you were living in a real one.

You weren't sure how long you had been crying, but you must have passed out because you were jarred awake by the door suddenly pushing you over.

“What the-? I give you my bed for a day and sleep in the study on the sofa, and you just sleep on the floor? Seriously?” Namjoon complained, shaking his head before pulling you up to your feet.

Before you could mumble a reply, he began pulling you out of the room. “Let's go meet the boys.” He announced, dragging you, sputtering and pulling, all the way through the house to the living room, where he practically threw you to the floor.

As many times as you've been thrown at it, they might as well get this over with and make you a rug..

The one named Jin entered the room after you, a steaming bowl in his hands, carefully setting it on the coffee table. “Really, Namjoon..” He admonished silently, helping you sit up and ushered you to the bowl of what looked like, chicken and rice soup.

Glancing around the room, various familiar faces were scattered about. You felt like a fly caught in a web as all predatory eyes watched you curiously. Namjoon took a seat in the living-chair behind you, making the nerves on the back of your neck tingle.

“Since she'll be here with us for a while.. Assuming you don't kill her too quickly.” He paused, as if pointing stares. “We might as well get to know each other a little better.”

Jin nodded at you in greeting, a friendly smile on his face. “You know me and Jungkook already.” He gestured to the brunette who was sitting on the love seat, legs strewn over the blonde angel, playing on some portable game.

“We've met, but my name's Jimin, beautiful.” The blonde winked, leaning over the younger male's legs to send you a flirtatious smirk.

“Call me Suga.” The one they were calling 'Yoongi' muttered, half interested from another living-chair across the room.

Then, with a bright smile, the one who made your skin crawl slowly approached, squatting beside you, peering at your cringing face. “We met too, remember? Name's Hoseok.” He licked the corner of his lips as his sunshine smile faltered to a more sinister smirk, brushing his finger to his lips thoughtfully as his eyes landed on your lips.

“Then there's V, upstairs. He doesn't come out much.” Namjoon commented from behind.

When you didn't say anything, the silver fox's booted-foot landed squarely on your upper back, nudging you. “What do you say?”

Well, if you were going to die eventually..

Defiantly, you raised chin high and glared at each individual who was placed casually throughout the room.

“Nice to fucking meet you.” You hissed.

[that-buckley-gal]

Delirious #2 | Walk-On Day

“What do you vote for, Sister?” My big, Jasmine, asked me. She was my mentor when I was pledging Omega and we’ve been close friends ever since.

“I vote we do the dinner with Zeta,” I said. Jasmine grinned at me and moved on the next Sister while Penny scowled. When the votes were complete and Jasmine announced we were doing the dinner, Penny stormed off.

“Ooh, thank you for voting for me!” Jasmine squeaked as she hugged me. I hugged her back and stepped back.

“Well, you know I can never miss an opportunity to get Rooster into a tux,” I grinned.

Jas laughed and asked if I was going to bring Zook.

“He’s the president of Zeta, so I think he has to be there,” I said.

“Right,” Jasmine blushed. “Well, I gotta go reserve the banquet hall then. See you.”

“See you,” I said waving her off. When she was gone, I went back up to my room, changing into a pair of shorts and a gray MC State shirt. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail before throwing on a pair of running shoes.

Leaving the house unnoticed wasn’t an easy feat, but I’d managed to do it somehow, and I found myself in the stadium, standing by the coach.

The coach was the reason why I was here because when we were freshmen, and Zook and Rooster had just joined the team, the coach had seen just how much of a condescending ass Rooster could be when he got riled up. Having me around to stop him from going completely dick mode saved the coach from kicking him off the team.

“Gotta love walk-on day, huh?” I ask the coach as Rooster tackled a smaller freshman.

“The boys sure do,” the coach laughed whilst shaking his head.

“Fuck you, you little walk-on fuck!” Rooster yelled at the other guy before stepping away. “God, I love walk-on day.”

I let out a quirky sigh and stepped away from the coach, heading towards the players’ bench and grabbing Rooster’s water bottle from the water boy. I noticed McQuaid was here as well; he was standing next to a shorter but also new guy.

“Dude, you don’t have to do this,” McQuaid told the shorter guy.

“What?” the new guy asked.

“I just don’t wanna see you get hurt,” McQuaid answered back.

“I’m not gonna…”

“Whoops!” Rooster said, brushing past the new guy, who bumped into McQuaid, who then bumped into Zook, who dropped his sub.

He gave a cocky smirk as he sauntered over to me. I gave him his water.

“Behave,” I warned. Rooster took a drink before we both walked back to the group of footballers. Specifically, Rooster stood next to the new guy whilst I stood next to him, and next to a crouching McQuaid, who was next to an also crouching Zook as they fiddled around with Zook’s sandwich.

Currently, the two guys were talking about the “new” ‘meat-qute’ sandwich. Rooster, new guy, and I simply stared at the two boys who may as well have been flirting. Then, both stood up and Zook looked around at the boys surrounding him as he asked if anyone wanted to try the “meat-qute”. Nobody answered him.

“That’s hilarious, man,” Zook praised McQuaid. “What’s your name?”

“Brad,” McQuaid answered. “Wait – uh…yeah. Brad McQuaid.”

“Nice to meet you, man. I’m Zook and behind you is my sister, Gem. And that’s her guy Rooster,” Zook introduced us all.

“Sup, man?” Brad nodded at Rooster, who gave a brief nod back. “Gem?”

“Hey,” I said back. The short guy was in my peripheral vision and I could clearly see that his being ignored was making him upset. I decided not to comment on it as the coach ushered the four of them off to the field.

I moved back to my only other safe zone next to the coach as I watched the practice runs. Even from where I stood, I could see that Zook and McQuaid picked up on each other’s cues and made a great QB-WR team, which impressed me. Not many players could keep up with Zook’s quick throws.

“Go, go, go!” I cheered, to which I received a few laughs but I ignored them. Zook threw the ball as McQuaid ran to catch it – and he did. Rooster came running up to try to block him but McQuaid bulleted straight by. I cringed slightly as I saw Rooster flail his arms to try to catch himself before falling on his right arm.

He’d just gotten a tattoo recently and I wondered if that was hurting right now. Brad ran back to Rooster and helped him up before they exchanged a few words. Rooster brushed him off and walked straight over to me as he peeled his arm sleeve off looking at his bicep where the tattoo lay.

“Think that’ll be okay?” He asked.

I poked the red fish tattoo. The surrounding area wasn’t red or beginning to swell. It didn’t bleed.

“I think that’s fine,” I said, even though I wasn’t completely sure. I got my first tattoo when I turned 18 and it was on my lower back. My mom had made sure it healed properly so I didn’t know if Rooster’s tattoo was really okay or not. But nonetheless, the red-hawk jock nodded approvingly as he put his sleeve back on.

“Well, what do you think of McQuaid?” I asked him.

He gave me a weary look before we both looked at the guy in question. Zook was currently talking to him.

“Eh, he’s fine,” Rooster finally answered. We looked at each other and he smiled. “Definitely has the right tools to play college ball, that’s for sure.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, remembering what brought him to me in the first place.

“Fine. Nothing I can’t handle,” Rooster puffed out his chest as he spoke and I rolled my eyes at him.

“Nimrod,” I taunt.

“Idiot,” he muttered back just as Zook caught back up to us.

“Who’s the short guy?” I ask.

“Brad’s brother, I guess,” Zook answered. “Dude overheard me inviting Brad to the rush party tonight and kinda invited himself along.”

“What a dick,” Rooster commented. The three of us peered at the brothers who also looked at us.

“Why does he look so much older than McQuaid?” I ask rhetorically. Both boys don’t pick up on it though as they throw out random suggestions before heading back to the field for the next ninety minutes.

When walk-on day was over, coach announced that the first practice would be tomorrow afternoon before letting the boys take off. Zook and Rooster headed off to the showers while I waited outside.

“Hey, Gem?”

I turn sharply at the beckoning before nodding at Brad. “McQuaid.” I look at his brother. “New guy. What’s up?”

“Is there like a theme or a dress code for the party tonight?” Brad asked, a hint of nervousness in his tone.

“Nah, just be you,” I said. “It’s a rush party, and Zeta’s looking for the real you.”

Brad looked at his brother with a: ‘I-told-you-so’ look on his face before nodding back at me.

“Thanks.” He turned to leave when his brother stopped him. They whispered about me for a second before Brad groaned. “Jesus. This is Gem; she’s Zook’s sister. Gem, this is my brother Doug.”

“Cool,” I said simply, staring at the crow’s feet under Doug’s eyes. “Dude, how old are you?”

“I’m nineteen,” Doug answered.

“Right,” I said. The three of us fell into silence. Before any of us could break it, Rooster called my name and I practically ran away from the McQuaid duo. Zook came out a second later and bid Brad goodbye before we began walking to the Zeta Theta Psi frat house.

[tiddiesbyjoon]

I Wanna Hold Hands With You

Jungkook might be a bit of a Troye Sivan fanboy. As much as he would like to argue that it is just because of his music (which is really really good), it’s not. Jimin might be finding a new Idol in Holland and Jungkook is confused.

Or: jungkook is gay and oblivious. Angst and fluff mild smut

Chapter 1: Fools Ao3

Jungkook is gay (really gay) he knows he is and he accepts it. But he hasn’t really told anyone else that. It's never really come up. It's not that the other members Don't Know, it's just that they don't explicitly say it. I mean, who listens to this much Troye Sivan and is straight? Honestly, Jungkook was jealous of the way that he gets to live. He is entirely, unapologetically, himself in all his gayness. But Jungkook could never come out. The Idol world just doesn’t work that way. It would cost him everything.

In all the years bangtan spent becoming the family that they are today, this topic has somehow stayed off the table. Logically he knows, somewhere in the back of his head, that none of the other members would turn away from him for something like this but he still felt like it was impossible to say the words. Not to mention the much bigger, deeper, more problematic secret that he really, really needed to keep.

That secret just walked into his room, of course without knocking. He was practically bouncing and walked directly to Jungkook plopping down next to him. Well, next to him might not be accurate - more like on top of him... in his lap. Jungkook immediately looked away in a vain attempt to remain unbothered.

“Jungkookie! Jungkookie! Jungkookie!!” Jimin repeated over, smacking the flat of his palm against Jungkook’s chest in desperate attempts to receive his precious attention. Jungkook was playing hard to get which was entirely selfish because it’s just so cute to see how Jimin whines and pouts. He stood his ground and kept his head turned away and his eyes averted; avoiding Jimin’s eyes as he wiggled around in his lap.

But after a few more minutes of mixed abuse and cooing Jungkook couldn't resist the temptation to look back at him. And, not to be dramatic, but he could feel his heart actually explode in his chest.

A breathless laugh escaped Jungkook as he tried to play off just how nervous this closeness made him. “What did you want Jiminie hyung?”

Jimin giggled at the affectionate name as if Jungkook didn't call him that 9 times out of 10 anyways and responds “I was only gonna ask if you had seen this new song that came out. It’s by a boy called Holland.” Jungkook shook his head. “It’s really cute, I wanna show you.” Jimin was looking down at Jungkook's shirt and lightly brushed the collar with his (oh so so tiny and cute) hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, god” Jimin sighed and got out of Jungkook's lap. Jungkook already missed the heat. He didn’t think the question was so outrageous but Jimin walked straight out of the room. What did I do wrong?? But before Jungkook could work himself into a heart attack Jimin came barging back in sliding on the hardwood in his fuzzy socks and his phone in his hand.

“Here I’ll show you on my phone”

“Oh, okay. I could just put it on the TV?”

“No, this is better”

“Okay hyung whatever you say”

Their faces were close in the dark room and Jimin played the video for a song called Neverland. Jungkook could feel Jimin’s little fly aways tickling his cheek and it took all that’s in him not to giggle along with the butterflies in his stomach. The song seemed pretty generic, nothing really stood out about it but Jungkook couldn't focus on the lyrics because he was too busy Not Looking At Jimin. But, something about the way Holland was interacting with his friend made his stomach feel tight. Jungkook’s brain is running at a million miles a minute but it somehow seems to be unable to actually create any thoughts. Jimin felt stiff by his side, not his usual loose and pliable self. The song went on and- Then it happened. Both of them stopped breathing and it felt like years until the video finally ended and it was silent.

“What did you think?”

“It was okay” Jungkook managed despite his inability to process anything at the moment.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay” His mouth felt dry and he could feel his fight or flight (or freeze) response taking hold in the back of his head. Jimin just nodded a little and left the room.

Over the next few days Jimin played that song over and over. Jungkook still stood by his thought that the song is pretty generic and low budget but he couldn’t get the video out of his head. Everytime he heard Jimin play it he was reminded of the two boys kissing and being so close to Jimin as they watched. It was torture.

And it only got worse. Soon it was, “Hobi hyung isn't he so cute?” “Taetae isn't he cool?” “Namjoonie hyung can’t we do a song with him?” The other members were nice but cautious when talking about it, still tiptoeing around what none of them wanted to say out loud.

“Jimin you know why we can’t do a song with Holland” Namjoon responded. Jimin frowned but said nothing.

Today Jimin was (somehow) even happier than usual; just absolutely bubbling over and giggling and it lifted the spirits of everyone in the room.

“What's got you so happy today Jiminie hyung” Taehyung finally asked over lunch in the kitchen.

“Nothing” Jimin said smiling in a way that made it clear that there was a very specific reason.

“Just tell us what it is, we know you want to.” Yoongi butted in.

Jimin wasn't deterred by Yoongi’s blunt delivery but smiled his perfect smile where his eyes are practically closed and his teeth are on full display. “Holland said I was his favorite member of bts and that I was cute.” Jimin giggled some more and quickly added “I mean he also said Taehyungie but that's not important” Taehyung laughs, hitting Jimin in retaliation and a few of the others laugh along with them.  

Is it really that important that Holland said he likes Jimin? I mean lots of people are talking about us these days. He probably only did it for clout. Jungkook felt torn because something in him couldn't help but feel elated by Jimin’s radiating happiness while another part of him was jealous that Jimin was being made so happy these days by some random baby-Idol with one (1) song out.

Instead of ruining everyone else's good time Jungkook took his food back to his own room, ignoring the protesting loud “Yah!” coming from Jin.

Jungkook jumped onto his bed and laid there like a dead fish. He kind of knew that Jimin would come after him but he pretended that he didn't, so he was only superficially surprised when Jimin knocked on the door softly. Knocked... he never knocks.

“Yeah, come in.” Jimin peeped his little blonde head in the room.

“Are you upset Jungkookie?” he asked, making his way over to join Jungkook on his bed.

“No” a half assed lie as Jimin draped his body over Jungkook's in a koala cuddle.

Jimin sighed, “why are you like this kookie? I know when your lying to me.” Jungkook said nothing. “So… tell me what’s wrong. Or will I have to torture it out of you?” Jimin wiggled his cute fingers in threat of tickle-torture and Jungkook can’t go through that pain, not again.

“It’s stupid”

“It’s not.” Jungkook hesitated, there was no way he could really lie to Jimin about this, not when his pretty brown eyes were staring him down.

“I just don’t understand why you like Holland hyung so much.” Jungkook kept trying to look him in the eyes but he was failing. Jimin was taken aback; suddenly what was left of his bubbly mood dispersed and was replaced with something much more vulnerable.

“It’s the same reason you like Troye Sivan so much.”

“No its not.” Jungkook stated simply.

“He is really brave and he’s a step in moving towards a more accepting society”

“But why would that matter to you?” He doesn't say it with malice but Jimin’s eyes grew wider. Their faces were only inches apart, close enough to breathe the same air.

“I just thought... well I assumed that you knew- that it was obvious.”

“What is obvious?” Jungkook felt numb.

“Jungkook.. Um.. how do I tell you this,” an embarrassed chuckle fell from Jimins lips “uh, I like boys. I’m gay Jungkookie.”

Jungkook felt like his brain was melting; his entire world coming into question. For years (YEARS) Jungkook has known Jimin it’d never once crossed his mind that he might be like him- that he might be gay. Apparently all Jungkook could say is a small “oh.”

“Are you okay?” Jimin asked, nervous and concerned.

“You’re not gay. You've never been gay.”

“Yes I have. And I am”

“You’ve been with guys before? Even kissed a guy before?”

“Well no. I haven't. I’d like to though” Jimin admitted, clearly embarrassed, “one day.”

“So, how do you know?”

“I just do Jungkook-ah”

The room was quiet but Jimin didn’t move. His head was resting on Jungkook's chest and he was watching Jungkook carefully. Jimin finally moved his eyes away from Jungkook’s only to look at his lips before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Jimin shifted upwards on Jungkook so that his face was hovering directly above his. Then Jimin closed the distance meeting Jungkook’s lips with his own. It was quick and innocent but both boys were blushing heavily.

“Now I have.”

[dangertronic]

Not A Monster Chapter 13

I survived the writing.

Ao3 Link

Tag List: @creamy-brown-eyes @thetrashvoid

Forever Tags: @sten-bros @agrimny @areyareddie @deamontesnothere @soomar-wine @jakethezombiehunter

Thirteen:

“So come on Eddie, how did I do?” Jessica asked drying off a plate before holding it out to Eddie.

Eddie looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway and then took the plate from her with a grin. “You did perfectly, Jess. I think she believed it. I think the fact you made lunch helped too. It buttered her up.”

“I am nothing if not fantastic in the kitchen.” Jessica said, turning and leaning her back against the counter. “So that’s one set of parents down, and one to go. Are you sure you can do this twice in one day? We can always tackle mine another day.”

Eddie nodded, closing the cupboard just above his head now that everything was back where it belonged. “I can do this, Jess. The sooner they think – you know – the sooner you’re allowed to actually hang out with Lucille without lying to them about where you are.”

“Technically I didn’t lie.” Jessica pointed out. “I just said I was meeting up with a group of people.”

“One of which was a boyfriend that you don’t have; lie.”

“Ah, Eddie. That’s where you’re wrong.” Jessica said, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. “You’re a boy and you’re my friend, so you’re definitely a boyfriend. You’re just not a dating boyfriend. So, you ready to bail and see Richie now?”

Eddie nodded, pausing on their way out to tell Sonia they were going into the town. Sonia looked up from filing her nails, eyeing the two in the doorway for a moment. Eddie was standing there with his hand linked into Jessica’s, and Jessica was swinging their hands back and forth.

Narrowing her eyes, Sonia securitized them for a moment.

While she was not entirely thrilled about her son dating anyone, Jessica had passed every test that Sonia had thrown at her, and giving her son some kind of leniency would, in her mind, ensure that he was more compliant when it came to other matters.

Certain people in his friend group were one of the matters.

“Alright.” Sonia said, returning to filing her nails. “Make sure you’re home for ten; no later. Not even a minute, you hear me?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring him back personally.” Jessica assured her.

“Got it ma’.” Eddie said, starting to pull Jessica from the doorway. “See you at ten!”

“Goodbye Mrs Kaspbrak!” Jessica called over her shoulder as Eddie hastily pulled her out of the front door.

Eddie glanced back over his shoulder, catching Sonia in the window, scrutinizing them yet again. He released Jessica’s hand, opting for slinging it over her shoulder and pulling her into his side as they made their way down the path to the car.

“She still watching?” Jessica asked, fishing out her car keys from her pocket.

“Yeah. She’s gonna be doing it until we’re in the car and gone.” Eddie said, releasing her once they were at the car so she could walk around to the other side.

“Good thing we’ll be gone in a minute and won’t have her breathing down our necks.” Jessica said, unlocking the car.

Eddie was aware that Sonia was still peering out of the window at them as Jessica started the car and pulled away from the house.

Richie and Stan were sitting across each other in a booth at the café when Jessica and Eddie arrived, the former stumbling to his feet quickly in order to throw his arms around Eddie, clutching him tightly to his chest.

“I missed you.” Richie said, voice muffled in Eddie’s hair.

“It’s been half a day since you last saw me, Rich.” Eddie said, curling his arms around Richie’s waist.

“That’s too long.” Richie complained.

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Well, get going then, but remember I need him back by five thirty.”

Richie released Eddie, shooting Jessica a mock two finger salute. “Don’t worry, I’ll have him back in time for your fake dinner date with your parents, Jess.”

Jessica rolled her eyes, sliding into the booth across from Stan for their study session as Eddie shoved Richie playfully. Richie grabbed at Eddie’s wrist, pulling him forward and linking their hands together.

They left the café hand in hand, walking closely so no one passing them could see that their fingers were threaded together, Richie’s thumb brushing against the back of Eddie’s hand.

“So what movie do you wanna see?” Richie asked as they approached the theatre, releasing Eddie’s hand so he could fish out some money.

“Anything. It doesn’t matter.” Eddie said, batting Richie’s hand away as it made a grab for his own again. “Wait until we’re inside.”

“I can’t wait to get out of this town so I don’t have to hide it.” Richie said, turning his attention back to Lucille. “You sure there’s nothing specific you want to see?”

“I just want… want to spend time with you.”

“You got it Eds.” Richie said as they walked into the theatre. “Hey Lucille, my second favourite girl in the world!”

“Hey Rich.” Lucille greeted as Richie approached the ticket counter, perking up at the sight of the familiar faces. “What would you like to see?”

“Anything! Surprise us!”

“You got it.” Lucille said, ringing up a random movie for them.

“So where exactly did you get the money from for this?” Eddie asked once Richie had paid for their tickets, Lucille waving them off with a grin and a quick shout of ‘enjoy your date’ across the empty lobby.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Richie asked, slinging an arm over Eddie’s shoulder as they made their way to the concessions stand. “I asked my darling parents for a loan so that I could take my boyfriend out on a date to the movies.”

Eddie stopped, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he tried to process Richie’s words. “You told them?”

“A-yup.” Richie said, turning to face Eddie. “I told you I was going to as soon as I could figure out how to say it.”

“I know but I didn’t think you’d do it this soon. How did they take it?”

“You kidding me? Mom laughed and was like it’s about time you realised you liked Eddie and took him on a date, idiot. How on earth are you so smart and yet so damn stupid?”

“Richie. What if they say something to my –”

“They won’t.” Richie assured, ruffling his hair. “They know what your mom is like. They’re not about to go: hey Mrs K your son is super gay and dating our lovely Richard!”

Eddie arched tilted his head back to look up at Richie, eyes narrowed a fraction. “Super gay?”

“Too much?”

“Just a bit.”

Once Richie had brought the popcorn and drinks for them, the two of them headed into their designated theatre room. There were a few groups people scattered around the lower floor, and Richie nudged Eddie with his elbow, motioning with his head to the set of steps leading up to the balcony area.

“The last time we sat up here there were seven of us.” Eddie said as they took seats at the front of the balcony.

Unlike the lower area, the balcony was all but deserted aside from a couple sitting at the far end who were more invested in each other than the movie screen, giving Richie and Eddie better privacy to act like a couple.

“Yeah and you knocked your popcorn off the balcony right onto Bowers’ head.” Richie said, not bothering to hold back his laughter at the memory.

“Yeah and then your dumb ass threw his drink over the balcony onto him and made it worse.” Eddie hissed as the lights dimmed around them.

Richie leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up onto the balcony, setting the popcorn into his lap. “Hey, I would never let you suffer with something like that on your own, just like you wouldn’t with me.”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile, the action illuminated by the screen that neither of them were paying any attention to. “Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t let you suffer. When I saw Brad doing what he did… it’s like I went into auto pilot.”

“I’d be the same with you.” Richie said, sliding an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Not that you need it. You seem to handle yourself just fine. I distinctively remember you kicking a clown in the face in a moment of pure rage.”

Eddie groaned. “You’re not supposed to keep bringing that up, Rich.”

“Oh come on, it was one of the best things I ever saw you do.” Richie said, tugging on Eddie to pull him closer.

Eddie allowed himself to be pulled into Richie despite how painful the arm rest was when it dug into his side. He just wanted to enjoy this time with Richie. It was rare that they were able to spend any real time together outside of stealing kisses between classes when no one was looking, or quick goodbye pecks when Richie would drop Eddie off at home.

This was a real day they could just be with each other, and no arm rest was going to ruin that.

They paid barely any attention to the movie, Richie spending more time in pressing light kisses to the top of Eddie’s head, running his fingers through his hair, or feeding him popcorn.

At some point during their not-paying-attention-to-the-movie, Eddie tucked his drink between his legs, reaching up to remove Richie’s glasses from his face before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his mouth.

Richie’s fingers tangled into his hair, preventing Eddie from pulling back as he moved forward, flicking his tongue out to run against Eddie’s lower lip. Completely forgetting that they were sitting in the middle of a movie theatre, Eddie’s opened his mouth, allowing Richie’s tongue to snake its way in.

There was no battle of dominance like Eddie had read about in books, just Richie’s tongue caressing Eddie’s own and exploring every inch of his mouth while his fingers stroked through Eddie’s hair in such a slow an sensual way that it sent a fluttering feeling coursing through his body.

A sudden loud noise tore them apart, their attention snapping to the large screen at the front of the theatre as their surroundings slowly sank in.

“Holy shit.” Eddie breathed. “We just –”

Richie only laughed lowly so as not to disturb the people in the lower area of the theatre who were trying to watch the movie.

“You’re doing that wrong.” Stan said, pointing his pencil at Jessica’s work. “Do you, uh, need some help there?”

Jessica groaned, twisting her pencil around in her hand and erasing the mathematical equation she’d been working on. “No, no. I have to learn how to do this myself. I can’t keep relying on you to bail me out.”

“It’s not bailing you out if I just show you how to do it and then you do the rest on your own.” Stan pointed out, returning to his work.

“Nope, I am determined to learn this on my own.” Jessica said, starting to write out the equation again. “So just how long have you been into Bill?”

Stan paused in the middle of writing, slowly looking up at Jessica. “What are you talking about, Jess?”

Jessica looked up at him with a grin. “Come on Stan, I come equipped with a built in gaydar.”

“You didn’t even know Ed –”

“That was a fluke.” Jessica said, looking back down at her work. “I was in the middle of panicking about the fact I’d told some boy I barely knew that I was into girls and overlooked that said boy was practically screaming I’m gay.”

“Right.” Stan said, writing something down into his notebook before pausing again. “A while, I think, but I’ve only just really –”

“Caught on to your own feelings?” Jessica asked, looking back up at him with a smile.

“Yeah.”

“Been there.” Jessica said, her attention back on her work as she started to write again. “He stares at you, you know. It’s whenever he thinks that no one is looking, and I’ve seen the look that he gives you.”

“You have?”

Jessica hummed, scribbling something down. “He looks at you the way Richie looks at Eddie. The way Lucille looks at me. The way Ben was looking at Beverly over Christmas. It’s like you’re the only one in the room.”

Stan didn’t respond and Jessica looked up from her work again, taking in the red tint that now covered Stan’s face.

“Yeah.” Jessica said, setting her pencil down. “He’s into you too.”

“How did you even notice that?”

Jessica laughed, tapping her pencil against her notebook. “I pay attention to the world around me, Stan. Maybe you should start doing that instead of bothering me about my work being wrong. You might notice a few things yourself.”

“What else have you caught onto that you’re not sharing?”

Jessica grinned, tucking her hand under her head where she tapped the eraser of her pencil against her cheek. “That, Staniel, is for me to know, and you to find out on your own.”

“Do not let that name become a thing, Jess. Come on!” Stan complained. “It’s bad enough that Richie calls me that.”

“Sorry Stan, but I’m a member of Team Reddie so I must honour Richie.”

“Traitor.”

“Oh honey, how could I betray you when I was never on your side to begin with?”

Stan smirked, quickly noting something down for their math work. “You know, I think I’m actually starting to like you more than I do the others.”

Jessica laughed, leaning back in her seat as she wrote something down into her notebook. “They’ll be so crushed.”

[angelicteeth]

hi our boys are disgusting

god fuck yeah they are 

Aristotle: He/Him - Leo - 18 - 6′4

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? blueee!!!!!!!2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? he loves art books! his mom used to show them to him and he’s collected them ever since. would also like to collect daggers/knives/swords bc he thinks they’re neat 3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? nothing 4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? ohhhh this guys 100% a metal head. leather jackets, spikes, ripped jeans, chains- necklaces and wallet, vans or boots, lots n lots of patches/pins- the whole ordeal! typically only wears reds, blacks, whites, and dark shades. muted colors. 5. What is your OC’s first memory? he was around 4 or 5 and his mother asked him to bake a cake with her, and he agreed, of course. they made a giant 5 layer red velvet cake with chocolate, caramel, and peanut butter chips in between and chocolate fudge drizzled on top/off the sides. they made a HUGE mess in the kitchen and all over themselves and he cherishes this memory so sooo much. 6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? black panthers!!!!! he also loves dogs a lot… he? HATES?? butterflies ???7. What element would your OC be? oh boy fire 8. What is your OC’s theme song? uhhh anything Heavy Metal9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? noooooo, i dont rlly like doing this edrfghu but! he has a deep voice, its warm and deep and kinda ? sultry? idk 10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? wrath. 11. What are your OC’s hobbies? painting!!! learning about history/going to museums, annnnnnd does his bf count? LOL12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? uhhh relatively patient? definitely depends. he’s VERY hot-headed but doesn’t ‘explode’ often 13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? male, gay, and latino! he’s also human wsedrftg14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? fucking LOVES cheese??? and big warm pretzels… CINNAMON ROLLS! hates olives ??? and most fish 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? he’d really want a big cat, doesn’t matter what… just a Big Boy16. What does your OC smell like? warm, cinnamon maybe but also musky and woodsy… but he sometimes just likes smelling Clean and like semi typical guy cologne ??? or just Expensive smelling cologne,,, idk he always smells really fucking good sedfgh17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? uhhh right Now he’s just graduated high school and issss looking for work… doesn’t really know what he wants to be, honestly. he’s still trying to figure everything out 18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? he fears losing completely everything he loves, specifically his boyfriend and his brother. a weakness is how hard he is on himself, and how much he isolates/pushes people away when he’s low. a strength is just how warm and caring he is. how much he loves. even if he doesn’t always see himself as strong, he is. he really, really is19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? h e a v y  m e t a l  h e ‘ s  a  f u c k i n g  m e t a l h e a d i havent looked too into it so i don’t know about songs, i WILL look into it at some point20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? he live on this hell planet, sadly 21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? the death of his mom… and his anger… he blames himself for her death and hes struggling hard with it, since his father doesn’t help at all and blames him, too. a pet peeve he has is people leaving doors or cabinets open, it makes him so mad dftgyhu just fucking close them 22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? heee was a good one ? hardest subject for him was english :/ mainly got A’s! except for english 23. What is a random fact about your OC? he cannot bake or cook anything EXCEPT breakfast foods 24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? he… didnt see a future until he met his boyfriend, nathan… after his mom died, so did everything else 25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? amber wanted to play the sims and she told me to create 2 characters but i said hey! i do one, you do one! and then we were fucking idiots and turned them into ocs dfyudfhjkl; its soooo recent that nothings changed LOL im still developing him, as i am with all of my ocs 26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? nathan… he gave him a second chance at life, he gave him a reason to want to stay alive, a future. also jordan is super super important to him they bffs xoxo (edit: dan n ty also mean the world to him) at his current age… his dad. their relationship does eventually get better but right now, hes the least important but has such a big impact on him it hurts27. What kind of childhood did your character have? A GOOD GOOD GOOOOOOD ASS CHILDHOOD up until 16 it was soooo good… his moms his best friend, he n his brother hung out all the time, and his dad wasn’t so angry or drunk28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? he picks at his nails when hes nervous, but it doesnt happen very often so its nothing he tends to worry about. heee doesn’t stim but fucking loves paint mixing videos those are his shit uhhh no, no addictions… unless you literally count his bf wertyui29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? “If You Sit On My Grave I WILL Haunt You” or “Long Live The King” because he’s a stupid fucking leo30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? yesssssssss he wants to marry nathan So Bad sedrftyui he’s unsure about kids, though… kinda just wants a couple pets 31. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? his mom died on his 16th birthday driving to come pick him up. anything involving nathan… doesn’t even matter what it is, he just loves him so much32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? his mom back33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? uhhh probablyyyyy not… he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he actually killed someone,,,34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? uh he likes concerts n shit but its not like,,, a social group thing… he doesnt do that shit…35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? very vivid imagination, is often found daydreaming when hes not painting or with his bf. not really worried, honestly, kinda just lives in the moment and doesnt give a single god damn shit about a thing except on the bad days36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? he wants nathan the most, out of everything- and he has him… but if he didn’t he would do anything for him. anything37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? pees with the door open esdrtyuio38. What would your character do with a million dollars? ooohhhh spoil the shit out of nathan, get a tattoo or 2, and buy art stuff!39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? eggs, leftovers, milk, orange juice, bacon, butter, and syrup. a couple of canvases, paint brushes, the shirt he slept in the night before. a couple of single issue comics, the graphic novel hes reading, a bottle of water, and a tiny art canvas. random plastic, paper, maybe an empty water bottle or 240. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? out with nathan, probably on a date. ripped jeans, dark red sweater, black shirt, boots, wallet chain, necklace chain, and a single dangly earring in his left ear 41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? yell, scream, get super physical. he’s burning, he’s burning, he’s burning. make it stop, better yet, let him thrive 42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? nope! he’s clean for now43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? oooooh uh he says some Shit when he’s pissed, especially to his dad44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? fine? doesn’t really care about it unless its from nathan. oooor if youre just being a shithead hell tell you off45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? he enjoys it, wouldn’t mind it at all tbh46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? fuck, yeah. he’d do something stupid to it to see if it works and then display it in his room or give it to his bf47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? hellllll yeaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh. everything, anything48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? his mom was his best friend and the reason why he is the way he is. his dad was a good man, but now hes a stupid angry drunk who blames ari for his mothers death. its affected him positively and negatively, hes loving and passionate like his mother but insecure and doubtful because of his father49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? d o  n o t  l e t  h i m  h a v e  a  l o t  o f  c a n d y  p l e a s e 50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? would probably elope with nathan, do some crazy shit, and hope to god he doesn’t actually fucking die 

Jordan: He/Him - Sagittarius - 19 - 6′2

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? light green2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? stamps, stickers, beanies, anything aquatic-themed, and tarot cards/witchy stuff!3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? bananas…4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? lazy type clothes, very sluggish. lots of oversized cardigans, hoodies, and sweaters. baggy shirts, but he religiously wears jeans. likes chains but preferably small ones, and usually only wallet chains. likes wearing a ring on each thumb and if hes Feelin it a couple more! punkish basically 5. What is your OC’s first memory? spying on his brother and dad training outside in the barn6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? he has a giant soft spot for cows but his favorite is whale sharks!!! he doesn’t really like frogs 7. What element would your OC be? water! but with Slight fire8. What is your OC’s theme song? something slow and sad, probably 9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? no! his voice is soft and low, like a lullaby. very warm and comforting, but also a lil husky10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? envy/lust/greed wsedfg11. What are your OC’s hobbies? reading, using tarot cards, organizing his stamps/stickers, watching documentaries, and making sure aristotle doesn’t do anything Stupid12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? he’s pretty patient but he’s also pretty hot headed. he Will lash out when angry :/13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? male, bisexual, white (russian/american) also a human sedryui14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? loooovvveeessss chocolate chip waffles! and breakfast foods in general. hates peas and green beans 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? a cowwwww… they remind him of his mom dfghj16. What does your OC smell like? clean but ? kinda minty!17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? he currently works at a little bookshop/coffeeshop! he likes it but he wants to do something more when he’s graduated from college. 18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? his father and crickets. how emotionally attached he gets to people. how warm and soft he is, he never stops caring for others 19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? goth, heavy metal, sad/emo shit20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? he live here Binch21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? his whole family besides his father is dead and he’s all alone with nobody to turn to. he h a t e s crunching noises. so much. also fucking HATES when people poke holes in shit just STop. 22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? actually really really good, even though he looks like a fucking slacker esdrftgyhu probably got all A’s23. What is a random fact about your OC? he always has his fingernails and toenails painted black or dark red/purple24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? fuck man he doesn’t wanna live hes so fucking Tired his dark circles are permanent but ari makes life worth living sdfg25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? …once upon a time amber and i made a gang au with ari n nathan and promptly made jordan for the Shits and Giggles but it turns out i fell in love and way too deep making his character, thanks!26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? aristotle, probably, because he assumes his mom is dead. least is his dad whos a fucking asshole murdering cuck27. What kind of childhood did your character have? uhhhh Not Good ill tell you that. his father only married and brought his mom to russia so she could give him kids, preferably boys. first was nikolai, second was kazimir jordan, and lastly was feliks. they were all 2 years apart, making nikolai and feliks 4, so they were all close in age and played together often. his father was most proud of nikolai but feliks had been showing signs of possibly exceeding all of their expectations. kazimir was last in everything, but he was his mothers favorite. he’ll never forgive his father for torturing him and killing everyone he loved. 28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? he often picks at his nail polish, or the skin around his nails. definitely fidgets with his hands often. doesn’t stim but follows a lot of soap carving and squishy videos, also likes bread/cooking ones. he’s kind of addicted to red bulls but he’s cutting back and resorting to coffee, which he drinks black29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? “hell’s waiting for me so watch your back”30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? maybe married but almost Definitely no kids. no thanks. xoxo31. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? his father dragged him into the barns once after he accidentally spilled something over an ‘important’ paper so his father branded him with a cross on his side. his mother used to braid his hair with baby’s breath in it when theyd play out in the field, just her and the 3 boys running around, having fun. it was peaceful, bliss32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? to tell his mother he was sorry and that he’ll never stop loving her33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? no, he’s seen what killing someone does to people34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? i dont really like this question edrtyu35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? hes so tired all the time hes often in the clouds, never really focusing. daydreams a lot to make it through each day, pretending hes someone hes not. hoping that his mother is actually still alive, and that he doesnt have to keep reliving memories. they wont stop fading, he keeps getting them jumbled. he just wants to make more with her, be with her one last time36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? his moooooooooom, he’d do anything for her37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? he has to turn door knobs twice before actually opening a door 38. What would your character do with a million dollars? that’s so overwhelming to him but probably pay off college shit sdfghj debt is So Scary 39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? yogurt, water bottles, red bull, orange soda, and some strawberries. a pair of jeans and boxers and random books hes checked out from the library. a half empty can of red bull, the book hes currentl reading, a beanie, and a cute little jar of jelly beans ari got him. garbage can has crumbled up balls of paper, empty red bull cans, empty bottle of soda, and an old textbook.40. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? probably aristotle and nathan to a concert/out to eat. wears black jeans, a baggy red and black striped sweater with a black shirt underneath, boots or vans, and prolly a wallet chain + his thumb rings41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? he screams and yanks on his hair fgyuhlj;k42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? heee has a cross on his side, and a few Light scars on his face- over his bottom lip, on his forehead and on the left side of his cheek/jaw. a couple on his back and arms as well most of them are from his father…43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? he’s never said anything Out Loud but in his head he says shit all the time dxgfhgjhjlio hes a snarky son of a gun44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? he will go home and Cry about it later 45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? eh its Ok46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? hes pretty paranoid about it and probably shows it to ari like ‘bitch what the FUCK’47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? he doodles mindlessly when hes bored in class 48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? uhhhh his dad is a big Cuck but his mom is an Angel and the best person he’s ever met. this has fucked him over hard bc hes father took her away from him and now he has nothing left so hes an anxious, paranoid Mess49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? he l o v e s candy pls50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? Kill Him Now

Tyler: He/Him - Pisces - 22 - 5′7

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? baby blue and pink!2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? nail polish, lamb stuffed animals, comics, seashells, and washi tapes 3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? nothin4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? he likes soft colors, pastel. sweaters are his favorite but he also likes long sleeved shirts. dresses pretty feminine, isn’t a fan of dark colors on himself unless its his boyfriends clothes5. What is your OC’s first memory? when he was around 4 or 5 he was riding his bike when he hit a rock and went flying forward, causing him to scrape his knees and his nose to bleed 6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? l o v e s  l a m b s and snails, doesn’t really like salamanders 7. What element would your OC be? w a t e r 8. What is your OC’s theme song? something soft and not too upbeat 9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? he has a very smooth and kind of feminine voice ? but its masculine enough to not misgender him,,,10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? envy???11. What are your OC’s hobbies? painting his nails, drawing/sketching, reading comics and graphic novels, watching documentaries, and journaling!12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? very patient and rarely hot headed, gets more agitated or annoyed 13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? male, gay, white human boy14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? would Die for milkshakes he loves them so fucking much, isnt a big fan of hamburgers/beef in general 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? a lamb or sheep he is so infatuated with them. they are so so soooo cute 16. What does your OC smell like? strawberries and cream!17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? heee currently works odd hours at a gas station, it’s definitely not his dream job but its not super awful… most of the time. he wants to go to art school, actually, to learn to make jewelry and to learn how to do more with his art18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? abandonment and ultimate loneliness. he’s really self conscious but he loves with all hes got and he loves so much, and so hard19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? bubblegum pop, kpop, jpop, and some indie music!20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? he here 21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? he’s self conscious and in recovery for self harm/an eating disorder but he’s doing really well! its still hard but he’s pushing through… he hates having chipped nails drftugyihuo as soon as one chips, even a little, he repaints them as soon as he can22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? he was a nerd he got straight A’s and actually enjoyed school kinda erdtfyuio but only because he loves to learn, not the actual people or atmosphere 23. What is a random fact about your OC? is really interested in astrology and loves reading his horoscope 24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? he’s honestly trying to still figure that out but the more time he spends with his boyfriend, the more he wants to live and have a happy future with him25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? amber made dan, dan needed a love interest, tada!26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? daaaaaannnn, his boyfriend, nathan his best friend (+ari)  annnnnnd uh ? nobody really ??? 27. What kind of childhood did your character have? he had a pretty alright childhood, kind of lonely…28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? plays with his ears if he’s super nervous, really fucking loves slime to stim and help him calm down- or chews on something29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? something gay, probably 30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? yes and yes!!! he wants to get married and have a family with dan :331. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? dan got into a bad bar fight once, he was having a shitty day and the guy was being an absolute douchebag asshole and tyler wasn’t there to help him or stop him and it was just… bad… once dan took him to a petting zoo to meet and pet some sheep and he cried because it was quite possibly the nicest thing anyones ever done for him and then the dumbass also set up a picnic for afterwards and he fucking bawled again stupid gay saps32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? the funds for college esdrtf33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? nope he is a soft crybaby 34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? i dont LIKE this fucking q smfh35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? he daydreams a lot, yeah, and hes almost always worried because his anxiety is an absolute bitch but hes working on it36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? he just wants dan and to go to art school37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? he has to say goodnight to all of his stuffed animals before bed every night sdfgfgghj38. What would your character do with a million dollars? a r t  s c h o o l39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? strawberries, mangos, chocolate almond milk, leftover food from a restaurant he went to with dan, and some chocolate syrup. nothing, he has to keep his room clean always. nightstand has a graphic novel and book hes currently reading, a note/poem from dan with a small lamb he got him, and a bottle of peach tea. 40. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? somewhere really really fancy with dan! he’d wear a cute suit, a white one with a pastel yellow button up shirt and a black tie. wears the necklace dan got him and probably a few dainty rings that match well together/when layered 41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? he cries. a lot. he gets really overwhelmed when he’s angry, and tends to scream or yell42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? on his arms from self harm, his hips as well… 43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? he doesn’t like saying rude things44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? uhhh if he asks he’ll probably take what the person says into consideration but if he hasnt asked, he’ll get mad/sad 45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? he like it46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? he gives it to dan rdyftugyhio47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? s e n d  h i m  t o  a r t  s c h o o l  p l e a s e48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? err his parents were kind of absent a lot, they traveled so much for business that he was often alone, only himself for company. his mom was loving, for the most part, when she was home. she got drunk quite often, though, but that just made her more giggly and unfocused. his dad… was hard on him, kinda abusive. often ignored him, honestly, unless it came to school and ‘being a man.’ he can be very distant at times, and self isolates often… yet he’s afraid of being alone, he doesn’t want to be abandoned, so he loves the wrong people, stays with the wrong people, because it seems right. if they stay, ill be okay, even if im still crying. even if it still hurts 49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? he does like candy! gets sugar rushes sometimes sdrftugyu dan finds it so fucking cute bc he’s so hyper and giggly 50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? oh please don’t stress him out like that…

Alexander: He/They - Virgo - 24 - 6′0

1. What is your OC’s favorite color? dark purple2. Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? swords, dragons, and bookmarks3. What kind of things is your OC allergic to? dairy and bees4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear? what he actually has to wear differs from what he personally likes. his father is the king so because of that, he often has to wear a lot of suits/prince attire. but personally, when he doesnt have to be Prince, he likes to wear dark and comfy clothes, a lazy emo5. What is your OC’s first memory? he vaguely remembers aster being born and wanting to help his mom take care of her 6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? dragons!!! doesnt have a least favorite??? maybe mosquitos 7. What element would your OC be? hhhhh water 8. What is your OC’s theme song? something heavy and dark9. Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? he has a charming n husky kinda voice !10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC? greed or envy11. What are your OC’s hobbies? fighting, taking care of dragons, making rings, and reading historical books12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? he’s been trained to be patient, for the most part, but when he’s passionate about something he tends to get hot-headed sometimes 13. What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? non-binary, bisexual, he’s an alien so he’s kinda pinkish… same color as aster but a little lighter 14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? loves seafood… isn’t really into eggs 15. If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? he Has his dream pet, a dragon, so he’s Good16. What does your OC smell like? woodsy and clean 17. How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? he’s a prince but he works with dragons a lot!!! it’s his Dream… or to sell his rings 18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? commitment, losing his family, and sharks. he gets too lost in his head at times, distances himself from everyone. he’s physically very strong and a charming/calm guy by nature 19. What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? he’s not the biggest music guy but enjoys rock/alternative/emo stuff20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? curious about everything, goes into almost every shop he can find and tries out so many different foods…21. What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? his last relationship was Bad and he’s still very much affected by it… he hates wearing socks to bed dfyguh it annoys him so much22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? excellent, top of his class23. What is a random fact about your OC? he loves tattoos and would love to be covered in them one day 24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? currently, his outlook is very bleak dxfyuibj he’s really sad,,,25. What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? i gave aster siblings and then slowly developed him in my head!26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? his family, specifically his siblings, anddd his ex boyfriend still haunts his almost every thought and action :/27. What kind of childhood did your character have? good!!! he and his siblings did so much stuff together dxfghjkl; i Love them28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? twists his rings a lot or shakes his leg when he’s nervous. doesn’t stim 29. If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? fuck, man, i have no fucking clue and neither does he30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? currently, no31. What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? his ex boyfriend tried to kill him once. he relives that memory almost everyday, and hates himself for not telling anybody about it. his siblings always know how to cheer him up, which he’s soooo grateful for. the 3 of them went to an amusement park once and just had so much fun, eating waaaay too much and going on all of the rides 32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? happiness33. Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? er probably wouldn’t but if it was his ex… he would reconsider 34. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? his dads the king, hes a prince, so he often finds himself at balls or parties and pretends to be super charming and openly available for marriage, even though he doesn’t want it and his younger brother will most likely take the throne instead35. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? he never stops living in daydreams or memories and would like it all to just. stop. let him b r e a t h e36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? peace. he wants everything to stop, he wants his head to stop convincing him somethings wrong when hes fine and he wants his thoughts to stop wants the voices gone.37. What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? he sucks skittles and starbursts for a long ass time before actually eating them…38. What would your character do with a million dollars? donate it all 39. What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? nothing dfhgjk he hasn’t restocked it yet,,, probably some clothes and random books lying around. uhhh probably some alcohol, candy, and a map. crumpled up paper and wrappers in his garbage can40. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? uh probably alone and to get wasted or high,,, doesnt matter where :/41. What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? self isolates and simmers in his anger, throws shit and screams because hes so mad/frustrated 42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? theres some cigarette burns on his thighs from his ex, a couple on his back and arms/legs from either fighting or his ex… there’s probably more but id have to think a lot more on his ex and stuff, which i will do eventually!43. What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? towards the end of his relationship he probably said some harsh things to his ex44. How does your character react/ accept criticism? fine unless its super personal to him, then it reminds him of his ex and he cant focus on anything, he shuts down45. If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? inhales it. please feed him46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? stares at it for so long.. would probably carry it with him always dsfgjkl;47. Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? he things drawing buildings is super relaxing…48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? very loving! hes very grateful for them and how supportive they are, even if its unconventional to being next in line for the throne. they just want him happy more than anything49. Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? he loves candy, shoves it in his mouth so fast estrytuyul he only gets sugar rushes if he binges on candy around others??? never when hes just munching on it alone50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? i cant say he’d be entirely mad at his current state… would probably say his goodbyes and then just wait, or wander around waiting 

[hannahindie]

Dean vs. The Mothman

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader, The Mothman Word Count: 4,531 (Whoopsy doodles!) Warnings: Canon violence, language, sassy reader, and a date gone horribly wrong. A/N: I wrote this for two separate challenges. The first is for @waywardmoeyy and Moeyy’s Awkward Moments Birthday Challenge. My prompt is bolded in the fic below! The second was for @uniquewerewolfsuit’s Mythical Creatures Challenge. I had a blast writing it, and my words got slightly carried away. I really hope you all enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it. However, I couldn’t have done it without my wonderful betas...

@trexrambling: “I was just hit with the memory of me making a lake of BBQ sauce on my plate and now I'm just sitting here giggling to myself hahaha” (I had to include this because this very incident is the reason I thought to put it in this fic. My ode to my sweet waterbear and her giant lake of barbecue sauce)

@pinknerdpanda: “Eek!!! Anxiety extreme” (Also, you can thank her for the song choice, because it fit perfectly and I love it. She’s my twin.)

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please send an ask or an IM. :)

The first thing you need to know is that grenade launchers are freaking awesome. The second thing you need to know is that they are also very loud, and a little more...explode-y than you would expect. The reason I say this is because I'm currently sitting on my ass, choking on concrete dust, and hoping to God I didn't just kill the two random dudes that had, for some reason, appeared in the middle of the bunker I had set my sights on. My eyes are on the slowly settling dust cloud, grenade launcher across my lap, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see two shadowy figures emerge from the rubble.

“Oh shit, I thought I killed you.” I stand up and take a better look at the two men brushing debris off their shoulders and out of their hair. The shorter of the two squints through the dust, and the initial glare turns into a look of awe when he realizes what I'm holding.

“Is that...is that a grenade launcher?”

His voice is deep and gravelly, and it does things to me. I remind myself to keep that in mind for later, when I'm not trying to save a town from utter destruction.

The giant next to him rolls his eyes, “Don't even think about it.”

The shorter one grins, and even from here I can see the sparkle in his eyes. I like this one. “I’m both jealous and a little turned on right now.”

“Dean!” Sasquatch hisses, and I can't help but notice the dimples that form even when he's frowning. Good Lord, where did these men come from? Whatever they put in their water, they should probably keep drinking it.

“Well, you're a man after my own heart. I've been wanting to use this thing for a long time, but I was hoping it would be a little more successful. Sorry I almost blew you up.” I'm pretty sure I just shouted that. Am I shouting? I told you, grenade launchers are loud.

They walk closer to me, and the shorter one holds out his hand. I realize that the ‘shorter one’ is...not so short. Seriously, where are they from? “The name’s Dean. This is my brother Sam.”

I look from one to the other, and I can tell my mouth is hanging wide open. They can't possibly be who I think they are. “Winchester? Sam and Dean Winchester?” They look at each other in confusion, but I can't understand why. Surely they know that they're legends? Right?

“Yea...how do you know?” Dean asks, and he truly doesn't seem to know. They have no idea. Oh, bless ‘em.

“You guys are legendary. I mean, I figured ya’ll were real and not just some sort of fish tale, but to see you in person...holy shit.” I sling the grenade launcher over my shoulder and rest my free hand on my hip. “I'm glad I didn't blow you up. Although, knowing who you are, I'm guessing it wouldn't stick, huh?”

Sam laughs, “Hopefully not. So, I'm guessing you're a hunter too, then?”

I nod, “I try to be. I do okay… Luckily, this is the first time I've nearly blown someone up, so I guess I'm doing something right.”

Dean looks back over his shoulder at what's left of the old bunker I just demolished, “What are those, anyway? I've never seen anything like it. They're everywhere.”

I grin. These boys have no idea what they're up against, do they?

“Ya’ll ever heard of Mothman?”

“What did you think you were hunting when you got here? Surely you noticed what this town is famous for?” I say around the mouthful of burger I just took. Dean's watching me with this look that's a combination of awe and appreciation. It's like he's never seen a girl put away a burger.

“Well, yea, but there's no lore, and no indication that he's back. You've got a festival honoring him! Nobody seems to mind it, and the disappearances don't really match up with what happened before.” Sam looks flustered, and I start to feel bad for picking at him. This is a weird situation, after all.

Dean stops staring at me long enough to look at Sam, “What are you going on about?”

I grab a handful of fries and carefully begin to dip them one by one into the pool of barbecue sauce on my plate, “He’s talking about the Mothman’s M.O. It's not really his thing to take people. He's more of a...well, a death omen. Or a warning of impending disaster.” Dean looks confused, and I raise an eyebrow at Sam, “Didn't you tell him anything about it?”

Sam frowns, “Yea, I did. He just didn't listen.”

“Yes, I did! There's this giant moth-”

“Dean, it's not a giant moth! It's a Mothman-”

“What's the difference, Sam? It's a giant thing with wings, and it's taking people-”

“There's a huge difference-”

I slam my hands on the table, and the suddenness of it interrupts their bickering. Out of all the stories I've heard about the Winchesters, their sibling squabbles had been left out. It’s cute, but we have work to do.

“We don't have time to argue about who's right. Dean, since you weren't listening to your brother, here's the rundown.”

Dean grins at Sam, “I like her.” Sam just rolls his eyes, and I sigh.

“Great. Keep it in your pants, Winchester. We’ll talk about our feelings later. Anyway, in November of 1966 there's a report that several men digging a grave in Clendenin, West Virginia, saw a man-like figure flying overhead. It's sometimes considered the first sighting of Mothman, but the one you hear about the most, the official first sighting, happened in the TNT area a few days later by young couples that went parking.”

“TNT area...that's where we were earlier. Wasn't that a munitions plant during World War Two?” Sam had apparently done some research.

“Yea. If you look close enough, you can see that those bunkers are spread out in a very specific pattern. They were built like that in case one of them exploded; it would keep the others from going up. They're mostly empty now, although I think the Reserves use them for storage on occasion.”

Dean reaches for a fry on my plate, and I smack his hand. He frowns, “So where's this giant moth fit in?”

“According to the two couples, they saw a ‘large flying man with ten foot wings’, and when their headlights hit him, his eyes glowed red. So Mothman, not just a moth. He was seen by a few other people in the area. There were a couple of volunteer firefighters that described it as a large bird with red eyes. Someone else described its eyes as looking like bicycle reflectors, and another man blamed the strange noises coming from his television and the disappearance of his dog on this Mothman. The sheriff and a wildlife biologist claimed that it was a type of local heron or crane that can grow to be almost the size of a man.”

Dean sits back and crosses his arms, his eyes occasionally drifting back to the fries I've got left. “So...that's it? I thought you said it was a death omen, or a harbinger of impending disaster. So far, he's just scared some kids necking where they weren't supposed to.”

“That's where the Silver Bridge comes in. In December of 1967, the Mothman was spotted near the bridge and, shortly after, the bridge collapsed. Forty-six people were killed when they went into the water. The Mothman wasn’t seen again, and the locals began connecting his appearance with the bridge collapse.” After grabbing a couple more fries from the plate, I shove the rest at Dean and he smiles happily.

“So, what do you think? Is it really the Mothman?” Sam asks, frowning at Dean as he shoves a handful of fries into his mouth.

“Initially, no. Honestly, I just thought it was a giant owl and that some kids afraid of getting in trouble just made something up. I've made fun of it for years...until I saw it a couple weeks ago. I just happened to be going through town when I saw it on the top of the old Historic State theater. A few days later, the first couple disappeared. A hiker found them in the wildlife area...or what you'd know as the TNT area.”

“How do you know it was the Mothman and not someone or something else?” Dean asks as he polishes off the rest of the fries faster than I've ever seen anyone eat before; it's my turn to look impressed. He winks at me, and I feel my cheeks flush. His charm was something I had been warned about.

“Because the couple was found twenty feet up a tree, with talon marks as big as a damn pterodactyl. It's the Mothman,” I grumble.

Dean wipes his hands off on a napkin and tosses it on the now empty plate, then leans back in the booth, “So what was your plan earlier? Was a grenade launcher really the best option?”

I roll my eyes, “Listen, it wasn't my first choice, despite my overwhelming need to blow something up. I'm the only hunter that stays in this general area most of the time, I had to improvise. But since that plan didn't work, we’re on to plan B.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, “And what would that be, sweetheart?”

I wiggle my eyebrows, “It's time for us to go on a date.”

Sam's standing outside of my car, his arms crossed and a look I can only describe as a mixture of amusement, jealousy, and irritation on his face. I'll give it to him; his facial expressions are what dreams are made of.

“Y/N, are you sure about this? Being bait isn't exactly the best plan…” He trails off, and I think he might actually be concerned.

I smile, “Sam, this isn't my first rodeo, and I'm usually on my own. And if it's Dean you're worried about, I think I can handle him.” I wink at him as Dean opens the driver's side door and climbs in.

“What are you two talking about?” he asks cautiously, his eyes moving between the two of us.

“Nothing. Let's get this show on the road. The faster we get this done, the faster I can get Norma’s famous apple pie.”

Dean looks at me with wide eyes, “There's pie?” I nod, and a wide smile crosses his face, “What are we waiting for then?” He turns the key, and Sam takes a step back. “You know the drill, Sammy. Stay close, but don't scare it off. This should be a piece of cake.” Sam nods and then walks to where the Impala is parked, gives a quick look over his shoulder, then disappears into the driver's seat.

“Is he always this anxious?” I ask as I fiddle with my seatbelt.

Dean scoffs, “Only when there's a pretty girl involved.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye and clears his throat, “You look nice. Pretty convincing date attire.” He pulls out into the main road, and I smooth down the edge of the dress I'd picked out earlier. I'm glad it's dark, or he'd be able to see how red my cheeks are.

“Thanks. I'm not really sure how observant a Mothman can be, but I figured we shouldn't chance it. I don't know how many more opportunities we’ll have, since I already blew one of his lairs to hell.”

Dean laughs, “Good point.” We drive in silence for a moment, and I guess it's too much for Dean because he turns on the radio.

Say you, say me say it for always That's the way it should be

Well, this is awkward. Nothing like Lionel Richie on a fake date, especially one that I'm beginning to think I'd like to be real. I clear my throat, “Turn here.”

Say you, say me say it together Naturally

Aside from the music, we travel the next few minutes in silence. I sneak a glance at Dean and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Surely he's not that worried about this hunt? I suppose he doesn't know me well enough to assume I'll be useful, but still.

“You can park here.”

He stops the car, but leaves it running. Lionel Richie is still going, Lord help me.

As we go down life's lonesome highway Seems the hardest thing to do is to find a friend or two That helping hand “So I guess we just wait?” I ask quietly, unsure of what to do now that we’re here.

Dean turns to face me as well as he can in the cramped front seat. Maybe we should have brought his car. “Well, we should probably sell it. You know, make it believable.”

“Mmhmm. That's...that's a good plan.” I'm stuttering because as I'm talking, he's moving closer to me. Dean Winchester is an inch away from my face, and never in a million years did I think this would ever be an option, fake or not.

Someone who understands That when you feel you've lost your way You've got someone there to say I'll show you

His hand gently cups my cheek, and it's rough and warm; a hunter’s hand. I can guess where the callouses and scars are from because I have my own. I close my eyes and drink it in for a moment. I've had my fair share of one night stands and meaningless romps in the backseat of this car, but it's been awhile, and something about Dean feels different. Ruse or not, I'm going to savor it.

Say you, say me say it for always That's the way it should be

Before I can open my eyes, his lips are on mine and boy are they a contrast to his rough hands. They're soft, and they fit against my lips like they were made to be there. His hand moves to my hair and his fingers are tangled and it takes everything I have to not moan when he gives it a gentle tug. If this is acting, what in the hell is this like for real? If I ever have the opportunity to find out, I might just die.

Say you, say me say it together Naturally

He smiles against me, and I pull back for air as I look at him questioningly, “What?”

“You're a good actress. For a second there, I thought you might be enjoying it.”

I shrug, “Well, it's all part of the gig. Sometimes you have to make some sacrifices.” I say it with a wink, and for the first time in my life I actually pull it off smoothly. ‘Atta girl.

Dean looks around, then squints through the window, “I don't see anything, do you? I don't hear anything, either.”

I look through the windshield, “No, but Lionel’s dulcet tones could be covering up any sound. Seems pretty quiet, though.”

Dean's eyebrows furrow in concentration, then he suddenly brightens as he looks at me with a grin, “I think we need to up the ante a little bit. Get in the backseat.”

I can feel my jaw drop, “Excuse me?”

Dean is already scrambling between the seats to get in the back, “We've gotta sell it, Y/N, or we’ll never catch the Mothman. Come on, hurry up.” I stare at him, suddenly recalling the stories that I'd heard that weren't so great. Sam and Dean were heroes but, by all accounts, also very dangerous. I've always ignored those bits but now, sitting in the dark with Dean after only knowing him for a few hours, I was beginning to wonder if I'd made a bad call.

He leans forward, and though the only light coming into the car is from the full moon, his moss green eyes shimmer. “Do you trust me?”

The answer should probably be no, but there's something different about Dean, something more than any other hunter I’ve met.

So you think you know the answers, Oh no Well the whole world has got you dancing That's right, I'm telling you It's time to start believing oh yes Believing who you are You are a shining star

“Yea, I trust you.”

He smiles, “Then come on!” He holds his hands out and I start to climb over the back seat. My feet get tangled and I can feel myself start to fall.

“Dean!” I shriek as I feel gravity take over and I start to fall awkwardly into the backseat. This is exactly why I never wear dresses. I feel arms wrap around my waist, and I squeal as I fall into Dean’s lap, “That was ladylike.”

Dean laughs, one arm draped across my lap and the other wrapped around my back. He wets his lips as his eyes search mine, “I thought it was adorable.” He somehow manages to flip us around so that my back is flush with the seat and he's hovering above me.

“That was smooth. You know, you could take a lady out to dinner first.”

He leans in, his lips ghosting over the shell of my ear, and I shiver. “Technically, I did pay for dinner...so…” He trails off and kisses me again. I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers running through the short hairs at his nape, and sigh into him. Fake or not, this isn't something I'll be forgetting any time soon.

Say you, say me say it for always Oh that's the way it should be Say you, say me say it together Naturally Say it together, naturally

Just as the song fades out, I hear a snap of a twig. I pull away from Dean and put a finger to his lips to quiet him. I nod my head towards the sound and raise my eyebrows. He frowns as he cocks his head and tries to pinpoint where it came from. There's another snap, this time from a different direction, and Dean pushes himself away from me. Just as he begins to sit up, the door flies open, and he's jerked through the opening and into the darkness.

“Dean!”

I scramble to get out of the car, and all I can hear is thrashing and grunts as Dean tries to get away from whatever grabbed him. It occurs to me that the shotgun I have hidden for this very scenario is in the front seat and not the back, so I fumble with the door handle and dive into the front.

“Y/N! Run! It's not-” Dean’s frantic cries are interrupted by what sounds like an incredibly hard punch.

“I’m coming! Hold on!” I grab the shotgun but drop the handful of shells I'd grabbed from the glove compartment. “Shit!”

“Y/N, run! It's not Mothman, it's just a person! It's a person!”

I freeze. A person? All of the disappearances and Mothman sightings...and it's a person? Dean runs back out of the tree line and is waving towards the car, “Get in the car, go! Get Sam!”

I look back towards the car, then shake my head, “No. A monster is a monster, Dean! We can't let him hurt anyone else!”

Before Dean can answer, a huge man bursts through the brush and tackles Dean to the ground. Dean’s head hits the ground hard, and he goes limp. The man stands up and sneers at me. Shit. I aim the shotgun and pull the trigger, but it doesn't slow him down. He crosses the space between us in three huge strides, and I'm quickly trapped between him and the car. He backhands me hard across the mouth, and the force of it causes me to drop the shotgun.

“You're pretty. I like you...I might just keep you alive.” He's holding a knife, and I can feel the cool metal trace along my jaw and down to my throat. I try to pull away, but he’s twisted his hand into my hair and any move I make makes it feel like my scalp is on fire.

“You can take me, just leave him alone. Don't hurt him anymore.” There's a tightness in my throat, and it occurs to me that I'm willing to sacrifice myself for a man I barely know...but it's also a man that's lost almost everything to save the rest of us.

The man holding me laughs, “You obviously don't know how this works.” He leans in, and I cringe as he sniffs my hair. “I can't leave someone alive. I'd get caught. The difference with you is that you're not going to get away, alive or not. I think that's worth the exception.”

I take a deep breath, “I see…” I pull my leg back as far as I can with the car behind me and kick him in the balls as hard as I can. Whatever protected him from the shotgun blast I sent his way didn't cover that part of his body, and he releases me with a whining groan as he falls to his knees. I bring my knee up hard into his chin, and it gives with a sickening crack. I think I just broke his jaw. He falls over, and I run over to Dean, sliding to a stop next to him.

“Dean! Hey, handsome, c’mon. Wake up...please wake up. We've gotta go, I think I broke him.” Dean groans and rolls his head towards the sound of my voice, but his eyes stay closed. “Dammit, Dean, get up!” I look up, and instead of the collapsed giant I expected to see, the grass is empty. “Shit! Dean, come on-” I'm cut short when something grabs me by the hair from behind, “Shit!” I scream, the pain the worst I've ever felt. The monstrous man drags me by the hair back to the car, and I can feel every stick and stone on the ground digging into my flesh. I'm crying, I can't help it. I try to call for Sam, but the only sound I can make is a strangled sob.

The man remains quiet, and when I look up I see that his jaw is at an awkward angle. How he's functioning enough to continue his attack, I have no idea, but I do know that nothing I can do at this point will stop him. Short of Sam showing up, Dean and I are screwed.

The man twists my arm behind me, hard, and shoves me into the ground. I can feel the bone aching to give, and one more twist will probably do it. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait, but the moment never comes. Instead, a strong gust of wind blows over us, and the man releases his grip on my arm. I scramble away and cower against the car as I look up and see the impossible. After everything I've killed, every monster I've fought that by all accounts shouldn't have existed, the very one I grew up listening to stories about is above my head, it's giant wings sending waves of dusty air in my face.

The Mothman swoops down and hits the man with a giant claw, tearing a gash across the man’s face. The only thing he can do is scream as he hits the ground. He throws his arms up in front of him, as if that's going to stop whatever the huge creature is going to do next. It drops down and wraps both talons around him, one close to his throat and one around his waist, and flies up into the air.

“Y/N!” I jerk my head around and see Sam running across the clearing, his eyes wide as he slides to a stop next to me. “Are you okay? What the hell is going on?”

“It wasn't the Mothman...it was just a person, Sam. A person did all of it.” I look up into the sky to see the large creature disappear into the trees, deep in the TNT area. The serial killer that had been wreaking havoc in Point Pleasant was just a dot in its huge feet. “I think...I think the Mothman just saved us.”

Sam helps me stand up, and I cradle my arm gently against my chest. I hear a groan and look over to see Dean slowly sitting up, a hand to his head. He looks over and sees me and Sam standing dumbfounded.

“What the hell happened?” he mumbles.

I look back up at the lightening sky and shake my head, “You're never gonna believe it.”

The Impala is warm against my back as I lean against it, my bones aching with a combination of exhaustion and the wringer they'd been put through earlier. I close my eyes and let the sun soak into my bruised skin. The last twenty four hours have been a whirlwind, and I am looking forward to curling up in bed and sleeping for the next week. I hear someone walk up to me, accompanied by the familiar hiss of a beer bottle being opened. I open my eyes and raise an eyebrow.

“A little early for that, isn't it?”

Dean pops open another one and hands it to me, “Nah. We've not been to sleep yet, doesn't count.”

I take it and sigh contentedly as I wrap my fingers around the cool glass, “Fair enough.” I take a long drag and relish the earthy bitterness of the beer as it slides down my throat. “So. Mothman is actually trying to help people. Like, that's a legit thing that's happening.”

Dean shrugs, “Weirder things have happened.” He raises his beer to his lips, and I can't help but wish our little show hadn't been interrupted. Not really something I should think about right now, but you make out with Dean Winchester and see if you can think of anything else.

“I can't think of any, but sure.” We watch the sky for a moment, and I feel him shift a little closer to me. “How long are you guys staying?”

“I figure we’ll take at least a day or so. We don't have anything lined up and…” his hand drops down to where mine is, and his fingers intertwine with mine, “I know someone that I owe an actual date. One that involves Norma’s famous apple pie.”

“Oh, yea?”

He smiles, and it's enough to stop the world. “Yea. A serial killer interrupted us, kinda put a damper on things.”

“Hmm...I didn't know that was a real date. I just thought you were a really good actor.” I grin at him, and he shakes his head.

Dean grabs the beer from my hand and sits both of them down, then grabs me by the waist and pulls me into him, “Oh, you'd know if I was acting. That was the real deal, sweetheart. I guess I'll just have to show you again.”

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[prettyflyforacyguy]

all

rlord christ uh okay

1: Kitchen Counter, Couch, or on top of the dryer?

kitchen Table. ;3

2: Your last sexual encounter: Good or Bad and why:

good!!!!! it was early morning and aiden was off work so we decided to mess around and it was just v low stress and nice

3: A fictional person that you think would be good in bed:

hm uh. who;s that one tiger from zootopia? shit dice drew a commission of him a while back. the sexy one. he’d treat me right.

4: Something that never fails to make you horny:

there are like a million dumb fucking things aiden does that makes me lose my gdamn mind!!!!!! like, when he loosens his tie and gives me The Sex Look or kisses my neck in a certain spot... luv that husband

5: Where is one place you would never have sex:

somewhere kids could see :/

6: The most awkward moment during a sexual experience was when ______________

one time admittedly when i was new to anal i had the inevitable ShitDick scenario bc i didn’t know how to prep myself properly........im so fucking sorry, trey, im so sorry

7: Weirdest thing that ever made you horny:

this petsmart flyer came in the mail once. that was a weird jerkoff. made me realize im deep in petplay pff

8: What is the best way to sexually bind someone: Handcuffs, Rope, or Other [if other please explain]:

aiden;s been practicing shibari and it’s pretty fun! i’d say its my fav way to be restrained rn 

9: What is the fastest way to make you horny:

it aint hard idk

10: Top or bottom?

this bitch be bottomin, my ass is Ready

11: We were about to ____________ but then ______________ [example: we were about to have sex but then his mom walked in]

12: Is one orgasm enough? Are multiple orgasms necessary?

it depends on how much stamina u have or if you’re in the mood for more? that time waiting for the refractory period tho suuuuuuuucks, im so jealous of dfab ppl that can come multiple times :/

13: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don’t want anyone to find:

a valentine’s present for aiden, shhh

14: Weirdest nickname a significant other has ever called you:

sometimes aiden fuckign. does French Shit and i dont know what he’s saying until after but it’s kind of become a joke because we’ll be having a really nice moment and he’ll lean in and like, whisper some bullshit like “my little lima bean” or “my sweet polished fork” and i fuckignt rftg,,, IT STILL SOUNDS HOT, WHY IS HE LIKE THIS 

15: Two things you like [or dislike] about oral sex:

that “pop” noise when ur mouth comes off the dick. also, when he like, holds your head with his fingers tangled in your hair and bobs your head down on his cock g gg go gogfdoood thats so hot i love it when he does that to me its nice

16: Weirdest sexual act some has performed [or tried to perform] on/with you:

welcome 2 Trauma Land next question

17: Have you ever tasted yourself? [If no, would you?] [If yes, what did you think?]

yeah. it’s a pretty slutty thing to do, it’s not great tasting if u don’t like, pineapple and shit but it’s a pretty good way to get your partner turned on more

18: Is it ever okay to not use a condom:

if u and ur partner get tested together and r clean and not seeing anyone else

19: Who was the sexiest teacher you ever had?

my sophomore year humanities teacher in my study abroad program....holy Fuck. hooooly fuck. mr. nakamura still gets me going to this day. he has a wife tho :(

20: A food that you would like to use during a sexual experience:

whipped creaaaam!

21: How big is too big:

some bad dragons are really intimidating. christ.

22: One sexual thing you would never do:

let ppl use me as an object again :/

23: Biggest turn on:

humiliation is pretty good

24: Three spots that drive you insane:

my neck

my back

my pussy, and my crack.

25: Worst possible time to get horny:

driving is pretty rough.

26: Do you like it when your sexual partner moans:

ch r is  t  y es

27: Worst sexual idea you ever had:

define “worst,” anon.

28: How much fapping is too much fapping:

who fucking calls it “fapping” still

29: Best sexual complement you ever got:

Yikes^TM

30: Bald, landing strip, Jumanji:

is this like, a lesbian thing? i dont get it

31: Is it good sex if you don’t nut:

YA GATTA NUT!

32: Fill in the blank: "If they ____________, we are fuckin"

IF THEY TRUCKIN WE ARE FUCKIN!

33: What your favorite part of your body:

my belly........? idk i used to Hate My Mcfuckin Self but aiden blows raspberries on me and its fkin cute holy hell

34: Favorite foreplay activities:

if i suck on aiden’s fingers he basically fucking Dies on the spot, so that’s fun to use. for myself, uhh. thigh kisses are hot. so hot.

35: Love (>,<, or =) Sex For those of us who don’t remember our math thats “greater than, less than, or equal to]

there was a a time when i wouldve said sex is bnetter but no, it’s Lov....i Love Husband

36: What do you wear to bed?

boxers, and my husband

37: When was the first time you masturbated:

probably when i was like nine or ten? in the “i dont know this is masturbating but it kinda feels nice” way

38: Do you have any nude/masturbating pictures/video of yourself?

there’s a lot floating around there but most of it is during The Bad Time

39: Have you ever/when was the last time you had sex outside?

uhhh shit its been a while i can’t really remember?

40: Have/would you ever have sex outside?

mhm. it’s not my fav tho

41: Have/would you ever had a threesome?

i;ve had more than a threesome, buddy

42: What is one random object you’ve used to masturbate?

when i was young and desperate and trying anal for the first time i used a vibrating toothbrush but no one told me you’re supposed to not use the brush end. the bristles were rough. 

43: Have/would you ever masturbate at work/school?

yes to both?? im a tiny troglodyte man what do u expect

44: Have/would you ever have sex on a plane?

maybe? this is a very specific situation, i know aiden would rather die than do anything on a plane tho

45: What is one song you’d like to have sex to?

i feel it coming - daft punk

46: What is something nonsexual that makes you horny?

literally like anything can make me hard im fucking easy

47: Most attractive celebrity?

my husband....he’s a star, to Me...

48: Do you watch gay/lesbian porn? why/why not?

yes. source: am gay

49: If a child was born on the occasion of the last time you had sex, how old would that child be right now?

Unborn.

50: Has anyone ever posted nude pictures of you online?

yes. i dont particularly like to think abt it but there’s a. big fan community wanting me to “come back” and it makes me super uncomfortable.

51: What is one thing that NEVER makes you horny?

girls :/

52: Do you have stretch marks? (How do you feel about them? Has anyone ever had a problem with them?)

i have a couple on my thighs and my belly from some healthy weight gain, but aiden doesn’t mind. he likes em

53: Do you like giving head? (why/why not)

dick....me Sucky Cock...nya

54: How do you feel about tattoos on someone you are interested in?

i dont rlly care

55: How would you feel about taking someones virginity?

i was a few people’s first lay and it was uh. difficult. they think they can just pound a man’s ass like their fleshlight and it’s rough when you’re like, laying there and your ass is on fire while you remind them to use more lube and also fucking go slower to start

56: Is there any food you would NOT recommend using during a sexual encounter?

sticky rice. good fucking lord, do not use sticky rice.

57: Is there anything you do on Tumblr that you would not like your significant other to see?

not really? we don’t hide things from each other

58: Do you own any sex toys? (what is it? (how long have you had it?)

we own a Shit ton. i’ve had some since i was like, a teenager but i’ve been collectin some over the years

59: Would you give your significant other unrestricted access to your Tumblr for a day?

oh god no. aiden barely knows what memes are

60: Would you be offended if your significant other suggested you get plastic surgery?

no, me and aiden have already discussed like, scar reduction shit. i have a few nasty keloids :/

61: Would you rather be a pornstar or a prostitute?

neither?? i mean, i was both for a while but *SLAMS TRAUMA BUTTON*

62: Do you watch porn?

duh

63: How small is too small?

all dick is good dick!!!!

64: Have you ever been called a freak? Why?

continues to Slam the Trauma Button

65: Who gave you your last kiss? Did it mean anything?

66: Would you switch phones with your significant other for a day?

probably not because aiden’s in a group chat with his work buddies and they’re all middle aged or young mom nurses. im a fish out of water.

67: Do you feel comfortable going "commando"?

sure, as long as its not like skinny jeans or something

68: Would you have a problem with going down on someone if they hadn't shaved their pubic hair?

not rlly. good dick is good dick

69: If you could give yourself head, would you?

im p sure everyone tries but usually i get my husband to B)

70: Booty or Boobs?

ass. please god, i’m all about ass

71: If you had a penis, what would you name it?

Ass Blaster 69

72: Have you ever been on an official date?

yes? like a movie and restraunt thing?

73: Have you ever cheated on someone? (Why?)

not that i know of, but there was a point when i was pretty low in life that i hopped around w/ partners and one night stands.

74: If you were a stripper, what would your name be?

the Pole Faller. i have no body strength and im named that bc i’d fall off the pole

75: Have you ever had sex in your parents bed? (Would you?)

no??????????? nO??

76: How would you react if you found out your parents had sex in your bed?

what...what kind of question even is this

77: What was your reaction the first time you saw a penis/vagina

“god i wanna put my mouth all over that”

78: If you had a penis/vagina for a day, what are five things you would do?

DOUBLE PENETRATION!!!!!! DOUBLE PENETRATION!!!!!