#the rest had been done for weeks.... and i was like well. strip of vague sky colours. its gonna scroll across. done <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[bmpmp3]

the drawrings from the mesmerizer cover i just finished <3

but more importantly, i must now explain to you the hashtag situation i created for myself because of my foolish yet absolute refusal to colour it digitally:

SO doing animation on paper is fine. its normal, hell for me its easier than digital, i just use this shitty lil 15 dollar light panel and go to town you know? historically animation was done on paper and/or clear celluloid/acetate plastic sheets (thats why they're called cels after all) for decades and its still being done that way today.

but usually. nowadays. when animation is done on paper it is still coloured and shaded digitally. we are in the age of digipaint. and thats good. before digipaint we used stuff like poster paints or other flat, consistantly coloured paint and applied that on the under side of the clear acetate cels with the ink lines drawn or xerox'd over top.

but acetate sheets for animation are expensive and hard to source where i live. so. instead of something sensible like drawing all my lines and then digitally painting the final pieces. what i did was um. i still painted it with watercolour. so this was the situation:

faceless...........

i drew the main piece, and then on the same type of paper i used my lightbox to draw on new faces (to save paper i put them all over the paper, using things like quickly traced hair, etc to help line it all up later. for the paint i had to carefully try to match the skin tones around the facial features so when i digitally re-attached them they would match up........ hell of my own creation

i was chatting with my father about it, he doesnt know much about animation at all (his preferred art is b&w sketches and linework) so he didn't understand why i was complaining about the hell of my own creation so much as first. he was like "isnt watercolour what most animation was made with?" and i was like NOOO no no absolutely not <3 backgrounds, the final layer under all the sheets of clear acetate, sometimes may be done in something other than poster paint, gouache, acrylics, whatever paint they used to colour the cels: maybe something like oil or watercolour for stylistic purposes

but no one in their right mind would make even a simple barely moving PV with just watercolours <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

the bg was easy tho LOL took longer to dry than to paint :)

[divine-misfortune]

Alright so i MIGHT have accidentally deleted the ask that @mac-and-thefox sent like a dumb ass but she requested rulti for the kiss prompts with 'on a place of insecurity'.

With a few little splashes, the flat stone skimmed along the mirror like surface of the lake sending disruptive ripples across the water. Inevitably gravity took hold and plunged the rock beneath the surface and Swiss watched it go with a furrowed brow. Briefly interrupted, the lake settled back into its serene state. Unbothered by him and his influence on it like always. 

He laid back against the dock and stared up at the glittering sky, stars winking down at him in his misery. Swiss knew he'd regret the choice to collapse onto the dock and not the grass, sensing splinters and a lecture from Aether in his future, but the deed was already done. Resigned to his fate, he threw an arm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the silver moonlight. 

"There you are...Started to think you were hiding from me." The dock creaked under added weight, Swiss didn't know if he trusted it to hold two people. 

Swiss lifted his arm long enough to look up at the upside-down face of the water ghoul looming over him. Just as pretty from this angle, outlined in a soft white glow. 

"Not from you, from her" he gestured vaguely towards the sky and Rain's head tilted. "She's been mocking me for days." 

"The moon is mocking you?" 

"Yes! Yes, it fucking has. I know you've felt that tug in your bones all week." He watched Rain straighten out his spine, arms folded neatly behind his back as he tipped his head back. Natural and elegant in her presence like he belonged there. "Calling me back to the water despite everything," he scoffed "she loves my anguish apparently." 

"Now someone sounds a little too self important" he mused and seated himself on the space of the dock beside him, arms braced behind him, head still thrown back to admire the cloudless sky. "She doesn't call you for nothing, certainly not maliciously. You've got it inside you, Mr. Multi." 

"Barely. Hardly a multi ghoul as imbalanced as I am, water just...doesn't stick. Not meant for it." Swiss frowned and turned his face to the side away from Rain, watching the lake gently lapping at the shoreline. "I can make a little wave or two but that's not impressive." 

He turns towards him again and Rain's laying down as well, on his side, staring at him with a bent arm pillowed under his head. There's that tug again. Magnetic and persistent. He sighed and the other ghoul shifted closer, close enough their natural body temperatures clashed. It was impossible not to feel stripped bare when Rain looked at him like that - nothing short of adoring. 

"Still runs in your veins." 

Rain reached for his hand and pulled it closer, tracing the dark blue lines in his wrist with the tip of his finger. Examining him, studying what comprised the multi parts of him. Familiarizing himself with what made him. 

"You may run hot," he paused to kiss his inner wrist. His pulse stuttered under the cool grace of his lips "but that doesn't mean the element has gone and evaporated out of you." 

"Rain-" embarrassment crept into his voice, masking uncertainty. 

"See her in your eyes." 

His hand came to rest on his cheek, thumbing lightly at the space beneath his eye. Swiss exhaled, blinking sparingly as he stared at the silver rings in Rain's eyes. She resided there unapologetically, belonged amongst the sapphire. 

"If anything, I think she's just pulling me back to you," Swiss admitted quietly and mirrored Rain's position on his side. Closer than they had been but not close enough for her incessant pushing. 

"Calling you back to the water where you belong." Hand drifting, Rain cupped the back of his neck and Swiss laid his own on the dip of his waist. Touching to prove the ghoul in front of him, beautiful as he was, was real and not some fantasy. 

Exhaling softly, Swiss could almost taste the rosewater on his breath. He breathed in the artificial vanilla scent of Rain's preferred chapstick and pressed his fingers into his waist. Not hard. A miniscule adjustment, never wanting to let him go. His eyes drifted shut before Rain's lips ever met his, already drowning in the water ghoul's embrace.  

Rain kissed him like he's never tasted doubt on his name. It was easy to let him lead. Easy for Swiss to match the lazy pace, mouths moving together slowly with an unspoken coordination - Rain kissed him like it was his whole purpose in life to steal the air from his lungs and breathe his love back into him, and the idea was preferable to ever tasting oxygen again. 

From his waist, Swiss' hand slipped under his shirt to slide his palm up his spine. He ran hot but Rain, cool to the touch, never failed to even him out. He needed that, balance in skin to skin contact. 

Minutes, hours, centuries later is when Rain broke away and Swiss felt his lungs tight and hot crying for air. It was a feeling he could ignore with such a perfect distraction. Rain's gills fluttered as he drew his own breath. 

"She loves you." Rain squeezed the back of his neck gentle, foreheads coming to rest together. "She loves you because I love you, and the water belongs to you as much as me."

[starlitangels]

That’s Mine

Another Guy/Honey ficlet for the girl who can’t seem to write a full fic for these two to save her life

—

I glanced up from my laptop upon hearing the apartment door open. “I’m home!” Guy called at the same time I heard the thumping of him literally kicking his shoes off at the door.

“Welcome back,” I said flatly, going back to my report.

I could hear him groan with the several popping noises that came with him cracking his back. “I’m gonna shower,” he announced as the front door shut.

“Careful. Kayla left a makeup bomb in the bathroom,” I warned.

“How does she even do that? Like we should not be finding powdered foundation in the bathtub of all places. A little falling off the palette or brush into the sink is one thing but like the bathtub?” He appeared in the doorway of my room and leaned against the frame on one shoulder. “I don’t get it. I’ve worn some makeup in my day but I’ve never been that messy with it.”

I grunted and shrugged.

Guy sighed dramatically. “Not in the mood to talk, honey?”

I shot him a withering glare. “Go get in the shower before I punt your ass into the bathroom and bar the door. I’m trying to work.”

He smirked lasciviously. “If you bar a door that locks from the inside and swings inward, you’d have to be in the bathroom with me.”

I raised a brow. “I’d figure it out. Go away.”

He winked with a click of his cheek and pushed off the doorframe, vanishing down the hall.

I went back to my paper.

Apparently I got really sucked into it because I didn’t even process that I heard the shower start and stop a few minutes later. Hell, I barely even processed Guy singing showtunes while he was in it.

I vaguely heard the bathroom door creak open on that ungodly loud hinge I still needed to oil (the landlords had promised to do it months ago and never had and I was getting sick of it), while Guy continued his one-man-show of Phantom of the Opera. But I ignored all of it. Guy’s singing was a constant in the apartment and I’d just learned to tune it out.

When the essay was done, I submitted it and finally stood up, wincing as my knees popped.

With a heavy sigh, I left my room.

Guy spun around in the kitchen almost instantly. In his favorite hot pink “Kiss the Cook” apron that had been a gag gift from his siblings that he’d actually loved. “There’s my favorite person!”

I grunted. Then froze. “Hang on a second here,” I said, folding my arms. “Hm. Black T-shirt way too long and wide in the arms, logo for a band you don’t listen to poking out from under the top of the apron. Coincidentally matching the one that went missing from my things after a load of laundry a few weeks ago…” As I spoke, I undid the neck loop of the apron and let the top fall away from his torso.

He chuckled nervously, ears and neck turning blotchy and red. “Heh-heh… uh…”

“Guy Erikson, that’s my shirt,” I snapped.

“Whaaat? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Obviously this is mine. See how it just fits me perfectly—ow, ow! Okay okay you don’t have to pinch I get it I get it—damn!” He pouted as I let go of his shoulder. “Can’t I just borrow it for the rest of tonight though? It’s so soft. It’s not my fault that you have the comfiest shirts on the planet!”

“Give it back. Now.”

He sighed dramatically and stripped it off, hurling it at me with all the grace and power of a newly-hatched bird. “Fiiine. You loveless, joyless buzzkill.”

“Thieving parasite,” I retorted, taking the shirt back to my room and chucking it into my hamper.

“Just for that, I’m not including you in my dinner plans.” He whipped the apron back up over his torso and started fixing the neck loop.

“I never asked you to. And I’m going out tonight anyway.”

His head snapped up to look at me. “What?! With who?”

I raised a brow. “Does it matter?”

Guy spluttered. “Oh. Well. I, uh—no, obviously. It’s just—you know what? Never mind.” He turned back to the stove and went back to preparing his pasta.

I snorted. “It’s my stupid reading group for my upper level class. There’s gonna be like five people there. It’s not a date. Don’t wait up for me, honey,” I said sarcastically before ducking back into my bedroom and slamming the door.

I picked the band shirt out of the hamper and held it up to my nose. Curious.

It definitely smelled like Guy.

A small grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I folded the shirt and set it on my desk. “You know what? I’ll wash it later,” I muttered to myself.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl @darlin-collins

[n0bamak1s]

laughing gas - mai zenin x reader

request: “Mai Zenin x Fem S/o, where the s/o gets their wisdom tooth removed and confesses their love to mai acting all sweet and cute, mai then takes care of her s/o and confesses too, we can see mai being her bratty and confident self but when she is with her s/o she just lets her walls down” - @shockfirefly

summary: in the request! (genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slice of life, humor)

warnings: reader is high on anesthesia if that counts as a warning, swearing, mostly just tooth rotting fluff (literally!!)

word count: 2k

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this request! at this point i’m basically just a mai zenin stan account tbh but the requests for her are just so fun to write. i’m almost on summer break so hopefully i’ll be more active bc i have a few ideas i’m excited to write for!!

it seriously took everything in mai’s willpower to not immediately whip out her phone to film your groggy state the moment she stepped into the room where you had just gotten your surgery done. she stifled a laugh at the bandage wrapped around your head, vaguely reminiscent of the one noritoshi had worn following the exchange event. when your eyes flicker over to meet her gaze, you give what she can only assume is your attempt at a smile, but looks more like a dog caught eating its owner’s dinner, with your face all swollen and slightly flushed.

forget that willpower shit.

she shamelessly calls out your name, to which you respond like an eager little kid. “say cheese!” she gives you an uncharacteristically wide grin to signal you to mirror her actions. you seemed to not learn from your previous mistake and attempted to smile back at her, before immediately cutting yourself off with a muffled groan. she hardly bothered with hiding her giggle this time, but at the very least she had the decency to cover her mouth as she cracked up.

with an annoyed pout on your face, you huffed and turned to the nurse standing beside you, who you were apparently to loopy to notice had joined in with mai on giggling at your grogginess. “she’s so mean to me!” you said, though your tone had no real irritation to it.

“it’s just to send to utahime. she wants to make sure your doing alright.” mai lied straight through her teeth, though you seem satisfied enough with that answer as you started to push yourself up from the seat you’d been in. mai quickly rushed to your side, knowing you weren’t sensible enough at the moment to ask for her help. before you could stand up and inevitably wobble over, she looped an arm around your waist and moved your arm so it was slung over her shoulders.

“alright champ, let’s get going.” she tried to remain as nonchalant as possible with the close proximity, but unfortunately for her, you seemed determined to embarrass her as much as possible.

“well at least buy me dinner first, ya casanova!” you said (much louder than necessary, mind you). honestly, it wouldn’t be surprising to mai if you could be heard from the waiting room.

with an over enthusiastic wave from you and an awkward thanks from mai to the nurse, you guys set off on your way.

to be fair to you, it was surprisingly a relatively tame trip to the door, with you focusing on keeping your steps in tune with mai’s. you were too lost in thought to embarrass yourself until you had made it to the waiting room. you had rather innocently pointed out a small curse, which would have been completely harmless had it not actually been an old woman, and had you not spoken with an inappropriately loud voice. the poor old lady who had fallen subject to your anesthesia induced self gave you an agitated glare as mai waved sheepishly in apology. the moment you guys were out the door, you turned back to glance through the glass.

“we’ll get her later, mai!” you patted her on the back with determination, your voice still muffled in a way that made you sound like you belonged on sesame street. “she can’t fool me, stupid curse!”

had it been anyone else, mai would have simply rolled her eyes and tugged you on, but since it was you, she found herself laughing along, a quiet laugh, like the sound of a wind chime in early spring weather. the sound seemed to catch you off guard, causing you to stop in your antics before turning to face her. she paused when she felt your gaze back on her, looking at her like a kid would look at fireworks for the first time.

she raised an eyebrow at your sudden change in demeanor. “what?”

“your laugh is pretty.” you stated simply, clearly having some pride at being the one to get her to laugh like that.

she turned away for a moment, hoping it would stop you from seeing the flush spreading across her face, knowing you’d never let her live it down. “thanks.” she muttered, praying she sounded at least a little bit cool and composed.

the short walk to the car was filled with you pointing out random cars asking if they were mai’s as you rested your head on her shoulder, before deciding the swelling was too painful for that.

a large grin which quickly turned into a grimace (you really never learned) appeared on your face when mai finally informed you that you’d made it to the right car. she held your hand to support you as you stepped into the seat, and once she’d sat down, reached over to buckle you in. she chose to ignore the over exaggerated wink you sent her way in favor of her own sanity.

as she drove, you babbled on about nonsense like how you were sure noritoshi had made mechamaru to hide the fact that he was secretly a robot, or how after that run you had gotten at the baseball game, you were sure you were destined to quit sorcery to go to the major leagues. to humor you, mai nodded along, before dryly responding that she’d probably be a better fit considering how good she looked in the baseball uniforms.

ignorant of her joking tone, you were quick to agree enthusiastically. “definitely! but i dunno if i’m the best person to ask, because i think you look good in just about anything.” your voice was sincere as you turned fully to look at her with slightly hazy eyes.

before either of you had time to process the admiration you had shown towards her, you glanced back out the window to the familiar sight of your school. you excitedly waved at the sight of todo and noritoshi sparring together. after catching his attention, todo didn’t even bother to stop the roaring laughter that came from your appearance, pointing out to noritoshi the similarities between your current look and his from just a few weeks ago. noritoshi gave todo an annoyed look, before glancing back over to see mai helping you out of the car, once again slinging your arm over her shoulders and supporting you with an arm on your waist.

she tried her best to ignore todo, she really did. though, it wasn’t exactly easy to ignore him when he loudly exclaimed what a ‘lady killer’ mai was. she snapped her gaze to meet his eyes, giving him a cold glare, before continuing to slink you along to your dorm.

when you opened the door to your dorm, the first thing mai noticed was a bulletin board on your wall, decorated with photos of all your friends, which most recently included your classmates. her eyes flicked to a photo of you next to another girl in elementary school with a smile that showed off your gap from missing teeth, and she chuckled softly at the irony of the photo compared to your current situation. her gaze then quickly shifted to a newly added strip of pictures from a photo booth. she smiled fondly at the memory of you, her, miwa, and momo sandwiching yourselves together in the tiny booth to take photos during your shopping trip. they weren’t ‘good’ photos, per say, in fact you guys all looked rather ridiculous trying to pack into frame, but for some reason, mai seemed to soften up at the memory of it, and how happy you looked just to be next to her.

her train of thought was interrupted by you tugging on the hand that didn’t rest on you, making her turn to see you mere inches from her face.

why the hell were you so close???

“yes?” she questioned, hoping to deflect from the fact that she was so obviously gushing over the photos on your wall just moments before.

“will you sleep with me?”

had you not had an arm around her, she probably would have dropped you in that instant. from the way she carried herself to the way she talked to others, most people would assume mai zenin does NOT blush, yet somehow you’d managed to disprove that theory way too many times today.

“WHAT?” it was her turn to be loud for a moment.

“i’m tireddddd” you whined “and you’re so warm.” you had stated it so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

she groaned, as if it would cover up her sheer embarrassment at how bold you were. wordlessly, she walked you to your bed, keeping her grip on your waist secure. it was amazing how gentle she was as she laid you down on that rock solid bed all the dorms were stuck with. she pulled a blanket over you, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed in hopes you’d doze off peacefully from there. when she didn’t shift from her position, you looked at her with a confused expression.

“wouldn’t it be more comfortable to lay down?” your words were still slightly slurred together. you rested a hand on hers. “you know i don’t mind.” despite your dazed look, she could tell your words were sincere as your thumb rubbed circles atop her hand.

mai turned to face you full on, her eyes gentle rather than their usual harsh look.

curse you for being so hard to resist.

“fine” her voice was quiet “but only because it’s my job to watch over you.” she stretched out her legs so she was laying down on the bed, pulling the blanket towards her so she could get comfortable.

“you’re so good to me mai.” you smiled. not a pained grimace, or an awkward baring of your teeth, but a smile. “people always seem to be so intimidated by you, but i don’t really get it. you’ve always been so nice to me. it’s nice.”

she didn’t understand how even when you were all loopy, you still managed to have such an effect on her. hesitantly, she reached up to grab your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

it seemed the boldness from your anesthesia had rubbed off on her.

before she had time to talk, you continued. “i always feel so glad when we get paired up for missions, you make me feel so safe. like, i know when i’m around you that you’ll protect me. i admire you so much for doing all that for me.”

she went slightly stiff at your...confession? declaration? what exactly would you call that? you had said it so nonchalantly, whether it was out of trying to play off your fear of rejection or legitimate confidence, it was hard to tell.

“plus you’re really pretty.” your hand squeezed hers as you looked suddenly very interested in the pattern of your blanket. it was odd, seeing you get so shy all of a sudden, though she supposed it was somewhat of a win for her.

as you stared sheepishly away from her eyes that traced over every inch of your face, you felt her hand come up to your cheek, tilting you to face her. she continued scanning your face with an impossibly soft expression, before meeting your eyes once again.

“you know i wouldn’t do all that if it was anyone else.” her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes bore into yours. her face was so close to yours that you could feel her breath fanning lightly across your face. “it’s all for you.” you’d never seen her so earnest before.

you smiled softly at her, even despite the ridiculous bandages around your head, and your chipmunk like cheeks, she still stared at you with so much love.

“you like meeee.” your tone was teasing, but it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that you were just as whipped as her.

“dammit. you figured me out.” she said sarcastically, shuffling forward slightly so you were flush against her.

up close, the tiredness in your glassy eyes was obvious. she sighed to herself, and slowly leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

“get some sleep.” she smiled at your eyes struggling to fight open your heavy eyelids. “we have a lot to talk about once the anesthesia wears off.”

maybe todo wasn’t so far off with that ‘lady killer’ comment.

[randomprose]

MoShang Week Day 02: forced marriage, seasons, literature

Shang Qinghua arrives in the Northern Kingdom in autumn.

Well, he’s pretty sure it's still autumn. At least that’s still the season when he left his kingdom.

Former kingdom, he reminds himself. How can he forget the whole reason why he’s traveling with what meager belongings he has in a cramped sedan?

It’s only been a full week, surely it hasn’t been that long that it’s now winter? Or do winters come in the North way earlier?

“It does not, my Lord,” a voice outside by the side of his sedan speaks up. Ah, Shang Qinghua didn’t realize he had said that out loud. “It is always this cold here. Practically freezing in the winter.”

“Ah, I see.”

“It will be best for Lord Shang to acclimatize himself to the northern climate fast.”

How nice to still be addressed by his title. Shang Qinghua has never cared for it for as long as he’s had it and now that he’s been stripped of it—or at least he will be once he reaches the Northern Palace and meets with its king—he finds a sudden appreciation for it. Shame he could only hold on to it for the remaining duration of this trip.

The sedan stops and a knock is heard outside. They’ve arrived at the Northern King’s palace.

Shang Qinghua expected to be led to the throne room, instead, he is led to a huge set of chambers, twice the size of his own back in his former kingdom and extremely lavish to the point of absurdity.

It is well lit with elaborate tapestries decorating the walls and thick rugs covering the floors. There is a fireplace where a fire is already lit chasing the coldness of the room away but not quite warming it and Shang Qinghua sighs at the reprieve from the cold no matter how meager it is. The bed is piled up high in down pillows, furs that look soft to the touch, and blankets possibly with the highest thread count available. He deduces that this must be the chambers of the king and he is led here to meet him instead of the throne room.

For a moment, fear runs down his spine of what being led to the king’s quarter’s entails especially to someone like Shang Qinghua.

Except he is then told by the attendants that these are his own chambers, actually, and that they wish Shang Qinghua find his accommodations to his liking.

Shang Qinghua gapes. To his liking??? This is more than Shang Qinghua thinks he deserves!! He’s a fucking war prize!! Practically a prisoner of war!! He’s not a fucking consort!! This room is so large and extravagantly decorated it fits someone of a royal stature rather than some former lord!!

“Uh, pardon,” Shang Qinghua calls after the attendants before they can fully leave. “When will the king see me?”

“The king will send a summons for Lord Shang when he is available,” one of them says a vague answer if he’s ever heard one. “We’ll let Lord Shang rest from the long journey.” And then they all bow and leave him to his own devices.

Well, Shang Qinghua thinks, best to enjoy the top notch accommodations while he’s able then.

—

Shang Qinghua doesn’t meet the King of the North until the next morning.

True to the attendant’s word, a summon was sent for Shang Qinghua in the form of servants barging into his quarters, hauling him up in bed, bathing him, and dressing him up not in the robes he’s brought from home—which honestly feels threadbare in the cold of the North— but in new thicker and much fancier robes in the colors of the Northern Kingdom. They fit well and snug almost as if it was specifically tailor-fitted for him. Then his hair is done in an elaborate updo complete with expensive pins and hair ornaments before he is swathed in jewelry. An attendant tips his face up with a brush in hand and Shang Qinghua draws the line on them putting cosmetics on his face, but relented when he sees her frown and allowed her to put a light blush on his cheek, line his eyes, and a bit of lip shiner.

By the end of it all, Shang Qinghua feels like a bride being sent to be married instead of a prisoner of war meeting his jailer. Robes fitting his form well and keeping him warm his hair falls in artful waves and matching jewelry to complete the whole ensemble. Shang Qinghua idly notes that he has never worn so many accessories in his life even at the peak of Cang Qiong’s wealth.

Shang Qinghua’s heart is jackrabbiting in his chest the whole time he is being led to the throne room. He has heard of the Northern King’s battle prowess and how terrifyingly quick he has conquered lands to add to his territories. He has heard stories of how he has taken the throne through battling his brothers and others who dared challenge his birthright. However, Shang Qinghua has not heard of anything else about the man besides his capabilities in the battlefield. Not his appearance or his age or even how tall he is. Only that he is as icy as the kingdom he rules over.

The doors to the throne room open. Shang Qinghua looks up to stare at the man perched on the throne and is suddenly very confused why he is the one sent over.

Look, the guy on the throne, he—he’s a King in every sense of the word. A face so handsome Shang Qinghua couldn’t even begin to know how to describe it (it’s just really handsome okay?! Words fail and pale in comparison to describe it!!), a powerful warrior’s physique that not even his layers of robes could hide, and the aura of someone who knows for a fact that no one else but him deserves to sit on that throne.

Meanwhile, the An Ding clan is only the fourth in line in Cang Qiong’s rule. Shang Qinghua is not even royalty. The An Ding patriarch doesn’t have any children to offer so he sent his most trusted and highest advisor instead. He didn’t even know he was being sent as The War Prize until he was told to pack his belongings and was summarily shoved in a sedan bound to the Northern Kingdom.

“So, you are the one who Cang Qiong sent from An Ding,” the king says, looking at Shang Qinghua as if assessing goods purchases, which in essence he is. “What is your name?”

“Shang Qinghua, my king,” he isn’t quite sure how to address the man but he figures it’s appropriate. He is a king after all. “Forgive this one’s forwardness, my king, but are you sure you want this one as your prize for conquering Cang Qiong?”

See, the thing is, in the week he has to travel to get here, Shang Qinghua has had time to accept his new status. So, he’s a war prize. Big deal. He used to be a commoner from a remote and very desolate fishing village before coming to Cang Qiong in a slave trade caravan. As horrible as it sounds, he’s used to being transported and traded like cattle. Mobei Jun conquered Cang Qiong fair and square and in a bizarre show of mercy, only asked for someone specifically from the An Ding clan which no one knows why but, again, as their conqueror, seems fair. He can demand them whatever he so wishes without having to explain himself. That’s just how the game is played as far as the rules of conquering lands and kingdoms go.

But Shang Qinghua’s real concern is...is the king really sure that he wants him, Shang Qinghua, as his prize for overthrowing Cang Qiong?

“Are you implying that this king had a lapse in judgment?”

“Oh, not at all, my king. It’s just that, well,” Shang Qinghua trails off before gesturing to himself overall. “I’m not war prize war material as you can see.”

Mobei Jun looks amused. “So Lord Shang says whilst decked head to toe in the North’s colors and jewelry from this king’s personal coffers.”

Shang Qinghua startles at the lazy smirk on the king’s face. Of course, he would look goddamn attractive with it.

“W-well,” he stammers, “when my king puts it that way.” An unfair assessment if Shang Qinghua has anything to say about it. He didn’t see him yesterday when he arrived travel-weary and in his regular robes. “It’s different under all these embellishments, my king.”

“It does not matter to this king.”

Well, then if he insists. He shouldn’t blame Shang Qinghua then when he inevitably gets disappointed in the long run. He can’t imagine always dressing up like this for the rest of his life.

“What do you plan to do to this lowly one, my king?” Shang Qinghua asks, cutting to the chase. He knows what usually becomes of those met with the same fate as him and if he's going to live and acclimate himself for the rest of his life in this kingdom this king might as well give it to him straight. “If this king had this lowly one dressed in the colors of the north and decked in jewelry from his personal coffers then surely this one is not to be treated like a common prisoner of war nor a slave? Unless this is a special brand of hospitality that is unique to the north?”

“Marriage of course,” Mobei Jun answers swiftly, the smirk on his darnedly handsome face never letting up. If anything else, it only grew more amused. “Lord Shang is to be this king’s husband and the Northern Kingdom’s consort.”

“Pardon, my king. This one thinks he didn’t quite hear my king right.”

“You heard right, Lord Shang.”

“M-marriage?” Well, whatever it is Shang Qinghua is expecting, it is most certainly not that. “Y-you picked this lowly one to be the North’s consort?”

“Is there a problem with that, Lord Shang?”

There is no problem. The truth is there are many problems with that. Plural. Along with questions. Also plural. They’re all swirling in Shang Qinghua’s head like a buzzing beehive, each one of them overlapping each other.

For instance, won’t the northern throne need heirs? How is the king going to do that with a man as his consort? Will he take a wife to bear him an heir? Wives perhaps? Oh, Shang Qinghua could think up ten more additional problems with that on the top of his head. Harem politics are brutal and savage and definitely not something Shang Qinghua wants to be a part of. If he is to be the first northern consort does that mean he will be the one to rule beside the king? What does a royal consort even do? Run the palace household, its servants, and finances? Shang Qinghua could do that, sure, but all his other skill sets lie on being an advisor, not a ruler.

These are some of the things that plague Shang Qinghua’s mind at the moment, but in the end all he could say is, “None at all, my king.”

Mobei Jun looks satisfied with his answer. “The wedding ceremony will commence before the first day of winter befalls us.”

“A question instead, my king.” Mobei Jun nods his permission and Shang Qinghua continues. “How does one know when the seasons change in the north? It is still autumn now, correct? How does one know when winter comes? Or spring and the summers for that matter?”

Of course, of all things he could be asking, Shang Qinghua chose to ask about the changing of seasons. What an idiot.

“Winter arrives when the first petals of the cerulean crystal poinsettias start to bloom.”

“Ah, I see.” Come on, stupid. Ask the real and very important questions! “One more thing, my King.”

“Speak.”

“What are–why do—” Shang Qinghua tries to start asking the questions he really wants answers for but then backtracks. Instead, he asks, “Is it always this cold here?”

“This is the north, Lord Shang. The coldest lands in all the realm. Of course, it is always this cold.” Mobei Jun explains in a tone that says it should be obvious and that basically called Shang Qinghua an idiot without saying the words. He looks amused as if the question was a particularly funny limerick. “It gets particularly brutal in winters. You should get used to it.”

Shang Qinghua just sighs and resigns himself to having his real questions unanswered. “So I’ve been told.”

They get married just before the first blue crystal poinsettias start to bloom.

[ao3 | twt and other moshang week prompts | buy me a ko-fi // more fics]

[lixiepeach]

Red Moon Drabble Series - Part 11

Summary: Hyunjin figures out he really likes it when Hana is pregnant. 

Warnings: Fertility rituals, pregnancy, semi-detailed description of labor, Hyunjin has a pregnancy kink.

These all relate back to the original story. It helps to have read the story before reading through the drabbles. The story can be found on the Masterlist.

MASTERLIST

Hana startles awake as someone shakes her. Hyunjin is standing over her in the dark room, dressed and holding her robe. She had been dead asleep, getting much needed rest in Seungmin’s room. Regardless of her annoyance at Hyunjin for waking her, she lets him pull her up, wrapping her robe around her before thumping down the stairs behind him. 

The moon is high in the sky, full and shining down on them. Hyunjin leads her into the yard, towards a blanket set out. She’s still sleepy, letting Hyunjin strip her out of her pajamas. She stands there naked in the moonlight, watching Hyunjin as he grabs the bowl sitting next to the blanket. She watches him as he begins to paint her skin with a red substance, covering her with lines and sigils. She can’t tell in the moonlight what the liquid is, it could have been blood for all she knew. 

He focuses on her stomach, painting sigils over her pelvis. 

“What are you doing?” She asks as he pushes her back onto the blanket, parting her knees. “My heat is still a week away.” 

“Fertility ritual.” He states simply, mixing something in a jar. “Nothing is guaranteed with this kind of magic. But anything that might make it easier.” 

He leans over her, holding the jar to her lips. She drinks the foul tasting liquid, some of it spilling out of the corners of her mouth. He dribbles a line of the liquid down her body, letting it slide between her legs. Her body begins to buzz, like she’s about to start floating. 

Hyunjin splays a hand over her pelvis whispering quietly. She begins to feel warm, the heat blooming outward from her abdomen. Hyunjin presses a kiss to her stomach, trailing the kisses up her body to her mouth. 

***********

Hana lays on the bed in the heat room, candles and various statues placed around the room. Hyunjin was determined to get it in one go, having spent the last week trying every fertility ritual he could find on the two of them. He was lighting the last of the candles, Hana rubbing her thighs together as slick begins to leak out of her. 

“You’re sure about this?” Hyunjin asks once more, kneeling on the end of the bed. “I can’t give you what you really need. You’re going to be uncomfortable for two weeks.” He slides his hands up her thighs. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll send one of the alphas in. We can just...give up.” 

Hana grips his chin, fighting the lust starting to take over. “No. We’re going to do this. No matter how many tries it takes. Besides, you shouldn’t complain. You get to fuck me non-stop for two weeks.” 

Hyunjin gives her a wicked grin, parting her legs finally, leaning down to kiss her. 

**********

Hana wakes sticky and starving. She’s laying against Hyunjin’s chest, his arm wrapped loosely around her. There’s a half empty water bottle next to him, and several more empty ones on the floor. She vaguely remembers Seungmin coming in halfway through to clean up the mess of wrappers, bottles, and containers. She remembers more this time. There had been less of a haze with the lack of an alpha’s knot. 

It had been a horribly painful two weeks, but she would never admit that. 

“Do you think it worked?” She asks, tracing patterns on Hyunjin’s chest. 

“We’ll find out in a couple weeks.” 

“If it doesn’t, we’ll try again.” She says, pushing herself up slightly. “We’ll try until it does work.” 

Hyunjin stares up at her, hand tracing her back. “It’s times like this I wish I was still an alpha.” 

“Hey.” She grips his chin, staring into his eyes. “I said it from the start. No matter what it takes. I want your baby, Hyunjin. No matter how many heats we have to try. I want to give you a baby.” 

Hyunjin reaches over, grabbing one of the statues. “If we’re lucky, the magic worked.” 

“Even if it didn’t,” Hana lays her head back on his chest. “We’ll try again in six months.” 

***********

“Anything?” Hyunjin asks, pacing across the living room. 

“It hasn’t been ten minutes yet.” Changbin says, looking up from where he’s trying to get Cho-Hee to say “dada.” 

Chan is laying on the floor, being used as a human racetrack for the twins’ trucks. It was their new favorite game and Chan was always down to lay on the floor and let the boys play. Fatherhood had really softened him, just as much as it had Changbin, but she knew the alphas would kill to protect their kids if it ever came to it, probably more than they’d be willing to kill to protect their pack. She feels just as anxious as Hyunjin looks. She loves her three babies, but she also wants more. 

It’s partly the instincts as a female omega and luna to want a big pack with lots of pups. Omegas never could quite get rid of the instinct to provide the pack with offspring, even after generations of evolution. It stemmed from the harsh lives wolves used to live, the chances of pups making it to puberty was low, so more pups meant more chances for offspring to make it. The need for pups never went away, the desire to have as many as possible never leaving the omega instincts. 

That, and she knew how much Hyunjin wanted his own. He had been less vocal about it than Changbin, and even a couple others, but she knew. She knew from the glances he’d give the pups when he thought no one was looking. How he’d volunteer to hold them or play with them whenever he could. How much work he had put into making sure every fertility ritual was done correctly, all the research he did to try and find out just how likely it was for him to get her pregnant, all the tricks he could try to make it happen the first time. She knew the others were taking notes as well. It would be a struggle from here on. 

The timer on her phone goes off, the room going still as she picks up the pregnancy test. Even the twins have stopped playing, sensing the tension in the four adults. She looks at the test, closing her eyes for a moment as she takes a breath. 

She can’t hide the grin anymore, showing Hyunjin the test. He stares at it in shock, taking it from her hands. She laughs as he scoops her up in excitement, kissing her. Even Cho-Hee claps in excitement, even though she doesn’t understand why they’re excited. 

“It worked.” She breathes, cupping Hyunjin’s face. “It worked.” 

“I told you there’s some alpha in there still!” Changbin says.

*********

Hana lays still, listening to the heartbeat in her stomach. There’s only one again this time, the single heartbeat loud and strong. Hyunjin rubs his hands over her stomach, rubbing the cream into her skin. He was completely enamoured anyways, hands constantly on her stomach, wrapping around her from behind, always sleeping with at least one hand over her stomach. She hums as he moves his hands to her hips, massaging the sore joints. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, hands moving to her thighs. 

Hana cracks her eyes open, looking down at Hyunjin over her stomach. “I feel like a whale.” 

He smirks, pressing kisses to her stomach. “But you look so sexy pregnant.” 

Hana had discovered Hyunjin’s desire to have a pup went deeper than she thought it had. He had been touchy with the other pregnancies, but now, he couldn’t help himself. He kept talking about how sexy she was, how much he loved seeing her pregnant. She knows part of it is his excitement for his pup. But apparently, he also found her more attractive while pregnant. 

Hana wraps her arms around him as he hovers over her. “Be easy tonight. My back hurts.” 

Hyunjin rolls her to her side, pressing himself close behind her. He wraps his arms around her, one hand on her stomach, the other under her head. He cradles her as he ruts into her, moaning quietly into her ear. They weren’t as wild as they used to be, now that there were pups in the house. It was a natural thing in packs, but Hana didn’t want to subject her pups and their developing senses to that. Not that they would understand yet. 

Hyunjin makes her cum first, cleaning up after spilling into her. He lays back down behind her, holding her stomach. 

“Soon.” She whispers, placing her hands over his. 

***************

Hyunjin’s hands are shaking as he kneels between her legs. He was determined to be the one to bring his child into this world. He had helped with the twins and with Cho-Hee, so it only felt right to deliver his as well. 

“I can do this if you need me to.” Minho says, looking at Hyunjin’s shaking hands. 

“No. I can do it.” 

“We’re getting close.” Chan says, wincing as Hana squeezes his hands, another contraction ripping through her. 

He was seated behind her, supporting her body as she squatted between his legs. It was the position she stuck to, birthing the other three the same way. She had asked Chan to be with her, wanting her alpha’s support. 

Hyunjin presses on her stomach as she contracts again, almost no time between them now. “Okay, you can start pushing.” 

Chan whispers into her ear as she bears down, pushing with each contraction. Hyunjin watches the head begin to crown, Minho ready with towels. His son comes into the world screaming, right into Hyunjin’s hands. He tries to blink back the tears, staring down at the small living, breathing being in his hands. He had taken part in making him. This was his son. His own son. 

He lets Minho take his son as he tries to focus on finishing his job. He was in love already, and suddenly understood how something so small had taken down both of the most powerful alphas in the pack. Even Minho with his uncaring front was putty in their hands and he got it now. He understood. 

“Go on.” Minho pushes him aside. “I’ll finish cleaning up.” 

Chan moves from behind Hana, letting Hyunjin take his place. Hana is holding their son now, wrapped in his blanket. Hyunjin wraps his arms around both of them, looking down at him over her shoulder. He presses a kiss to Hana’s head, still damp with sweat. 

“He’s so beautiful. You did so good.” 

“You had a hand in him too.” Hana says, looking back at him. 

She’s practically glowing. She always had a glow about her post-birth. Hyunjin loves it, seeing her like that. He leans his chin on her shoulder, staring down at his son. He can’t help the tears now, tracing a finger over his soft little cheek. 

[builder051]

Everything matters

We fit like an enfit (Tube 'verse)

This one is Steve in hospital directly post-colectomy. I have had this exact procedure done to exactly these results. This is James's POV. Some swearing, some medical lingo, and emeto.

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

Steve's been through the wringer these last two days. Washer and dryer. Extra hot. Bleached. Sanitized. To hospital quality standards.

Because that's exactly where they are. And that's exactly where they're going to stay.

The beginning, Steve's exit from the PACU, had been downright frightening. Steve looked tiny and pale, and still attached to so many tubes. James Jumped up and followed the rolling bed straight to the floor, one specifically dedicated to patients recovering from gastric surgeries.

How many people are they doing this to? James had thought. The hallway was long, and the room, though private, wasn't spacious.

Steve blinked slowly into consciousness about half an hour after his nurse and transport team had abandoned them, and then promptly threw up all over his white bedding. Then all over James, who didn't realize the emesis basin and a stack of kidney dishes were actually behind him.

The nurse came in before either one of them could find the call button, for the racket of retching and shouting had apparently been audible from the hallway. James apologized for being deaf and loud. Steve backed him up with a sigh that turned into a burp that turned into a sticky, stringy hand.

A parade of techs and MAs entered and exit edthe room, getting Steve's blood pressure, changing his bedding without moving him out of it, providing a plethora of triangular graduated cylinders to collect further vomit.

Then what are all those other fucking bowls and dishes for? James wondered. Once everyone else is had gone and it was just him and Steve again, James quickly stripped off his stained shirt and zipped up his hoodie over a bare chest. As much love as he has for Steeve, James wasn't going to smell of bile all day.

"Ha," Steve had murmured, wincing as pushing out vocalizations forced chest rise. "Good idea."

"Press your morphine button." James pointed to the cord dangling half off the bed, then to the pole carrying the rest of the setup for Steve's epidural.

"It's ok--" But Steve cut himself off with a gag that brought up a trickle of something vaguely the color of Sunny D. That made James wince, too.

"See?" Jame lifted the cord and settled the push button in James's hand. "You're entitled to medicine. Every 15 minutes, even. I don't want to watch you be in pain."

"I don't want you to watch me keep throwing up," Steve replies in what can only be described as a pitiful whine.

"I'm sorry that keeps happening." James moved his chair as close to the bed as possible. He could barely reach far enough to put his hand on Steve's foot. "I'm with you till bedtime. Then I gotta go to work."

When the night nurse came to sedate Steve on another round on pain meds, he left as quickly and graciously as he could. James had had his own encounters with narcotics. Good, bad, necessary, non... He still wasn't sure where he stood. He was also going to be late for the start of the overnight shift if he kept standing and didn't scram.

Even though James watched the clock emphatically, refrigerator boxes have never seemed lighter. He barely had to push the dolly to ferry one across the warehouse. Sometimes everyone joked about the man with one arm trying to keep up with the rest of them, but that night, even if nobody was watching, it was true.

Well, it wasn't, exactly. James surpassed them by a mile. He could only think of mechanics. Scoot. Grab. Lift. Elevate... If he had a backache, he couldn't feel it. Compared to how he'd last seen Steve, the scab on James's wrist from last week's encounter with a shattered porcelain toilet, was nothing. The sweat on his brow was nothing. The cardboard dust settled on his shoulders... That might make Steve sneeze.

After he'd parked crookedly in their next-door-neighbor's designated space, James ran into the apartment, showered so quickly the water didn't even have time to fog up the mirror, got dressed, and shoveled down two of Steve's probiotic yogurts while standing in front of the open refrigerator.

Alpine wound around James's ankles. He made an attempt to put his paws into the vegetable drawer to bat at the bag of bell peppers and banana pudding multipack.

"No," James said with his mouth full.

Alpine turned and licked up a drip of yogurt that had fallen from James's spoon. "Oh, you..." James shakes his head. "I know Steve's been letting you lick the containers under the table."

After he tossed his trash and threw the spoon into the sink, James patted Alpine on the head. "I'll see you..." James thought. He couldn't remember his schedule. Work. Sleep. But always, first, Steve. "When I get back."

James shoves his feet into already-tied sneakers and throws a bag over his shoulder. He hadn't cleaned it out since he finished his associates and kissed community college goodbye. Some stupid class notes might be in there. Maybe they could entertain Steve.

Although it was the end of James's day, most people, or at least those at the hospital, were just starting theirs. After following the same maze of hallways, James found Steve's room. He waited with his back against the wall while someone in an apron yelled out "Nutrition!" and carried a cup of green jello through the doorway on a tray.

James tried not to laugh. As if Steve would eat that. Even when he wasn't puking up his guts, Steve carried an aversion to unnaturally colored things, like blue popsicles. Iced purple roses decorating frosted cakes. Bright red cherry cough medicine that James joked about using to get high, while Steve did, in fact, just use according to the directions.

When James steps into the room, he feels the oppressive hospital atmosphere settle in over his head. It's like he's broken the surface tension and plunged into a world that isn't compatible with him. Or isn't anymore.

Everything is completely the same as the night before, except someone's moved the rolling table so it emulates a bedstand, holding all necessities, which, for now, seem to be a triangular graduated cylinder with brownish splashed down the side, and the cup of jello. James notices that they haven't brought Steve any utensils, so he takes it upon himself to move the unpalatable breakfast to the back counter of kidney dishes.

Steve's still out cold, but sleeping, James thinks, instead of passed out. The oxygen cannula under his nose seems to be delivering a constant flow, just boosting Steve a little while he breathes on his own. James squints at the muscles of Steve's neck, trying to take his pulse without touching him, and then comparing the number to the speed of his breathing. Basic medical told him Steve wasn't dying. If he'd paid more attention in basic, or maybe took Air Force route and became a PJ, he'd probably know a lot more.

The chair's set up just as James left it, and he settles into the plasticized leather cushions. It's not a comfortable chair. But James didn't come here to be comfortable.

Whilst keeping one eye on Steve, James lifts the flap on his bag and peers inside. As he expected, it's a mess of student and everyday-person needs. The organization's gone to shit, if there was any to begin with. The bag has interior pockets. Maybe that was back when he was in his fuck-therapy stage, before he let OT and PT help him work his body into something he could be comfortable with. It had helped him find a job, at least. And a boyfriend.

The most interesting find from the bag, so far, is a tangled pair of earbuds. The plug is compatible with the port on his phone, so James attaches them and scrolls to his music app. After wiggling one hearing aid out and replacing it with the soft plastic earbud, James runs his finger down the available albums and chooses one at random.

Is this the real life? Is it a fantasy?

James almost starts laughing. Bohemian Rhapsody? Seriously?

Well, for a half-delirious working man shirking sleep to protect Steve, to make money for rent for Steve while he healed up, paying the parking garage in quarters from beneath the center console in the car...

Nothing really matters

Nothing really matters to--

James cuts off the end of the song before the ending notes can play. No. He doesn't want to hear it. He can't hear it. Or it'll be true. Something has to matter. Even if it's remembering to go home often enough to feed Alpine something other than artificially flavored strawberry yogurt.

James presses the button to play the next song. The first beat sounds. James recognizes it. His foot moves automatically, tapping the floor to the notes of the refrain before the lyrics even start.

Steve walks wearily down the street

his brim pulled way down low

There's a soft groan from the bed. Steve blinks sleepily and seems to be trying to stretch his shoulders without sitting up.

James realizes, too late, that he's been tapping the undercarriage of Steve's bed every time he thought he was tapping the floor.

"I'm sorry," James says, quickly standing up and moving to Steve's side so he's level with his chest and head. "Was I hurting you?"

"What'd you call me for?" Steve asks blearily.

"Huh?" James doesn't understand. "I didn't..."

"You said my name," Steve insists. "But like, mumbly. Were you, like talking while you were writing something down?"

"Mumbly?" James is still confused.

"And I think your headphones are broken," Steve points out. After a couple fumbles, he catches the dangling earbud, the one James left hanging.

Steve lifts it up so it's high between their faces.

Another one bites the dust

Another one bites the dust

"Fuck." James buries the earbud in his fist and turns off the music on his phone. He turns off his phone for good measure. "I was-- I thought--" James shakes his head. "I didn't think you could hear it. I didn't mean to bug you."

"No, that's ok." Steve scoots his body a millimeter closer to the pole of epidural machines. The push-button has made its way to the floor again, so James bends to grab it and give it back.

"But," Steve continues, after giving himself a good dose of painkiller, "Why's my name in it?"

James hast to think on it. There's a "poor boy," but he doesn't have a name... Another one bites the dust is, well, about a serial killer... but...

"Oh." James points upward to show his realization. "No one's ever broken the news to you?" He goes for a sly smile, but laughter is trapped in his chest and throat.

"What news...?"

"You did it," James informs him. "You're the perp."

"I-- what?"

"Steve walks wearily down the street, his brim pulled way down low," James recites.

"That's in the song?" Steve asks, as if he isn't sure he believes James.

"It's the first word. 'Steve.'" James can contain his laughter no more. "Everybody just knows 'Another one bites the dust.'"

"Wow." Steve ponders the ceiling. "How many people did I kill?"

"I don't actually know." James furrows his brow. "I can put it on again and we can count." He looks down at the janky earbud in his hand. "Or you can keep it a secret. 'Cause if anybody here in the hospital catches wind that you're a criminal, they'll probably send you back to prison."

"You'd bail me out, right?" Steve manages to pry his spine from the mattress using the strength of one elbow. Though he's speaking, he still has all the tells going. Quivering lip, pale face, clenching jaw...

Steve looks at the graduated cylinder as if it's a bacteria sample for a biology project. Colonies to numerous to count. Remain sealed due to unidentifiable contents.

"Should I not watch?" James asks gently.

Steve shrugs. He lets saliva drain openly in expectation of the first wave. "Bail me out of here?"

James smiles sadly. "That's not exactly how things work around here. Sorry." He pauses. "And that damn yellow gate with the meter in the parking garage-- it's eating up all my gold doubloons."

"But," Steve asks in a small voice. "You'll stay."

"Somebody's gotta make a dent in the mattress and shove some boxes and feed the cat..." James shrugs. "But I'm here as much as I can be. And I'm with you to the end of the line."

[saintshigaraki]

when you break my heart, do it softly

pairing: gender neutral reader x dabi 

work count: 1.5k

excerpt: A rather large part of you wonders if maybe you should’ve seen this coming. The other part of you knows that even if you had, it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing. You loved him a bit too much to walk away before you absolutely had to. 

a/n: it’s not like. super relevant but this is an au where dabi is not a wanted villain. 

tags: cheating, angst, hurt/comfort, hopeful ending, SOFT DABI

in case you’d rather read it on ao3!

A rather large part of you wonders if maybe you should’ve seen this coming. The other part of you knows that even if you had, it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing. You loved him a bit too much to walk away before you absolutely had to. 

Dabi hadn’t ever seemed like the commitment sort of guy anyway, not since the first moment you met him when he had been incessantly flirting with you and two other girls at the same bar you were trying and failing to manage. It was your first night on the job and it was a seedy place crawling with even seedier people but you needed the money and work was work. 

At least that’s what you told yourself when Dabi’s flirting got more and more annoying. It was hard to focus with him breathing down your fucking neck. You told him as much. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth because while you don’t know who he is, an awfully annoying voice in the back of your head whispered perhaps you shouldn’t piss off the scarred up man who just minutes ago was demonstrating just how hot his flames can get. 

You and Dabi stood completely still and silent for a few long seconds, an uncapped beer freezing through your palm and his glowing blue eyes narrowed and burning straight through your skull. 

The urge to trip over your words and backtrack was almost impossible to ignore, almost. But you had shit to do and this job was already stressing you the fuck out and you’re two seconds away from being evicted so this needs to work out so it would be nice if he backed the fuck off for just a single second. 

So, instead of groveling at his feet, you stuck your chin out, took a deep breath and calmly said, “Look, you’re very, very attractive, and trust me, at any other time I’d be so flattered and into this, but it’s my first night and I’m struggling just a bit so can you please give me a minute.”

He was silent for a few seconds before his lips curled up into an awfully too pleased and cocky smile revealing a pair of shockingly white teeth and weirdly sharp canines. 

“You think I’m hot, doll?” 

The tension between you two melted completely.

You groaned but only to hide the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. 

(He saw it anyway.

Later, in the early hours of the morning, he asked for your number. You gave it to him because you were a little dumb and he was a little too beautiful and surprisingly funny in a strange morbid violent lovely sort of way. 

You thought this is dangerous. Not necessarily because he was dangerous-though you didn’t doubt that he most definitely was- but because as he smiled down at you with his crooked grin that made him look more boyish than villainous, you thought that’d he’d be so, so easy to fall in love with. And that he’d break your heart for it. 

You were right, of course. But fuck if it didn’t hurt all the same because of it) 

+

A year and a half later, standing in you and Dabi’s shared apartment, you’re forced to see the truth in your own damning words. 

He had stripped off his shirt, getting ready for bed and for as strong as you’d like to believe you are, you can’t contain the wounded sound that escapes your mouth before you clamp your lips together. 

He whips around but the damage is done. There are claw marks down his back, ones you most definitely had not left. 

You both stare at each other, something so heavy and awful hanging in the space between you two. 

Vaguely, it reminds you of the night you and Dabi met. Though thinking about that does nothing but rub salt in the wound, so you push it away and bury it deep. 

He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. 

“I love you, Dabi. I want you to know that. I love you so much. And I always will.”

The words are so heartbreakingly true. 

You actually did end up getting evicted after that fateful night at the bar and even though you and Dabi had been dating for only 4 months at that point, he’d offered you his home and let you get back on your feet before paying rent. He knew exactly how to comfort you on the days where everything felt a bit too much like it was caving in, and you had held him as he sobbed so hard he’d heaved, more times than you could count. 

You had seen the worst and best in each other. Bared your wounds so sweetly at such a formative time in your lives. How could you not love him? How could you not care for him for the rest of your life? 

Of course, it hurt that he’d fucked another person, it broke your heart so completely, but the idea of being mad, of screaming at him, and throwing shit and causing a mess didn’t even cross your mind, because deep down, you thought, perhaps it is time to move on. Perhaps you both need something different right now. 

You had gotten a job offer in America some time ago and you hadn’t taken it because of Dabi. Because you loved him and he was here. You had recently gotten an email that it was still on the table. It’d be a good opportunity for you. A great one actually. 

It was time to move on, you realized. To grow as people, separately. 

Dabi is the one to drive you to the airport. It’s a little strange, you’ll admit, but everything about what happened post the claw marks incident was a little strange. You’d stayed in his apartment after everything. Three weeks of skin-crawling awkwardness tinged with unspoken hurt. 

It didn’t feel awkward now, though. As he stood outside his car with his hands in his pockets staring at you like you’re bound to turn to dust if he looks away. 

You set your suitcase down gently and approach him, until you’re mere inches apart. He says nothing. You don’t either. 

Instead, you wrap your arms around him and hug him. He’s stone still and just as you’re about to let go he returns it so tightly that you’re nearly crushed against his chest. You can’t help but laugh a little. His hold has always been a bit painful (but only in the sweetest way). 

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You laugh again, light and sweet because you love him as well. So much it hurts. 

“I love you, too.”

+

A few weeks after getting to America you change your number and don’t tell Dabi. Because even though you love him, you think you might hate him a little too. And you’d rather let it go before hate is all you have of him. 

+

You return to Japan a year and a half later. They offered you a transfer and you took it. Going to America was an important and needed step in your life, but in your bones, you feel the truth of it. It’s time to go home. 

+

The night you land back in Japan, you go to the same bar you met Dabi in. Partly for the nostalgia, partly because you did genuinely love your boss, but mostly because you knew you’d get a discount. 

You’re on your second vodka and coke when he comes in. You don’t even have to turn around to know. You feel it deep in your chest, a sweet ache in your bones. 

He sits next to you and for a moment neither of you say anything. Not until you turn to look at him. At first glance, it’s as though nothing has changed about him. Same jacket, same dyed hair, same scars, but something in his eyes is different. Older, maybe, though it’s only been a year. And he holds himself a bit differently as well. 

You like it. 

You tell him as much. 

He gives you that same too-pleased cocky smile that you first saw what felt like lifetimes ago. 

“You think I’m hot, doll?”

You groan to hide a smile tugging at the corner of your lip. 

He sees it anyway. 

You wonder if history really is bound to repeat itself. But you look at him and all his minute differences, and think, maybe not. And perhaps you’re too hopeful, and maybe a little dumb, but when you walk out of the bar with him and he gives you that boyish smile, you’re not as sure that he’ll break your heart this time around. 

And when he’s kissing his way down your neck and whispering, I love you, I love you, I love you, like a prayer, and his tears leave a trail on your skin, it’s hard to not return the sentiment. 

You love him. Of course you do. How could you not? 

You tell him as much. 

Perhaps this is a mistake. Perhaps it isn’t. Loving someone is always a risk, sometimes it feels like you’re setting your heart up to be broken. 

But, this is worth the risk, you think. It always has been. 

[americxn]

Run (part 5)

wordcount: 3.5k

warnings: teasing, slight smut

Kai’s side of the bed had long since gone cold when you awoke the next morning. Hurrying from the room, you cursed yourself for having gone to him, the restful sleep that his presence had provided you allowing your thoughts to become sharper and you scolded yourself for giving in to your want so easily.  But as you dressed and readied yourself in the guest room across from Kai’s, your craving for him was undeniable, his face stark behind your eyelids whenever you closed your eyes, whenever you blinked. Your heart had seemingly already made the choice for you: It would take awhile for you to fully forgive Kai for what he had done to you, and you knew that when that happened, your want for him would simply burn even stronger. There was no point in forbidding something that both you and him so desperately wanted. A slow grin spread across your face as you mentally agreed with yourself that you were more than willing to give him a chance to love you. But where would the fun be in giving yourself over to him so easily?  You turned back to your closet, pulling off the simple shirt you had just donned and replacing it with a tiny, low-cut crop top. Smiling evilly, you turned for the door, making your was down the stairs to the kitchen, silently hoping that Kai would already be in there.

The kitchen was empty when you arrived, causing you to sigh. Pushing away the dim glow of disappointment unravelling within your gut, you stalked for the fridge, grabbing some milk and setting about making yourself a bowl of cereal.  You ate your breakfast leant against the counter facing the open kitchen doors, your eyes constantly flicking from your food to the door.  Kai had probably gone out, you had woken up fairly late and he usually had errands to run that he preferred to do in the morning. The acknowledgement that you knew Kai’s routine so well made you smile softly. You stopped yourself, hurriedly shoving more cereal into your mouth, wiping at the milk that dribbled down your chin as you cursed yourself for already being so smitten with this man. Finishing up your breakfast, you chucked the empty bowl and spoon into the sink, filling a glass of water and draining it before bracing your arms on the counter. “You’re hopeless.” You whispered to yourself, pushing yourself off the worktop and slowly meandering to the kitchen doors, not sure what to do with yourself.  The familiar sound of a car turning into the house’s driveway made you pause in your tracks, your head snapping to the window, watching as Kai’s large white car slowly rolled up the driveway.  You stole that car. Your mind whispered at you. Pushing the thought away you watched as Kai emerged from the car, the door slamming shut behind him.  Jerking into action, you jumped onto one of the barstools arranged around the marble island in the centre of the kitchen but cursed yourself as you realised that now you were sat stupidly at the kitchen table, along and doing absolutely nothing. But You weren’t given time to dwell on the thought as the front door swung open, Kai’s audible footsteps allowing you to track his short journey down the small stretch of hallway between the front porch and the kitchen door. He was whistling quietly as he came into view in the open doorway, his movements halting as he beheld you sat at the table. He wore a neatly ironed black shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal a portion of his chest, the top half of his faded blue hair pulled into a tight bun at the crown of his head. His car keys hung from his finger as his whistling stopped, Kai turning towards you and diverting his journey to step into the kitchen. You smiled at him, your elbows coming to rest on the cool surface before you, ensuring that he noticed when you squeezed your arms slightly tighter to your body in such a way that pushed your tits further together, your cleavage more than noticeable from the low-cut material of the shirt you wore. “Hey.” He greeted simply, wandering further into the room. “Hi.” You responded, leaning forwards in your seat to greet him. “Where have you been?” “Just running some errands.” You nodded at his vague explanation. “When did you wake up?” He asked. “Not too long ago, I slept in.”  He hummed, before responding. “My bed is very comfy, isn’t it?” You tried in vain to keep your cheeks from heating, dropping your gaze to the table in order to avoid his dark eyes as they bored into yours, trying to gauge your reaction. “You should visit me in bed more often, y’know. I enjoy your company.” Whether he knew it or not, his implicit offer was clear: he didn’t mean just to sleep. You cleared your throat, adjusting your arms in order to enhance your cleavage even more. “Do you need any help with anything today? I need someone to give me something to do, I’m already bored.”  Kai smiled slowly, his eyes roving over your body, dipping dangerously low before rising to meet your gaze once more.  “Nah, I’ve got it covered. Thanks though.” He shrugged as he turned to leave the room. “Although, you could do me the favour of putting those pretty tits of yours away. I don’t want anyone else seeing them.” Your mouth went utterly dry at his boldness, your eyes trained on his broad back as he left the room without another word, resuming his whistling.  You stared at the empty kitchen doorway for several moments, trying to ignore the effect that his words had on you as your pussy wetted slightly.  Fine, if he wanted to play that game, you could play it just as hard. 

Your teasing only got more and more bold over the next few days, and Kai’s reactions only became more and more noticeable.  At cult meetings, you sat so close to Kai on the couch behind where he stood to address his group that your knees would brush the backs of his legs, his shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly with each press of your clothed skin against him.  Whenever you cooked dinner together, you would purposely brush past him again and again, leaning over the work surfaces slightly and pushing your ass out. Kai would return the carefully planned ‘careless’ treatment, leaning over you to reach for things from the cupboards, his hands falling to your hips with a ghost’s touch whenever he needed to get past you. Your outfits got skimpier and more revealing each day, the slices of skin that you kept on show for Kai begging him to make more comments on your body like the one he had made about your tits in the kitchen. But of course, Kai knew exactly what you were trying to do and refused to give you what you wanted, instead returning the treatment by ensuring that you walked in on him shirtless several times. This experience had left you flustered and unable to think coherent thoughts afterwards each time it happened, Kai indulging in the redness of your cheeks and the slackness of your jaw each time he allowed you to see the strong plains of his chest and back.  And there was that time when you gone into Kai’s room whilst he worked downstairs, wearing nothing but a large t-shirt and your favourite panties. You had arranged yourself on his bed above the covers on your side with your legs tucked upwards to your chest, your arms gathering the pillow to your face. Kai had eventually entered the room after you had drifted off to sleep, his mouth falling open as he beheld you and the generous view of your bare ass that your position presented him. You had stirred five minutes later, disturbed by the sound of the shower running, Kai shivering beneath the frozen torrents of water as he forced himself to empty his mind of the truly filthy thoughts that had flooded his brain at the sight of your ass, your panties hugging your body so tightly that they were almost entirely hidden by the glorious curves of your ass. When he emerged from the shower several minutes later, he had composed himself enough to carefully move your body so that he was able to tuck you beneath the covers before stripping off his clothes and sliding into the bed beside you, his skin cold from the shower.

After some time of playing with and taunting one another, you had begun to lose hope that Kai would make a move on you, but your desperate prayers were answered when, after about a week of Kai enduring your teasing, he finally gave in, stiffly knocking on the door of the guest room late one night. “Yeah?” You called out, pausing the show you had playing on your laptop and looking towards the doorway. Kai appeared as the door was pushed open and he wasted no time in stepping into the room; closing your laptop, you pushed it to the bottom of the bed, greeting Kai with a questioning look. With his sudden presence, the room seemed to get smaller, filling with an agitated energy as you beheld his stiffly set shoulders.   “Stand up.” He ordered, meeting you halfway across the room as you stood instantly as his command, the hard set of his face making your stomach flutter. He stepped up to you, his face an inch from yours. “You’ve been driving me fucking insane.” A slow smile spread across your face at his words. His gaze dropped to your grin, his jaw clenching, the muscles within feathering at your satisfaction. “Wicked thing,” he spoke through gritted teeth, taking another step forwards so that you were chest-to-chest. “I didn’t think you were enjoying it that much.” “Oh, of course I was.” You exclaimed coolly, your hands raising to settle on his chest, your fingertips tracing swirling patterns onto the soft fabric of his shirt.  Kai’s eyes were dark as they bore into yours. “Are you finally going to let me do something or what? I don’t know how to make my apology even more clear to you.” You pushed his lowly spoken words aside, just wanting to forget about everything but the glorious man before you. “I don’t want anymore apologies, Kai. I want you to show me how sorry you are.” Your tone was light as your fingers roamed over his shirt, wishing that it was his warm skin you were touching as you raised your eyes to his. He hummed, his hands shooting out to latch onto your wrists and removing them from his chest. “Oh, I will.” Kai promised, stepping forwards slowly whist using his hold on your wrists to back you towards the bed. The tight hold of his slender fingers on your skin was intoxicating and you ached with both want and excited trepidation about what would come next. “Is that a threat or a promise?” You ventured, the knot of excited nerves gathered in your gut growing.  “You won’t have to worry about that yet. Now stop talking.” His hands released your wrists, trailing slowly down your chest to the front of the vest you wore. The sound of the fabric tearing filled the room as his fingers hooked into the neck line, pulling the material apart in one clean rip. It fell to the floor around your feet, Kai not giving you so much as a second to track his movements as his fingers moved to hook roughly into the waistline of your pajama shorts. He quickly slid the garment down your bare legs, following the movement with his body until he was kneeling on the floor before you. You could barely breathe as he looked up at you, his hand trailing lightly up the back of your leg to your upper thigh. Your panties were the next thing to be discarded on the floor, Kai smirking as he gripped the back of your knee with his hand and pulled your leg up onto his shoulder. Your head tipped back of its own accord, the proximity of his face to your already drenched cunt overwhelming. Kai’s hand gripped onto the thigh you had hooked over his shoulder as he leaned in to press a single lingering kiss to your mons. The simple action could’ve had you cumming right there but Kai pulled back, his hand once again finding the back of your knee as he rose, pulling your leg off his shoulder and hooking it around his waist once he had risen to his full height. You could do nothing but stare at his face as his fingers deftly reached around you to undo your bra, it’s rough straps scraping against your too sensitive skin as he eased the garment from your shoulders and arms. As soon as it had hit the floor, Kai pushed your back, practically drooling as you fell onto your back in an exposed sprawl. His eyes dipped to the apex of your thighs, his heart thundering with need at the sight of the glistening sheen of wetness coating your pussy; he pushed his overwhelming want for you aside, needing to extract his revenge for your teasing before allowing himself to have his way with you. You couldn’t suppress the shudder that racked your body under the intense scrutiny of his dark eyes.  “I want your head on the pillows.” He ordered, watching as you scrambled to obey his command, your pert ass exposed to Kai as you quickly crawled up the bed, flipping yourself over and settling into the soft pillows. He was on you immediately, his knees settling on each side of your legs. “You want me?” He breathed down to you, his hands itching to touch every inch of you. “Yes.” You whispered without hesitation, your hands coming to settle on his shoulders.  “I can see that you’re already wet for me.” He crooned, bringing his face slightly closer to yours. “Yes. I’ve been wet all week.” You admitted shamelessly. His face crumpled in mock sympathy. You writhed your hips beneath him, restraining yourself from whining at his sudden lack of action. “You’re sinful.” He whispered roughly and you nodded, agreeing with his comment with renewed desperation. “Keep your arms above your head.” You blinked at him, but did as he asked, your hands hitting the headboard as you silently complied. Satisfied with your obedience, Kai lowered his head to the base of your throat, his hair brushing pleasantly against your collarbones. His lips were soft and warm as he pressed several kisses to your skin, drawing a trail up the column of your throat to your chin. You followed his movements by tipping your head back slightly further with each kiss as he progressed up your neck, allowing him better access and silently inviting him to use his teeth to mark you. As soon as his lips had completed their journey to your jaw, skimming against the bottom of your chin, he pulled away, denying you the full kiss to your lips that you craved. He kept eye contact with you as he moved down your body slightly, his lips latching onto your ribs and proceeding to give them the same treatment that he had just forced your neck to endure.  This time, he allowed his teeth to graze against your skin as he travelled from one side of your torso to the other, goosebumps forming in his wake, chasing after his touch. You couldn’t help but groan when he pressed his nose to the space just beneath your breasts, his hot tongue finally coming contact with your skin as he kitten licked his way up to your tits. Pausing at the bottom of their sloping form, he closed his eyes, listening to your laboured, shuddering breaths. From above him, your own eyes were clenched shut, your mouth slightly parted as you forced yourself to keep your hands above your head. All you wanted to do was to weave your fingertips into the blue strands of his hair but you knew that in doing so, you risked upsetting Kai and cutting this intimate exchange short.  Using his tongue, Kai softly traced the area of skin where your pert tits met your torso, tracing and licking back and forth.  “If you’re not going to touch me properly, then at least let me touch you.” Kai’s teeth latched onto your skin at your words, breathless and accented with whiny need, tugging painfully at your flesh as he raised his head slightly before releasing his hold on your skin. “No. Move your hands and I’ll leave.” He responded firmly. You groaned, your head sinking further into the pillows beneath you at his blunt denial. He dipped his head once more, this time skimming his warm lips along your abdomen, past your bellybutton and to one of your hips. You hissed softly when he bit down on your skin, simultaneously latching his lips onto you and sucking harshly. Kai moved back and forth between your hips, painting them in turn with blotchy, deep red marks, the sensation becoming slightly more painful as his brutal onslaught on your skin continued.  In the midst of the intense attention that Kai was subjecting your hips to, you didn’t even notice when his hand trailed down the small stretch of skin between your hips, his touch light as he ventured over your pubic bone to the heat between your thighs. Using his fingers, he pinched the skin either side of your labia together, forcing your cunt to close in such a way that made your clit throb from within the confines of his hold. You gasped when he pinched harder, moving his fingers slightly and rubbing the outer part of your pussy together. Your clit jumped and pulsed in an attempt to gain any sort of traction, Kai’s fingers going still and effectively leaving you to jerk yourself off in his hold. You moaned softly as Kai moved his face away from your skin, dropping his gaze to watch as your pussy pulsated of its own accord in it’s desperation to gain some pleasure from his manipulative touch.  He smiled up at you as your hips undulated in weak desperation, his hand not leaving your snatch as he moved back up your body, his face appearing before yours. Leaning down to your pleasure-contorted face, his mouth finally found yours. The kiss was a mere brush of lips before Kai’s teeth latched onto your lower lip, pulling back slightly with your lip still in his firm hold. You groaned when, all at once, his teeth released your lip, his hand leaving your pussy. “Be ready to stay wet for another week.” He said in faux blithe, his face disappearing from view.  You couldn’t bring yourself to move as he left, the door closing softly behind him, bathing in such deep frustration that tears pricked your eyes as you listened to his light footsteps as he crossed the hall, the sound of his own door opening and closing like a physical blow as he left you feeling utterly empty and unsatisfied without his warm touch.

Even the freezing water of the shower wasn’t enough to dull the burning need searing through Kai, smoldering a little hotter each time your face infiltrated his thoughts, the sounds of your breathy moans under his close ministrations replaying over and over in his mind. After his shower, his lay naked on his bed, unable to take his thoughts off of you and what you were doing. Relieving yourself from your own frustration probably. The memory of the pleasant smell of your cunt and the hot wetness that had gathered there for him had his hand wrapping harshly around his cock. He had to bite onto the corner of his pillow to remain silent as he brought himself to orgasm not once, but three times, imagining that it was your smaller hand in place of his. He tossed and turned in bed for hours, your scent seeming to hang around him, taunting him and preventing him from the blessed closure of sleep.  The fourth time he made himself cum left him still feeling painfully unsatisfied, but it was enough to douse the burning desire coursing through every part of him, sleep coming to offer him a brief reprieve from the strong memories of the sound of your laboured breathing and the feel of your hot skin under his lips.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove (if you want to be added or removed, just send me a message <3)

[notmrskennedy]

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

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

If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

#

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

#

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

#

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

#

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

#

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with 

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are. 

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

**

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan. 

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders. 

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

**

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

**

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel. 

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

**

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine. 

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this. 

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates. 

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

**

The Titans make it for the service. 

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife. 

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known. 

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin. 

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family. 

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

**

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed). 

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

**

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

[shorkbrian]

Mirrors

Prelude - Haha Hi I've never done anything quite like this or this long (like 5k bich) but I am THORSTy and I’ve been sitting on these asks for so long I’m so sorry. ALSO to the ppl sending me the sweet gentle asks about my blog guess what??? I would D I E for you legit I read one of them this morning I almost teared up. I haven’t cried (Except for like (TW) s*ui*ide cry lol those don’t count) since like??? last year?? no joke. 

ANYWHO idk how to write a praise kink so I went with like, insecurity? but then Kiribaku likes makes the reader just melt cause they keep praising her and they bring it out during nasty times and she's GONE yeeted off the earth it makes her so hot and wet lol.

Pairing - Kiribaku X Reader

Prompt - 

Warnings - NSFW!!!! Dirty talk, my best effort at a praise kink, mirror stuff, ummmm mentions of kidnapping. DUB-CON big time, maybe technically even noncon cause reader DOES NOT want it but has just. resigned herself to being a plaything.

Music - https://youtu.be/STO4-8vkG0U 

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

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You couldn’t meet Bakugou’s eyes. HIs gaze was so intense, eyes so passionate and fierce. You were so embarrassed, aware of Kirishima’s gaze fixed on your form from where he was seated in the armchair.  

“I-I…….. don’t like it…. when you talk like that….”

“Fuckin’ what?” Bakugou barked, his brows knitting in confusion.  

“What do you mean, baby?” Kiri stood, moving to sit next to Bakugou on the couch so he could see your face.

You wiggled around uncomfortably in your spot on the floor,  where you were kneeling between Bakugou’s feet.  Kirishima had made some comment, something about how pretty you looked being so sweet for Bakugou. You were literally just sitting there, but Kiri thought you worthy of praise

“It’s not true…… I’m not-my body doesn’t look nice and I just….. every time you guys say stuff about me, all I can think of is how bad I look.”  It was hard to choke out the words, your face flushing red as your eyes filled with tears. You were so embarrassed, having to explain your insecurities to your kidnappers. It was bad enough that they dressed you up in slinky outfits, booty shorts and thin shirts that were almost see-through. You hated it, hated the way it made you feel, hated the way it made you look. It was humiliating.

“Well that’s a bunch of bullshit. I don’t go around saying shit unless it’s true.” Bakugou glared down at you. He seemed angry that you would even have that view of yourself, the foot resting on the floor by your hip beginning to tap in agitation. 

Kirishima scooted closer so he could reach you, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. “We mean what we say. You’re beautiful, such a good, obedient little girl for us.”

“No, no - please don’t say that kind of stuff!”  You were getting worked up now, tears falling freely as you hugged your arms around your body. Kirishima shared a look with Bakugou, the two men quickly deciding to drop the conversation and move on to something else.

“Tch, whatever. C’mere”  Bakugou patted his leg, prompting you to shuffle out of your kneeling position and onto his lap. You would rather not, but you knew what resistance would result in, and you’d prefer not having to nurse a sore bottom and mild burns for the next few days. Bakugou wrapped an arm loosely around your waist, tugging you closer to him on his lap. Kiri still petted your hair, pressed up against the blond man’s side as he smiled at you.

“It’s fine baby, calm down. Maybe one day you’ll see what we see.” Without leaving any room for you to argue, Kirishima planted a quick smooch on your forehead before rising from the couch. “Do you two have any preferences for dinner? I was thinking we could order something from that yakisoba place, remember Bakugou? The one Mina recommended.”

“Yeah, go for it. They have any spicy shit?”

Tuning them out, you swiped at your tears, trying to reel yourself back into a steady emotional state. You feel so weak these days, both physically and emotionally. Being held captive by the two men had worn you down, made you prone to teary outbursts. You held no control - your daily routine dictated by the men from the first day they had snatched you from your home. You were reluctant to obey, had even fought them at first, but you quickly realized it was easier (and less painful) to just do what they wanted.  

Fighting was useless.

——

Weeks had passed since your little outburst. Unfortunately, Bakugou and Kirishima weren’t willing to give up praising you every chance they got.  You had an inkling suspicion that they had upped the amount of comments they made about you ever since that day, enjoying watching you squirm and your face go bright red. It made you blush, yes. Made your heart beat a little faster, made you flounder for words if you were in the middle of speaking. But you just felt….. shame when they praised you. 

They lauded you for your obedience, how compliant you were for them. Kiri would ask you to sit down and wait at the table while he answered the door (“don’t make a sound baby.”), and you did. Bakugou would have you sit in his lap while playing video games, and you tried you’re best not to squirm. It made you almost feel sick inside, how quickly you had adjusted to being their “good girl”. You just wanted to please, didn’t want them angry at you.

What really made you blush was when they would strip you down, bend you over the nearest surface. They’d be fucking into you, fondling your body while whispering compliments in-between kisses. You never felt “beautiful” nor “delicious”, no matter how many times they told you otherwise. It was especially humiliating when one of them would take you on the bed, the other watching. You always wanted to hide, shield away your body from their prying eyes, but they never let you.

You just didn’t get it, didn’t understand what they saw when they looked at you. Staring into the bathroom mirror, all you saw were your imperfections, your insecurities.  It was shameful, pathetic. You felt entirely unworthy of the attention and love you were being showered with.

——

The boys had seemed more… energetic today, Kirishima almost seeming to bounce with each step, Bakugou smiling gently at you. It made you nervous. It made you even more nervous when Bakugou took his leave, giving both you and Kirishima a quick peck on the lips before going out the door. It was a weekend, and you knew that both men didn’t have work today. You tried asking Kirishima where Bakugou was going, but all you got out of him was a laugh and “Don’t worry about it! He’s gonna do a little bit of shopping.”

Well, at least that eased your mind a tiny bit.

You didn’t have much time to dwell on it though, Kirishima herding you into the basement.  It was the their home gym, filled with weights and machines that kept the two men strong and fit, and you weren’t usually allowed down there. If you were, it was because both of the men were present, and they could watch you while they worked out (you knew that they liked showing off for you, even if they didn’t admit it.).

But today Kiri wasn’t going down there to work out. Once the two of you made it down the steps, Kiri was pulling an exercise bench over, instructing you to lay down on it, belly up.  You did what he said.

“‘Kay, I’m gonna go upstairs to get some stuff. I want your shorts off by the time I get back, alright baby?”

You nodded.

Sighing, you shimmied your shorts down as he left. You never had to worry about underwear - they never let you wear it unless you were on your period. You knew vaguely what direction this was going in, and had already resigned yourself to getting fucked silly by the redhead. It was practically useless trying to resist.

When he came back, you were surprised. He had rope and…… a Hitachi. That was new. In the short time you’d been living with them, you had gotten used to their habits when they fucked you. Neither man was too interested in toys,  preferring to stimulate you manually, so this was an unwelcome surprise.

“Mmhm, you look so sexy baby.” Kiri kneeled down next to you, before peeling apart your thighs. He grinned at you, shark teeth flashing, before snatching up the Hitachi wand, pressing it directly against your pussy. You didn’t like where this is going. 

He didn’t turn it on, instead reaching for the rope that he had brought down. The redhead began wrapping it around your thighs, lifting your legs to encircle them with the rope. It took a few minutes, which were tense, silent as you watched him work.  He made sure to also circle the rope around your hands and torso, anchoring your arms by your side. When Kiri was finished, you were trapped, unable to move your legs, to even simply part them an inch. The Hitachi wand was still directly on your pussy, snug and unmoving. It rubbed against your clit, making you bite your lip at the delicious friction.  Kirishima gave you a flashy smile, turning to ruffle your hair. Distantly you noticed he didn’t have a shirt on.

“Alright babe, we’re gonna have some fun while we wait for Katsuki. You know what this is?” He tapped the wand nestled between your legs.

“It’s…. It’s a vibrator.” You managed, throat suddenly dry.

Kirishima seemed to beam even brighter. “Yeah! I’m gonna turn it on, let you have your fun. But you gotta tell me before you cum, okay? Think you can do that?”

A quick nod from you and the vibrator buzzed to life between your legs, Kirishima not in the mood to dawdle. Your back arched off the bench at the sensation, the pleasure quick and intense. Kirishima stayed kneeling beside you, watching you writhe as he changed the speed of the wand. 

It didn’t take long for you to cry out, “Kirishima, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!”, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body. It made your shirt stick to your chest, accentuate the heaving of your breasts as panted. Right before you orgasmed though, Kiri flipped the off switch, the vibrations cutting off and leaving you hanging. Your eyes shot open, confusion furrowing you’re brow.

“Wha-Kiri? What?”

The redhead smirked, pressing a hand to your tummy to prevent you from moving against the wand, desperate for more stimulation, desperate to orgasm.

“Not yet baby, not yet.”

He patted your stomach soothingly as you stared up at him in confusion. You had been so close! Why have you tell him when you’re going to cum, only to rip that away from you??

A minute passed, then two, Kirishima still rubbing his big hand across your tummy. It was meant to be soothing, a soft gesture, but it only heated your skin, made pleasure thrum in your veins. When you had sufficiently calmed down, chest no longer heaving, Kiri reached down and flicked the wand back on, chuckling at the way you desperately ground against the rounded head of the toy.

“Mm, desperate little baby, aren’t you?” He was kissing your neck, letting his tongue slip out to lick at the skin there.  It set you on fire. Reaching the high of orgasm came even quicker this time, spurred on by your movements and determination to cum. If you didn’t tell Kirishima when you were about to, he wouldn’t be able to stop you. So you stayed silent, circling your hips as best you could, leaning into the hot kisses being pressed to your throat.

All of a sudden, the vibrator clicked off, Kirishima’s hand on your tummy once again.

“Thought you could get away with that one? You’re so cute.”

You felt like screaming, yelling out your frustration. He knew your body too well, could feel the hitch in your breath as you prepared to orgasm, felt your fingers tighten, clenching around nothing. He had stopped the vibrator right as you were beginning to feel it, the wave of pleasure. It was frustrating.

You could hardly believe you were thinking this, but you couldn’t wait for Bakugou to get back.

——

It was torture, having your orgasm slip away from you time after time. Kirishima was having fun, groping your chest, leaving sloppy kisses along your neck and collarbone. He liked seeing you struggle, almost at the point of begging and pleading with him in your need to cum.

He had been edging you for a while now, you didn’t even know how many orgasms he had yanked you away from. Kiri had just stopped you once more, turning the vibrator off and holding you still /right/ as you felt yourself letting go. You wanted to scream, on the verge of tears. But then Kirishima was glancing at his phone, stuffing it in his pocket before standing so he could untie you from the bench.

“Bakugou’s back, we’re gonna go see what he brought home for us!”

You could barely think straight, wincing when Kiri removed the vibrator pressing up against your pussy. You were drenched, pussy wet and red and puffy, your own slick covering your thighs. Kirishima helped you to your feet, guiding you into your shorts. You were too out of it to do much, simply letting the man guide and push and lift your body as he pleased. When he pressed up against you to pull your shorts snug over your hips, you felt his bulge through his shorts, poking you in the stomach.  You suppose he’d been waiting for relief too, just the same as you.

Kirishima helped you totter up the basement stairs, then guided you towards the bedroom, hand on your waist. You stumbled through the door, eyes immediately focusing on the giant mirror leaned up against the wall. How had Bakugou even gotten it through the door?  

“Damn Kiri, you’re really worked up.”

Bakugou was sitting on the bed, unlacing his shoes. Kirishima chuckled, hand leaving your waist so he could go sit beside the blonde.

“Me and her both man. Had to hold myself back, she was making such raunchy sounds.”

Their attention turned to you, both men smirking as they eyed you, Kirishima still with a prominent tent in his shorts.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ bet.”  Bakugou smirked. 

Kirishima stood, stepping languidly around you until he was at your back, broad chest pressing up against you.

“I mean, look at this -“ a hand cupped your mound, making you jump. You were still sensitive from being denied so many times, even the slightest touch had you twitching. “ - she’s fucking dripping.”

It was true, the crotch of your shorts soaked with your juices. Kiri rubbed his index finger against the seam, pressing it up and against your clit. You shuddered, hand flying up at grasp onto his arm. It felt so good, you hated his touch, didn’t want his hands on you, but oh, your body liked it.

Kirishima pushed you forward, fingers still teasing you through your wet shorts.  You gasped when you were pushed face first into the bed, bent at the waist.  A hot, blunt hardness rubbed up against you, Kiri’s hand still cupping your mound.

“You’re being such a good little bitch, letting us do whatever the fuck we want to your stupid little cunt.” 

You lifted your eyes, saw Bakugou smirking down at you as you were rocked gently by the force of Kiri’s humping. The blond was palming himself over his jeans, but your attention was quickly shifted when you felt your shorts getting ripped down, off your body.

“Step out.” You obeyed. Kirishima was hungry, lustful - voice deeper and serious now - no trace of his signature lightheartedness. He always got like this this when he was excited.  Your head was wrenched to the side, cheek mashed against the bedspread, large hand pressing and holding you in place. Belatedly, you recognized you were facing the mirror leaned against the wall, could see Kirishima’s bulk behind you, his shorts already pulled down to reveal his hard cock. If you hadn’t taken it before, you would be scared. He was thick, blunt and girthy - not to mention a considerable length. The tip was flushed red, almost purple, shiny with leaked precum and almost swollen. 

“Look at yourself in the mirror baby, you see that? How nice you look, all obedient and ready to take my cock? Such a good, sweet little girl.”

You looked so tiny compared to the redhead, the man having to bend his knees slightly to rub the head of his cock against your pussy. You tried not to moan when he focused it on your clit, rubbing it rapidly over the nub.  “Kiri - please……Aah! Let me - lemme cum..” You whined.

“God, you’re so perfect, you know that?” He breathed out a laugh, still rubbing the head of his blunt cock over your clit, hand still forcing your head to the side, making you watch his movements. You almost wanted to cry - being teased and denied for so long. You just wanted to cum, wanted to get this over quickly so you could go shower. 

Normally seeing yourself in a mirror was something you’d try to avoid, not favoring the way you looked. But now, you were mesmerized, watching through the reflection the way Kirishima’s red cock pulsed as he finally, finally slipped it into your opening. You choked on a moan as he slowly stretched you out, feeding inch after inch of his wide cock into you. In the mirror, you saw him tip his head back, groaning low in his throat when he finally bottomed out, fat balls pressed flush against you.

 “Fuck, oh god, feels so good. You’re so good, can feel your pretty little pussy trying to milk me.” He leaned down, warm chest plastered across your back as he whispered in your ear. 

“You really want this, don’t you? Such a gorgeous baby, so sexy and hot and  perfect.”

The man didn’t start out slowly, he never did. He was aggressive, unrelenting as he thrust his fat cock into you over and over. Your legs were shaking, the pleasure making you weak-kneed, your tongue lolling out of your open mouth, unable to quiet your moans. Kirishima’s pace was frenzied, excited, animalistic as he chased his own pleasure, the sound of his skin slapping against your own filling the room. It was incredible.

His dick hit all the right spots, pressing you closer and closer to your orgasm. If he didn’t let you cum this time you were going to cry.  Your could hear the lecherous, sinful sounds of your pussy squelching, milky juices getting everywhere. It coated his dick, was covering your thighs. You could feel drops of wetness being flicked everywhere on every thrust, the wet, fast slaps of his thighs against you making your stomach clench even harder.  The hand in your hair pulled up slightly, wrenching your head back in order for Kiri to give your a quick, desperate kiss - full of teeth and spit. He had hardly detached from your lips before he was mouthing at your back, spitting out filth as he did so.

“Shit, I love you so much. Wish I could be inside you all time - see how easily your body takes me? You were made for this, such a filthy little baby. Always look so tempting, always wanna fuck you, fill you up, make you squirt.” 

His words were getting to you, as you were forced to watch him pounding into you, hips snapping and tensing in an animalistic fashion. It was too much - the pleasure, his crude words, the visual of seeing yourself getting fucked, worshipped. Your eyes closed, clenching shut as you moaned over a particularly satisfying thrust. Kiri didn’t like that. The hand not holding your head against the bed slipped underneath you, immediately finding your clit, pinching at it viciously.

“Open your eyes, keep watching or else I stop.”

You wailed, eyes flying open. Kirishima was smiling, still kissing sloppily at your back as he began playing with your clit.

“You always look so tasty, can’t tell you - Fuck! - how many times I think about fucking your brains out during the day - shit, you’re so good for me.”

HIs hips stuttered as he rammed forward, signaling he was close. He wasn’t the only one - your hands clawing at the bedspread, your hips moving and twitching as you tried to grind yourself against his hand, his cock slamming into you.  His big hand rubbed you just right, and it sent a pang of sizzling pleasure trough your body.  A broken cry left you as you finally orgasmed, hot, shaking, senseless. Thank god.

The wild twitching of your pussy as you rode out your high triggered Kirishima’s own orgasm, the man burying his face between your shoulder blades as his own hips twitched wildly, humping his cock into you as he released his seed.  He was cursing, saying something, but it was muffled by the skin he caught between his teeth, making you squeal as you felt hot cum shoot into you. It took a minute for the man to slow down, thrusting through his orgasm and into the aftershocks, milking and prolonging both of your pleasure. It felt so good, so right. You were so high from the endorphins that you couldn’t even think to remember how wrong this was, how you didn’t want any of it.

Pulling out, Kirishima watched his cum begin dripping out of your cunt, pushing himself away from your back as he stood, chest heaving, body glistening with sweat. You were barely able to keep yourself up, still bent over the bed, legs wobbly and arms jelly. A separate set of hands pulled you to the side, and you let yourself be manhandled, pulled and situated in Bakugou’s lap, his chest to your back.

You had forgotten about Bakugou.

His jeans were off, along with his boxers. His shirt was gone too, thrown somewhere on the floor. The blond ripped at the shirt still plastered to your chest, the fabric giving in easily to his strength. You couldn’t bring yourself to care as it shredded right through the middle, freeing your tits. It’s not like it hid anything anyways.

“Jesus, that was so fuckin’ hot, watching Kiri pound into you like that. Look at yourself, leaking everywhere like a damn hose. You like having Kiri’s cum sliding out of your soggy little cunt?” 

His chin hooked over your shoulder and he directed your gaze forward. 

There was another mirror.

It was leaned up against the far wall, allowing you a perfect view of your sweaty, debauched body as Bakugou spread you legs, hooking your knees over his own so he could force your thighs even further apart. Oh god.

He was hard as a rock, moving your body around on his lap so his dick pressed up against the outside of your pussy, cum still escaping from your hole. You were exhausted, body limp and pliant - you didn’t know if you could go another round.

Bakugou didn’t care.

A harsh slap had you crying out, a sharp “Ah!”  Filling the room. Bakugou slapped your slit again, and you tried to curl in on yourself, protect yourself from the abuse on your sensitive pussy. The blond slithered a hand around your chest, reaching up to grip your throat lightly.

“Stop that. Fucking look at this shit. See how sloppy your pussy is? Everytime I do this - “ He delivered another quick slap, and you writhed on his lap, which caused you to push against the hard cock nestled between your thighs. “ - You let more cream out.”

Without saying anything more, Bakugou shoved the hand not around your throat under your thigh, lifting you up just enough so he could slip his dick into you. HIs cock was less girth than Kirishima’s - it was  about the same length but a more manageable size. He had been jacking off while watching Kiri fuck you, so his length was already coated in a layer of his spit and precum. That, combined with the cum already drenching your insides,  meant he met virtually no resistance as he thrust up slowly.

You writhed, the hand at your throat and at your thigh keeping you steady in his lap. Kirishima was on the floor, leaning his back against the bed as he watched the two of you in the mirror, still panting and calming down from his intense orgasm. 

There wasn’t any time to adjust, to ask Bakugou to wait, you’re too sensitive to go again! He was more relaxed than Kirishima, more controlled and languid in his thrusting. He rolled his hips, bouncing you gently in his lap as he forced you to keep your head straight, despite your efforts to turn away from the mirror showing your own reflection. You looked absolutely filthy - face flushed, tits bouncing, Bakugou’s hard cock drilling into you. You couldn’t help but moan, the sight stirring up something, some heated feeling inside your tummy.You liked watching them fuck you.

“Goddamn, every single time feels so fucking good. Shit, shit shit shit - it’s like you were made for us!”

He sounded so gleeful, so truthful. You unconsciously clenched around his length, feeling tingly as his thrusts ground deep, hit every single spot that made a sweet zing of  bliss race through your body.

“Ah, ah fuck, you finally get it? You see what we’re fuckin’ on about when we say you look so damn delicious? Shit, I wanna take a bite outta you, so juicy and ripe and fucking perfect.”

Bakugou was out of breath, his voice deep as he growled at you.  You grabbed at the arm around your chest, his thighs, his hair - anything to anchor yourself as his balls papped against you. You could hear someone moaning, whining and sobbing, was that you?

Kirishima had recovered, moving to kneel between Bakugou’s and your own spread legs. “Bakugou, you two look so good together.” That seemed to spur the blond on, his thrusts speeding up as he grunted. You screamed when you felt  a wet muscle swip at your clit, looking down to see Kirishima grinning up at you, his tongue hanging out. On each thrust, he was licking at Bakugou’s cock, and then at your clit right above him, making you wiggle and spasm as you tried to escape the intense sensation.

“Kiri, Kir- stop! Stop, please I can’t! Stop, stop stop stop!”

You were pushing at his head, albeit weakly, but you were trying to move him away, becoming frantic as the combined efforts of the two men overwhelmed you, had you throwing your head back against Bakugou’s shoulder and gasping. Bakugou snickered, before plunging his tongue into your open mouth, stealing a kiss. You whined, scrabbling at his arms, Kirishima’s hair, trying to get away but simultaneously trying to bring the two of them closer. It felt so /good/, you didn’t even have the words to describe how heavenly and lascivious and filthy you were feeling. 

“Hah, you’re so wet, you hear yourself? Sloppy girl. Taking me so well, shit, so goddamn good.”

You could indeed, hear yourself. On every thrust of Bakugou’s, your pussy squelched, greedily sucking him in. It was absolutely filthy, hearing your juices and Kiri’s cum sloshing together as Bakugou shoved his cock into you, again and again. You could hear Kirishima slurping at your cunt with fervor, could tell by the slick sounds and rhythmic movement of his arm that he was frantically jerking himself off as he lapped at the point where Bakugou’s hot flesh met your own.  It was hot, not only in temperature. 

“C’mon baby, let it out, let me taste you. Wanna see you clenching around Katsuki’s cock like the good, sweet little girl you are.”

Kirishima’s words hand you reeling, and the second his lips went back to attacking your clit, you were gone. It almost hurt, how tense your muscles became, squeezing an agonizingly delicious orgasm out of you. Bakugou felt you release, his thrusts speeding up as Kirishima kept his tongue out, laving at Bakuguo’s cock as he hammered into your clenching cunt. You were crying, twisting In Bakugou’s hold as you were quickly overstimulated, shrieking as you were left with no respite.

It didn’t take long for Bakugou to cum, spurred on by your writhing and tears, the way you were begging and pleading and sobbing, imploring the men to stop. With a guttural moan, the blond gave on last thrust, shooting his seed into you, hot ropes of cum filling you up. Kirishima was still licking around Bakugou’s cock, catching the cum and slick that squeezed it’s way past the cock plugging you up.

You shivered, relaxing against the hard chest behind you as Kirishima eventually stopped lapping at you, his own arm still. He had cum again at some point, pumping his cock into his own fist. Bakugou pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, panting hotly against the shell.

“Fuuuuuck-“ he whined out “- that was amazing.”

“Mhmm.” Kiri hummed his agreement, slowly standing. The redhead flopped down on the bed, crawling up to sprawl out on one side, head resting against a pillow. Bakugou slipped out of you with no warning, your sudden gasp as you felt wet drip out of you making him chuckle. He maneuvered your lax body onto the bed, next to Kirishima, before pressing himself up behind you, trapping your body between the two men. You were too tired to feel gross, to mind the wet slide of your thighs as you shifted into a more comfortable position. Kirishima threw an arm around your waist, leaning up on his elbow to hover over and across you, stealing a kiss from Bakugou. Then he was stealing one from you, wet mouth connected to your own. 

You didn’t fight.

When he flopped back down, you breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like you could finally relax as the two men stayed silent, all three of you exhausted, fucked out. 

This was only the tip of the ice berg. 

If you knew how often and intensely the men intended to fuck you near the mirrors, you would probably pass out. They just wanted to show you what they saw in you. It had been two of the strongest orgasms you had experienced in a while, but there was no way you’d admit it was because of their praising and insistence  on making you watch yourself getting railed by them.

For now, you let yourself drift into a comfortable doze, let the heat of the two bodies caging you in keep you warm, keep you trapped.

Why bother fighting? 

There was no escape.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Here’s what I have done of that other fic I started. I want to make it a much longer one-shot, and I will if anyone likes it. It’s based on this post that has stuck with me for ages, but I only really started thinking about recently.

~^~

Lucas didn’t know what to expect.

Realistically, he didn’t think his parents were suited to this type of responsibility. His dad made the indisputable point that they could do with the extra money. Lucas didn’t bother telling him that might not work out if the student left them within a week. They could barely take care of their own child, and yet they thought it was a perfect idea to bring another into the house.

Well, not exactly a child. He couldn’t decide if that fact was better or worse. Lucas got along fine with people; he had a good group of friends, and most of their classmates liked him. He could mesh with people he had just met at parties or the skatepark or even school. Acquaintances were easy to make. People his age didn’t really scare him.

Maybe he didn’t have the best confidence around pretty boys. But none of them scared him as much as Kes, and Kes was his best friend, so he thought he was probably doing pretty well in that case, too.

He wasn’t sure how living with someone else his age (and a stranger at that) would be. His confidence and his comfort levels were feeling low. Someone from another country, someone that he’d have to live with and go to school with and exist with on a very regular basis—that was a little frightening. That had Lucas feeling unprecedented levels of stress in the week before the exchange student arrived.

It didn’t help that they ended up being the most beautiful boy Lucas had ever seen.

~^~

Lucas could admit on sight that Jens Stoffels was one of those pretty boys that left him tongue-tied and sweaty-palmed any time he was forced to interact. Which, considering their situation, happened to be quite often. On the other hand, he didn’t want to admit that Jens Stoffels scared him more than Kes. (But Lucas was starting to think he most certainly did.)

He had been standing in the hallway, lingering awkwardly, when his father had opened the door for the first time. He caught sight of the tall boy with the dark hair and sharp jaw and instantly felt his breath catch. He watched the boy stumble through a greeting, a clunky mister-and-surname hello that was met with a too enthusiastic response of, “Please, call me Hugo. You must be Jens.”

Lucas didn’t have the strength to tease his father that of course, this was Jens, they’d been expecting him for the past month. He was too busy staring to do much of anything else. He had no right, in the moment, to tease anyone.

Then Jens’s eyes met his, and Lucas watched him falter.

Then Jens smiled, and Lucas was gone.

Hugo took it as a reminder to beckon his son forward and urge him to take Jens’s bags. They both ignored Jens’s protests, which trailed off rather abruptly when Lucas’s fingertips traced the back of his hands when grabbing the handles.

Lucas didn’t think he imagined the way Jens’s breath hitched as he glanced up at the boy, but he didn’t know what to do with it. The moment went ignored.

“Hey,” Jens greeted, low and hesitant, and Lucas realised he was scowling.

It was easy to soften his expression in the face of Jens’s nerves, but it was harder than he expected to smile. The horde of butterflies in his stomach and buzz of static in his head left him able to do little more than nervously lick his lips and nod. “Hey.”

“This is Lucas,” his father introduced him, as oblivious to his son’s state as ever. “He’ll show you to his room. We have your bed already set up, and he cleared some space. I hope you really don’t mind sharing.”

Jens offered Lucas another smile, wider than the first. “No, I really don’t mind.”

~^~

Jens took in the bunk beds with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He glanced over at Lucas. “I thought you were an only child?”

“I am.” Lucas gestured vaguely. “It’s for—we changed it.”

“You went out and bought bunk beds?”

Lucas couldn’t help but smile slightly, now. “Well, I didn’t, no.”

Jens’s cheeks reddened, and he shifted the bag he still held onto to his other hand. “You know what I mean. Your parents.”

Lucas shrugged. “Another separate bed wouldn’t have fit. It doesn’t—you don’t mind, do you? I’ve been sleeping on the bottom, but we changed the sheets so you can take whichever—“

“Cool,” Jens cut him off, tossing his bag onto the top bunk and then hoisting himself up onto it. He barely avoided knocking his head into the ceiling. He raised his brows at Lucas. “Cosy.”

“Seriously, you can take the bottom.”

“I certainly can.” Jens nodded his agreement, and the glimmer in his eyes made Lucas shuffle on his feet. “But if it’s where you’d rather be, I won’t argue.”

Lucas stared at him for a moment, then realised he was doing it and quickly dragged his gaze away as Jens became more amused. He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said loudly, ignoring Jens’s grin. “Cool. I can, uhm, show you the rest of the house, if you want.”

Jens nodded and lithely took two steps down the ladder to the floor. “Cool,” he repeated.

~^~

Dinner was a less awkward affair than Lucas expected. His mother was doing well and seemingly intent on proving it, brushing off Lucas’s offers of help and glaring at his looks and questions. He could tell Jens adored her instantly, and seemed more comfortable referring to her as Tess than he was using Hugo. Lucas had to admit, though, that his father was also on his best behavior, and Lucas himself was probably the most awkward person at the table.

It was just that, Jens was right beside him, the chairs tucked so close together at the small table that Lucas could feel his radiating warmth. He held himself stiffly in place so as not to lean towards it, and felt silly and uncomfortable in doing so.

“Are you nervous about starting on Monday, Jens?” Hugo asked, cutting through his food with half of his attention.

Tess huffed. “Of course he is. But that’s normal. And he’ll have Lucas looking after him.”

Jens didn’t seem to mind being spoken for. He glanced over at Lucas again instead, and Lucas diverted his gaze, cheeks flushing. He wasn’t, however, overly embarrassed. Jens had snuck just as many sideways looks at him.

“Actually,” Lucas said, then had to clear his throat. “You skate, right? I saw you brought a board.”

Jens nodded. “A little.”

“I was thinking we could go to the park tomorrow. You can meet Kes and Jayden.”

Hugo snorted, and Lucas shot him an unimpressed look. “What?” he demanded.

“No, nothing, nothing,” Hugo said, hasty. “It’s just a funny choice, if your goal is not overwhelming him on his first day here.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine.” Then, to Jens, “Really, they’re cool. Just a little excitable. You’ll be fine.”

Jens nodded again and smiled, small and secretive. “Sure. You’ll be looking after me, right?”

Lucas smiled down at his plate.

~^~

Lucas still hadn’t fully realised how awkward it would be until they were expected to go to bed. It became fairly obvious when he was standing lost in his own bedroom and Jens started stripping in front of him.

He made a noise in his throat, high and startled, and quickly looked away from sturdy shoulders and lithe legs. He curled his hands into fists and crossed his arms over his stomach, breathing carefully. After a second, he realised standing there like this was probably worse, and forced himself to move to his wardrobe, digging through the drawers for something to sleep in. When he turned around with a worn t-shirt and sweats, Jens was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and staring at him.

“Sorry,” Jens said, curious. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Lucas shook his head. “No,” he tried, then cleared his throat. “I just wasn’t…” He shook his head. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

Jens eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Some people prefer their privacy. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He scratched at his arm, then added, “I hope you don’t feel put out. It’s probably weird opening your space like this.”

“It’s weird for you, too, isn’t it? You just got here,” Lucas shrugged again. He was being a terrible host. He was being terribly obvious.

“I mean, yeah. The whole thing is stressing me out more than I expected,” Jens admitted, laughing slightly. Lucas was terrible. “But I guess—I don’t really do awkward? I know we’re supposed to be a good match. So I guess I came with the idea already in my head that we’d be friends.”

Lucas stared at him.

Jens shifted awkwardly and gave a dry, lopsided smile. “But I guess it’s not the same on your side.”

“No,” Lucas blurted. Then, realising how that sounded, rushed to explain himself. “No, I—I hoped we’d be friends, too. We will be. I mean, I still want to be. Friends. You’re cool. It’s just that we only met, and it’s like, right into the deep end. But there’s nothing to say we won’t be friends.”

He was rambling. Of course. Jens didn’t do awkward, and Lucas was being the most awkward person on the planet. That wasn’t the way this was supposed to go.

How was this supposed to go again?

He’d never had a plan to start with, but considering all thoughts fled his mind at the first sight of Jens, he doubted it would have been much help. He was a mess.

And they’d just met.

Despite everything, Jens seemed pleasantly amused by his disastrous attempts at connecting. There was a lovely curl to his lips and an adorable tip of his head as he returned, “Okay. Good.”

He sounded so genuinely relieved, so contented at the thought of Lucas agreeing on his hopes of friendship, that Lucas couldn’t help but smile back.

Then Jens added, “Better to keep my pants on, though? At least until there’s a little more familiarity in place.”

Lucas wanted to die. He was going to die. Why was he so embarrassing? So clueless and so obvious at the same time? This was only the first day.

Jens could be here for the entire year.

“It’s sexist to assume shoulders are only sexual when they’re women’s,” Lucas said, trying to keep Jens’s jokingly serious tone, and quickly realising the response sounded better in his head. And that it probably didn’t seem all that joking, if his cheeks were as red as they felt.

But Jens laughed, and his eyes sparkled, and Lucas was truly and seriously fucked. Jens wiggled his eyebrows, said, “Can’t argue with that,” and pointedly squeezed Lucas’s shoulder on the way past, and oh no, Lucas was truly and seriously gay, wasn’t he?

Lucas mustered a tiny laugh in return, looking over his shoulder to watch Jens go. His sight caught on the still exposed calves, the dimples in the back of his knees, the ends of strong thighs, the curve of—

He whipped his gaze away and took another careful breath, and Jens simply continued down the hall to the bathroom, oblivious. Lucas stripped off his hoodie, recognising that this was the safest time to change, and told himself to get a grip.

Friends, he thought, with another breath.

Cool.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.” 

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?” 

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

-

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.” 

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing. 

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.” 

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?” 

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.” 

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?” 

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.” 

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.” 

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8.2k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: fxf smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, technically a mff threesome

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and with a special appearance from eight special guests

A/N: due to burnout, i’m unfortunately putting tgm on hold and logging off of tumblr for a little while, so there will be a bit of a wait before you get the new chapter. i’m going to log back on after 48 hours when the vote is done, because i’m considering putting the results behind a ‘read more’ option so that if you don’t want to wait, you can choose to reveal who is being voted out, otherwise you have the freedom to wait for the chapter. i have a post coming out explaining why i’m going on hold and what that means. please keep an eye out for it xx

ELIMINATION

The vote has closed.

DAY TWENTY-ONE

Your ass is still still a little sore the next morning, and having Hoseok smirk at you every time you shifted is a special kind of torture in and of itself. Waiting for everyone to gather, you’re one moment away from begging Taehyung for a massage right then and there before Sejin finally enters, rapping awkwardly on the doorframe as he steps in.

Skipping the pleasantries, he hunkers down on the coffee table in the middle of the couches, gesturing for you to join.

You swallow, aware of the attention on you. “Can I just stay on the couch?” You stubbornly avoid Hoseok’s gaze, leaning further back into the cushions, Taehyung’s arm wrapped around you as you tuck your head against his shoulder. Maybe you’d ask for that massage later, you reason, massages are platonic, right?

“Sure,” Sejin allows after a moment, eyes softening in sympathy. You flush at the unspoken reminder that he definitely saw the footage, but the producer powers on. “Let’s get started, then, we have quite the day ahead of us.”

Your phone burns a hole in your pocket. You’d been chatting earlier this morning over text with your friend, who was already on a train on his way here. You wonder how the boys will react to Eric. Part of you had worried, but you’ve yet to meet a single person that didn’t like him. It would be good to finally catch up.

The other guys don’t seem suspicious about the news, but before you can dwell on it, Sejin is clearing his throat and lowering his voice into the announcer-like tone he used for the meetings. “This week’s theme was Work Hard, Play Hard. According to the Bangasm Bomb, Week Two’s fan favourite Yoongi was allowed to distribute them. Instead of asking Y/n to guess, I want the players to each say whether they were happy with Yoongi’s choice or not. Starting on the right with you: Jin.”

Perhaps due to their splitting up yesterday morning - you hope their conversation went well in the end - Jin and Yoongi are on opposite couches, and Jin is a little subdued when he speaks to Yoongi. Not necessarily sad, just calmer than normal, like they were old friends. “So, Yoongichi gave me foodplay. As much as I appreciated getting the prompt, and I had a wonderful time with Y/n, never fucking again will I use something so messy. I swear to god, there’s still caramel in my hair, and I don’t think it’ll ever come out.”

You wince at the description, jostled slightly by Taehyung’s laughter rocking his body. Sejin confirms that he’d successfully fulfilled his prompt, and moves along to Namjoon, who looks about as red as a fire hydrant.

“Mine was ageplay,” Namjoon explains, voice dipping so quiet that you can barely hear him, before he clears his throat and glances up again. “I enjoyed it a lot, if I’m being honest. Um- thank you, Yoongi. I’m a little concerned that you knew to give it to me, though.”

“Come on,” Jin jibes, punching his shoulder lightly, “you’re absolute Daddy material. When it doesn’t look like you crawled out of someone’s pocket, at least.”

Namjoon frowns down at himself, the denim overalls rolled up at the ankles, mismatched socks and a t-shirt with a little embroidered sun on it. “Was that a compliment?”

Jin sends him a solemn, meaningful look. “It’s whatever you need it to be.”

“Anyways,” Sejiin jumps in, “congratulations, Namjoon, you’ve avoided the bunks again. Following on, we have Jimin. Go ahead.”

With legs that look a mile long in some skinny black jeans, Jimin winks across the room to Yoongi. “I got breathplay,” he explains, “which I’ll admit isn’t my favourite prompt out of them all, but I still had a really good time. Though I did try and go a little easy just in case.”

Your eyes widen, remembering ringed fingers around your throat and his cold smirk which contrasted with the heat of him inside you. “That was going easy?”

Jimin shrugs. “I’ve barely scratched the surface, Y/n,” he states vaguely and sits back, tilting his head to Sejin to indicate he’s finished.

The producer quickly informs him he was successful, and moves onwards. On your couch, the only active player is Hoseok, who sits on the opposite side to Taehyung. He sends you a mischievous grin before leaning out to face Yoongi. “Wax play for me,” he reveals to the group, “which was an absolute delight. I’m very glad I got this one, just for safety reasons. It sounds like some of the prompts this week were a little more intense.”

He sits back, but Sejin doesn’t move on this time. “Hoseok, unfortunately you failed your prompt this week.”

Hoseok blinks, brows lifting. “But there are cameras in that bathroom! I checked.”

“That’s not the issue,” Sejin explains with a sympathetic smile, “it’s that you directly revealed to Y/n what your prompt was. Now-” he begins, seeing Hoseok’s clear disappointment, “I had a talk with some of the editing and producing teams on this, as well as the higher-ups. Because we understand and appreciate that you revealed the prompt for reasons related to safety and wellbeing, we’re going to change things up a bit. You have a choice. Either you take the penalty and stay in the bunkrooms, or you stay in your own room. The caveat is that you randomly have to draw a name, and that person will join you.”

Hoseok winces. “God, this feels like a variety show,” he complains, “but I’ll risk it and take my bedroom. At least I’ll be comfy, and I’m fine sharing a bed with most of you anyway.”

Sejin’s already prepared, nodding and retrieving seven strips of paper from his pocket, all folded in two. The rest of you hold your breath as Hoseok’s hand hovers over the splayed-out options, finally tugging one out from the bottom. He takes it, flicks it open, and immediately deflates with a frustrated groan.

“This is fucking rigged,” he protests, ripping the paper into two, “I pick the bunkrooms.”

Sejin patiently holds his hand out for the torn shreds, reading them over. Is that a smile on his lips? “Jung Hoseok, you’ll be staying in the comfort of your bedroom with fellow contestant Park Jimin until the date of the next Sunday meeting.”

“Hey!” Jimin shrieks. “I did my prompt! Do I get no say in this?!”

“You don’t, unfortunately,” Sejin replies promptly. “Next up is Jungkook.”

Jimin squawks, collapsing back onto the couch with his arms tightly folded and his mouth screwed up into a scowl. Across from him sits Jungkook, clinging to Yoongi. With his legs tucked under him and his sleeves balled in his hands, the youngest gentleman is reminiscent of his subbier side when you played with him. “I got anal play,” he declares proudly, “I can’t believe it took me three weeks to get pegged. Shoutout to homeboy for sending that prompt my way.” He punctuates the comment by gently bumping his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, like a cat on its owner’s leg. Rather than sitting up, he stays there.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, finishing off before Sejin can even step in. “I was cumplay,” he states plainly, “so of course, I took that. Who needs to fuck around with wax and food and shit when you can stick to the basics?”

The producer nods formally, tapping his shoe against the carpet. “And the two of you both successfully completed your prompts, congratulations. That means nobody will be staying in the bunkrooms this week. Taehyung,” he turns and fixes the boy with a warm stare, “you’re welcome to go back to your room for the rest of the competition.”

Taehyung beams, a boxy grin and crescent eyes. “Noted, sir,” he says with a chirp. “Do we get to find out fan favourite now? I know who I’m rooting for.” Taehyung sends Jimin a shy smile, and the older boy winks at him fondly.

“Yes, of course,” Sejin allows, clearing his throat. “As usual, we tallied up the results from the voting page on our website. I’ll say the top three. Third place this week was Jungkook. Congratulations.”

The youngest man sits upright suddenly with a wide-eyed look. “Seriously? I didn’t even dom! Oh, wow, uh-” he cuts himself off and looks around, finally fixing his sights on one of the cameras near the roof that are streaming to the fans. He pumps his fists with a little cheer, then folds them together and bows. “Thank you! I’ll do even better next week.”

Yoongi’s cheeks go pink as he tries to act like he isn’t cooing over the boy, reaching out to ruffle his ever-growing hair. “Good job, kid,” he compliments shortly.

“Second place,” Sejin continues, “Seokjin.”

It seems as if the therapist hadn’t seen it coming at all. A picture-perfect expression of shock blooms on his face before he lets out a bright peal of laughter, clapping his hands together with a single smack. “I did it! Ah, I knew I still had it in me. Old age won’t stop me yet, see. Everyone should learn from this.”

You shake your head with bemusement, lifting your brows at him. “Silver medal and it’s already going to your head, huh? The fans have created a monster.”

“The fans have seen the light,” Jin corrects placidly, before a line forms between his brows. “Wait. Who got first, then? Who outdid me plus caramel sauce?”

“In first place, and winning the chance to spend an evening outside the Villa with Y/n,” Sejin starts, before pausing for dramatic effect, “is Hoseok. You’re having quite the emotional rollercoaster this morning, Mr. Jung.”

Instead of a hooting cheer, a smug grin, or even disbelief, perhaps the one thing you didn’t see coming was Hoseok blinking quickly, before pressing the back of his hand to his nose. You don’t have to be watching a 1080p close-up to see his eyes misting.

Taehyung immediately croons, throwing his arms around the dom in a tight hug, wiggling in place as Hoseok laughs tearily. “I’m so proud,” you hear Taehyung say, muffled in Hoseok’s shirt.

“I- Goodness, I’m sorry- I really just wasn’t expecting that,” Hoseok admits, tilting his chin up to stare into the ceiling light. “That means a lot. Phew, wow, the audience are some kinky fuckers,” he finishes, relieved when the strange atmosphere splits into easy laughter.

Heart warm, you reach over and squeeze his arm. “I’m really happy for you, Hobi,” you say in a soft voice. “You deserve it.”

“Where will you take her tonight, hyung?” Jungkook chimes, teeth poking out of a teasing grin. “Is it ‘take your fuckbuddy to work’ day at the Red Room by any chance?” His comment rouses whoops and whistles around the room, Taehyung giggling and pinching the dom’s cheek.

“Ah, about that,” Sejin jumps in quickly, a hand held out to settle the noise, “the reward won’t be scheduled for tonight, unfortunately. We’re going to put it on Monday night, since today - as I’m sure you all know - we have some special guests.”

Your brows lift. Guests, plural? Maybe you weren’t the only one who was asked to contact a friend. Your heart skips a little faster at the prospect of being exposed to close friends from the boys’ real lives. What if they didn’t like you? Would it even matter?

Sejin isn’t done, standing up from the coffee table to give the announcement on foot. “A few days ago, you all received text messages from me with some instructions to find a close friend, colleague, or family member to join you on the show. This was up to your discretion, as long as they agreed to a quick police check, however there was one condition. Y/n; you were asked specifically for a male friend. The guys were asked to bring a female friend.”

You suck in a gasp. After three weeks being surrounded exclusively by dudes, you’d suddenly have seven new ladies to talk to. “Just for the day, right?” you question, knowing the plans you’d had to make with Eric.

Sejin’s lips quirk up. “For most of the guests, yes. However, for one lucky lady, they’ll have the opportunity to stay for a full week. At any point today, Y/n, you can draw a name from this box-” he pauses, glancing down at his again-empty hands, “-I’ll, uh, I’ll bring the box out in just a moment. But you’ll be able to randomly draw one name, and if the recipient agrees, they’ll be staying in the bunk room for seven nights. Questions?”

Taehyung raises his hand tentatively. “Hypothetically, would we be allowed to have sex with the guests?”

Sejin sighs. “All but two of them signed a contract in which they consented to the possibility of sexual interaction, yes. But none of them will be required to at all.”

You bite your lip. When talking with you, Eric had mentioned the contract, and stated that since it was just one day he’d rather not offer himself up for that. One of the girls must have done the same, then, but that still left six people who were joining for a day - or a week - willing to consider having sex with the others on the show. Perhaps you were raising your sex drive being on the show, or maybe you just missed the company of women, but that thought excited you more than anything.

“When do they come on?” Yoongi asks with a grimace. While the others are practically vibrating with the anticipation of being reunited with their friends and meeting new people, Yoongi seems begrudging, and you can’t help but wonder what girl in his life he asked to join him.

“They’re waiting outside right now,” Sejin reveals, “we’ll bring them in one by one to introduce themselves. As they come in, I want the person who invited them to get up and stand on the side with them until everyone’s paired up.”

Taehyung’s hands slip into yours and Hoseok’s, gripping them into tight fists with a hoot of excitement. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you sit up straighter, eying the doorway. “Do you think there’ll be a game?” the masseuse hisses, positively wiggling in his seat.

On the other couch, Jungkook’s eyes widen comically. “We’re doing a game? Oh, hell yeah!”

Sejin, who had been sending a text, glances up quickly. “The game isn’t ‘til the eve-” he cuts himself off, but it comes too late. “Ah, dammit. Anyways, please give a warm welcome to our first guest. Please come in.”

Before the person even rounds the corner, you hear an excited squeal. A slender girl with toffee-coloured hair and bright features careens into the room, her giddy smile widening as she lands her eyes on Jin.

If you had pictured someone to be friends with the therapist, it probably wouldn’t be this boisterous woman in tiny shorts and strappy sandals that’s currently cannon-balling onto him, but he lets out an oof, wrapping his arms around her with a fond smile.

Sejin clears his throat. “Could you please introduce yourself?”

“Oh!” The girl sits up, elbowing Jin in the stomach as she gets up to smile at everyone. She looks gorgeous in a summery red lipstick, and the voice that comes out is just as sweet. “Hi everyone, I’m Hyuna, Soogie’s better half.”

Rubbing his hip, Jin scoffs. “You’re my sidekick at best.”

Ignoring the person whose lap she’s sitting on, Hyuna beams. “If he’s been cool on this show at all, it’s my positive influence.”

“Thank you, Hyuna, the two of you can go stand to the side,” Sejin deigns, glancing towards the doorway. “Next?”

In this way, all the guests appear one at a time and pair off. Eric’s next in, and you rush up to give your old friend a tight hug, grinning as he immediately stands beside Jin and Hyuna and begins to schmooze, making the two of them alike fawn over him.

“Hi, everyone,” he announces in a cheery tone, “I’m Eric, longtime friend of Y/n and aspiring Gentleman. Pleased to meet you all.” Sejin nods at him, and Eric’s smile turns down a few watts to sober up. “Also, I didn’t sign the contract, so if there’s any funny business, feel free to not invite me.”

Unlike the first two, the third person that enters the room is shy, a reserved posture and sweet smile. She dresses in a corduroy dress and long-sleeved shirt, her dark hair up in a ponytail. Introducing herself as Ji-eun, she explains that she, too, chose not to sign the contract for sex, blushing at the word.

Equally blushing is Jungkook, who repeatedly bows to her as she comes in, hand hovering over her waist as he leads her to the side. You and Jin share a bemused look as the girl introduces herself as a family friend and Jungkook’s old babysitter.

Picking up the energy, the fourth guest is someone you actually recognise. Jessi, a Bangasm powerhouse in every right that Jimin is, turns the corner with a sultry look, sidling up to Sejin playfully before tugging Jimin up from his seat.

“Jessi, as most of you are probably aware,” she introduces, looking insanely stunning in a fitted crop shirt, high waisted shorts and eyeliner to kill. “Come on, Park; you’re with me.”

As he stands up, letting her ruffle his hair and gushing over his choice of earrings, you marvel at how different he appears around her. In the industry, if you’d heard of Jimin, you’d heard of Jessi. She started a few years before him, met him on a shoot, and the two were practically a power duo ever since. From the videos they had together, they portrayed an image of the King and Queen of porn, always working with each other whenever they could. But now, instead of some sex-crazed couple, all you see is Jimin being fussed over like a younger brother, leaning into Jessi’s fond yet teasing touches.

The two of them sit beside you, and your cheeks can’t help but burn up when she pokes her tongue out between her teeth and flicks you a wink, turning to Jimin and giving him a  meaningful nod.

So far Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi remain on the couches, and when the next girl rounds the corner, you just about think you must be seeing double.

With a black bob of hair sharper than her jawline, perfectly arched brows and a pouty mouth, an absolute copy of Min Yoongi scans the room. Her face changes, turns mischievous when she spots a begrudging Yoongi, and jerks her head. “I’m the hotter twin,” she announces, “Min Yoonji.”

As Yoongi huffs and gets up to join her, you watch with wonder as the two lookalikes stand together. She mumbles something low, ruffling his hair as he desperately tries to duck away, and the twins settle on the far side of you, beside Jungkook.

Quickly, another raven-haired girl steps in, barely even looking at you as she takes in the decor. “Fuck, this place is nice,” she mutters, before her eyes look directly ahead of her, maroon lips stretching into a smile, “Joon-ah, you’ve been here rent-free for the past month? Holy shit.”

Namjoon winces, bowing awkwardly to her, and you tilt your head. Why does it seem like they barely even know each other? Sejin must hear your internal monologue, as he clears his throat. “Could you please introduce yourself and state your relationship to Namjoon?”

“Oh, my name’s Sunmi,” she says with ease, “Namjoon and I are...” She trails off, looking to him for help.

Namjoon’s eyes widen, and he blurts, “best friends!” before going bright red. “Uh, we’re, um, we’re best friends.”

Sunmi beams, nodding matter-of-factly to the rest of you, before walking forward to pinch his cheeks and wiggle his face back and forth lightly. “Oh, yes,” she coos, “we go way back.” Letting go, she takes his hand and guides him to the side of the room where everyone but Taehyung and Hoseok are gathered.

You try to send Namjoon a questioning gaze, but he avoids everyone’s gaze but Sunmi’s, nodding shyly at the things she tells him quietly.

Luckily, the second-to-last guest takes up your attention fully. With velvet boots that reach the middle of her thighs, and a black shirt that reaches just as low, she’d look cute and preppy were it not for the black harness that brackets the shirt, reminiscent of Hoseok’s leathers, the sharp smokey eye and a red lipstick so dark it’s almost black. It doesn’t take you much to work out which of the remaining boys she’s accompanying. “Thank you to Hope for inviting me,” she begins, and your eyes widen at how silken and sweet her voice is, a total 180 from the typical dominatrix stereotype, yet it seems to fit her perfectly. “I’m Bee, I’ve worked at the Red Room for several years, and been friends with him for just as long.”

The two share a light hug, but you can see the affection there as his eyes crinkle and her beam widens. She hooks a finger around one of Hoseok’s belt loops and follows him to stand beside Jimin, barely enough room for them as it is.

Lastly is Taehyung, who’s already on his feet by the time a gorgeous blonde enters. Before you can get a good look at her, the two are bear-hugging, Taehyung lifting her off the ground for a moment as he grins so widely all his teeth are on full display. It warms your heart to see, and even when she settles back on solid ground, the two are attached at the hip, his arm tightly holding her to him.

“This is Chungha, my best friend,” Taehyung announces proudly, “we met at work when I was a trainee.”

“Aren’t I supposed to do that?” she questions with a throaty laugh, but still gives a warm smile to the rest of you. “But yeah, that’s me!”

They go to move over to the crowded corner, but Sejin steps in, clapping his hands once to gain everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone!” he declares. “Welcome to all our new faces! You’ll have until 10pm tonight to socialise, have fun. For lunch today, we’ll be having a barbecue and picnic outside, but after then, you’re free. Be sure to respect Ji-eun and Eric’s choice not to partake in any sexual activity. And Y/n, I’ll be right back with the box. Make sure you pull a name before 10.”

Once he leaves, you let out a dramatic breath, collapsing into Eric’s side. “Today is gonna be busy,” you anticipate, “so many pretty girls to talk to. So little time.”

“Hey!” your friend protests, wrapping his arms around to trap you against his front. “Forget about the girls, you should be hanging out with your best friend! I’ve missed you, lest you forget!”

Suspicious, you wiggle around to face him, narrowing your eyebrows. “You just want me to be your wingman,” you accuse, “who is it? What guy here are you crushing on?”

Eric scrunches his face up, clutching at his chest in offense. “I am not crushing on anyone,” he insists, before glancing over to Hyuna, Jessi, and Sunmi have gathered around Namjoon like a flock of seagulls, cooing over the little embroidered patches on his overalls. “I just want the Iron Giant over there to crush me.” Squinting his eyes, he inspects the room until he locates Yoongi, who’s pouting like a wronged child as Yoonji makes herself at home in the kitchen, pulling out drawers and cabinets like she’s searching for something.

“He’s the doctor, right?” Eric asks of Yoongi. You nod, suspicious. “He likes to eat cum, I have cum to spare… I’m no mathematician, but x equals sex, you know?”

You wince. “Not your best line,” you say in a disappointed tone, “but anyways: I thought you told me you didn’t want any funny business? You didn’t sign the contract.”

Eric’s eyes skirt over you, taking in the seven men as he shakes his head slowly. “I was young then. Foolish. I know better.” Suddenly, he grips your shoulders and ducks his head to look you intensely in the eye. “Take me to Sejin’s office. I have a contract to sign.”

--

It’s a beautiful day for a picnic, and an even more beautiful day to watch the muscles in Jin’s back flex under his t-shirt as he mans the barbecue.

Sharing the same sentiment is Jessi, who sighs dreamily at him, sitting beside you on the sun-warmed grass with her legs stretched out in front of her. “They don’t make men like those anymore,” she muses, “face of a fucking god. You get to fuck him?”

You chuckle at the abrupt question, quickly learning that Jessi wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Generally once a week, yeah. Unless I vote him out, I suppose.”

“God, please do,” she enthuses, “save some for the rest of us, you know?” Suddenly she sits up straighter, glancing around to take everyone in. “You know, when I heard about this, I thought for sure they’d either get a bunch of porn-addicted dweebs who jack off into crusty socks or all the airheads in the industry would sign up for a vacation. I guess they really filtered out the duds. I’m impressed.”

“They did good,” you admit, smiling fondly as you watch Taehyung jump around a small cross-legged group on the picnic blanket, holding out handfuls of beads. The masseuse had discovered Hoseok’s penchant for jewellery-making somehow and had demanded a tutorial. Jungkook and Namjoon look like two flustered schoolboys as they quietly help their respective friends, and Yoongi has his sister in a headlock as he tries to tie a bright pink and green bracelet around her wrist. Hyuna and Chungha are practically in each other’s laps, giggling as they wind delicate anklets onto each other.

Some of the others hang around Jin as he cooks. Bee is chatting up a storm with him, hip propped against the edge of the barbecue, and Jimin steals pieces of caramelised onion, sneaking glances towards you and Jessi. Your heart warms at his inquisitive look, the look of happiness and relief on his face when he sees the two of you getting along.

So caught up in your observation of the group, you don’t realise you’ve been silent too long until you get roughly punched in the shoulder. “Holy shit!” Jessi declares. “You like them!”

“Who?” you counter defensively.

She laughs, her whole face lightening up. “Fuck, maybe all o’ them. Is there anyone you don’t have a crush on? Anyone that doesn’t make you feel all giddy and happy?”

You’re stumped at that. For a long time, you’d been seeing having a crush as some grand, dramatic realisation. Realising you liked Tae and Jimin, and then more recently being confronted with your feelings for Jin, those romantic notions seemed so loud and all-encompassing. But the guys making you feel giddy and happy? Their presence cheering you up, missing them when you spent time on your own? It was a lot easier to admit to yourself that perhaps all seven of them fit within those constraints. “I… I hate to say that you have a point.”

Jessi squeals, briefly attracting the attention of the haphazard circle of jewellery makers. “I knew it! Oh my goodness, isn’t this so exciting? Have you had an orgy yet?”

You gape. “Jessi!”

“What?” she asks innocently. “If you’ve been here several weeks and you still haven’t had an orgy, you’re wasting your time, girl. Get onto that.”

“I have, actually,” you admit with firing cheeks. “Before Tae got eliminated.”

“The puppy?” When you send Jessi a bewildered look, she just shrugs, tipping her head over towards the barbecue where Jimin has taken to kissing the back of Jin’s neck and shoulders, standing up on his tiptoes to try and bribe the older man for some food. His friend sighs at his antics. “Park told me,” she explains in a matter-of-fact tone, “said he was an absolute delight to play with when he’s got his collar on. Fuck, and looking at him now really solidifies the image, you know? I’d love to make him beg for a treat.” Your face must sour, because without a pause Jessi is cackling, poking you lightly in the cheek. “Oh my goodness, you’re jealous! You can’t fuck him anymore so you don’t want me to!”

“It’s not that,” you protest, not wanting to expose that selfish desire.

“It’s fine, I get it! I’ll keep my distance,” she allows, rolling over on the grass to lean in, chin almost resting on your shoulder as her voice deepens to a conspiratorial tone. “But if I’m honest, you should just fuck him and take the penalty. I know I would.”

You bite your lip. “What if he accidentally touched me? He’d be sent home. It’s such a risk.”

She just shrugs, leaning back to watch him as he sits in the middle of the group, Chunga reaching out to playfully ruffle his hair. “Tie up his hands,” she deflects easily, “there are always solutions, you know? And if you really like him, I kinda think he’d appreciate you making the sacrifice to be with him.” Sighing out one last time, she stands up, brushing off her pants. “Food for thought. And speaking of food, there’s a big hunk of meat over there that isn’t on the barbecue.”

As Jessi makes her way over to Jin with a heavy swing to her hips, you decide to join the group. There’s a small gap between Ji-eun and Jungkook as they keep a respectful distance, so you wedge yourself in with a few muttered apologies.

Up close, Ji-eun is gorgeous, rosy features and kind eyes. It’s no wonder Jungkook looks at her like she hung the stars in the sky. Perhaps you’d normally feel jealous, but you get it. “So,” you start, reaching out for a cord to begin a bracelet, “the two of you are family friends?”

Jungkook nods hastily. “Our parents went to high-school together,” he divulges, fiddling with his finished bracelet to look busy. “And since my mom and dad both worked full-time, noona babysat after school.”

You coo, tying a knot at one end of the waxed cord so the beads don’t fall off. “That’s so cute, oh my goodness! Ji-eun, was he a troublemaker as a child? I bet he was.”

“Hey!” Jungkook protests, but the older girl just chuckles, sending you a genuine smile.

“Gukkie was actually a sweetheart,” she admits, “always super polite. He was cute, too, had this coconut haircut and the roundest eyes, little tiny hands. Not like now.”

Jungkook gasps again, clutching at his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “How dare you! I’m still cute!”

You hum in an unconvinced way, turning to poke at his cheeks, tapping his button nose. “You’re a little bit cute,” you allow. “Though I bet you were cuter with the bowl cut.”

The camboy’s temporary pleased look vanishes and he abruptly stands up. “This is slander, it was not a bowl cut, I just have a very round head! I’m going to find Yoongi-hyung, he respects me.”

You glance around the group in confusion, but Yoongi isn’t in the immediate vicinity like he was earlier. In fact, the group has dissolved into a few stragglers finishing off their bracelets as most of the gathering emigrate to the sheltered patio. “Oh shit, is lunch ready? I’m starving.”

“Looks like,” Ji-eun chirps, but once the two of you stand up, she hooks her hand in your elbow, preventing your departure. “Before we go, I just wanted to say,” she begins, eyes earnest as they lock onto yours, “thank you for making Jungkook so happy. I know it’s not like it’s just you, and I’m going to try and thank everyone in due time, but he speaks so highly of you especially. He’s really coming out of his shell here, I can see it now.”

Your heart swells, instinctively turning to seek out the black and red hair in the crowd. Jungkook has slipped a glove on one hand and is cutting up pieces of meat with tongs and a pair of kitchen scissors, a broad grin on his face as he hands them out. “I’m really lucky to have met him. You helped raise him well.”

She beams at that, tugging on your arm as the others call out for you to join them. “It’s not me. That’s all just our Jungkookie.”

Throughout the lunch, you can’t help but think that every time you look at him. Our Jungkookie.

--

Much like Taehyung, Chungha is very generous with her hands.

The offer comes quickly after lunch. Most of the guests and guys are still outside socialising (Eric has managed to con a bunch of them into playing a rather hands-on game of football on the grass), but while you were inside getting a drink, both massage parlour workers joined you, Taehyung’s arms naturally slipping around your waist for a lazy back hug.

“Pour us one?” he requests casually, his voice like molten brown sugar. “I want you two to get to know each other. Maybe we could go upstairs for a bit?”

Beside you, smiling with her eyes as well as her baby pink lips, Chungha pats your hand. “I’ve heard so many good things,” she assures. “But Taehyungie is so disappointed that he can’t take care of you anymore.” Your heart freezes in your throat when she comes in close, smelling like cherries. Her voice dips so that only you and Taehyung could hear, the latter nuzzling his nose against the back side of your neck. “I could take care of you for him, if you want?”

You turn around in Taehyung’s grasp, seeking out his confirmation. He smiles, nods, and lets go to take the two extra drinks you’d poured. It’s only lemonade, but he takes an indulgent sip as if it were champagne.

Without another word, he begins to make his way to the stairs, glancing back to make sure you’re following. You think back to Jessi’s words, of showing him that you cared. It seems like, in his own way, he’s reaching across that divide and showing you he cares too. Chungha’s fingers winding between yours, you follow the two masseuses upstairs.

Perhaps it’s their job experience, or maybe just their sweet, puppy-like personalities, but being near them both feels so comforting and relaxing. In Taehyung’s bedroom, he sits on a chair, as close to the bed as he dares. Chungha tugs you directly onto the mattress, and you gasp as a slight push to your shoulder sends you collapsing backwards, head on the pillow.

She looks divine above you, smiling down as her pale golden hair hangs down and brushes against your collarbones. With a knee on either side of your hips, she straddles you and leans in closer, lips barely brushing. “Can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Your heart thuds strongly against your ribs. You nod, feeling dizzy as the pressure on your mouth increases and her hands slip into your hair. Her lips and fingers move in sync, massaging your lips and scalp indistinguishingly. Perhaps she’s even a better kisser than the others on the show, or perhaps it’s that the touch of a woman after three weeks of men feels like pure oxygen, like eating with a gold spoon after years of stainless steel.

Her fingers slide further, molten relaxation with every stroke. Soothing your temples, the crown of your head, the nape of your neck, she keeps you feeling warm and light, even a little hazy. Lips parting from yours for just a moment, Chungha whispers to you, her fingers playing with the waistband of your pants. “Will you let me taste you?”

Arousal thrums hot between your legs, but something makes you hesitate. Or, rather, someone. You shift your head on the pillow, looking past the curtain of Chungha’s hair to where Tae sits, cross-legged, on the armchair.

His eyes widen, soft and concerned. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Y/n,” he assures.

Chungha pulls up at that, sitting back against her heels again. Losing the closeness makes a whine catch in your throat. “It’s not that,” you confess quietly, “I just… I don’t want you to feel left out.”

The blonde masseuse straddling you coos as Taehyung turns pink, and she beckons him closer. “I don’t feel left out,” Taehyung assures you as he tentatively perches on the edge of the bed, tugging your hand gently to clasp between his own. “I can’t touch you like you deserve, at least not now. But Chungha can. If you want this, I want you to have it, Y/n.”

Your hand feels so warm between his smooth palms, but your heart feels even warmer. “I do want it. But… Stay close to me.”

Taehyung laces his fingers through yours, holds your hand up, and delicately presses a kiss to the back of your hand, making your breath catch. Afterwards, his eyes dart accusingly to the cameras recording your every move and sound. “That was technically platonic contact,” he insists quickly, “they do it in movies all the time.”

You laugh softly, but it quickly mutes into a silent gasp as Chungha suddenly moves down, hooking her fingers into your waistband and undressing your lower half as she goes.

Spreading your knees and sinking to her chest between them, her perfectly manicured fingers run teasing lines up and down your bare thighs. “Just relax,” she coos, “just let yourself enjoy it.”

Her hair, like spun gold, tickles your thighs as she lowers her face closer. So light you can only just feel it, she presses a kiss into the seam at the top of your right leg, so close yet too far from where you need her. Doing the same to the other side, she begins slowly trailing them closer to your core, giggling onto you when your breath hitches in impatience.

Taehyung shifts, situating himself behind you so that your head lies back and rests on his lap. With the same hand that holds yours, he takes the other, holding both of your wrists together in less of a restraint and more of an embrace. Together, him and Chungha bracket you in this cocoon of gentle touches, and as his other hand begins taking over the scalp massage Chungha had started earlier, you can’t help but let your eyes slip shut.

It’s because of this that when she finally licks a bold stripe up your folds, it catches you by complete surprise. You squeak, jolting between them, but Taehyung just tugs on your hair lightly, shushing you.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Taehyung asks softly, bent over so he can speak lowly.

Chungha, now that she’s started, uses her tongue and lips just as expertly as her fingers, marking Taehyung’s question redundant. You nod anyway, and are rewarded with the subtle vibration of her chuckling, lips wrapped around your clit.

There’s something inherently different about the way Chungha eats you out, that’s clear even with your eyes shut. Her lips are plush like Jin’s, her cheeks soft like Yoongi’s and her tongue roving deep like Jungkook’s, but with every second that passes, it feels like she’s explored your pussy a million times before. Each swipe and suck and nibble seems practiced, learned, and in mere minutes your thighs are trembling.

She alternates attention to your clit with fucking you on her tongue, and Taehyung’s hand never ceases its languid journey through your hair. The two poles of pleasure have you unable to catch your breath, unable to even open your eyes as every movement makes the lids heavier.

Two separate people, yet they work in unison. When Taehyung presses behind your ears, Chungha flattens her tongue on your clit in a slow drag. When that muscle becomes pointed, flicking over you to make you jump, Taehyung’s fingers curl so that the nails run over your scalp. Each nip of Chungha’s teeth is punctuated with a tugging of a lock of your hair, and caught between these tides, the only things that feel incomplete are your lips. What you wouldn’t give to have Tae bend a little lower and brush his mouth against yours, even for a moment.

Instead, you slip your bottom lip between your teeth, occupying them needily. A coil tightens in your stomach so slowly, like a gentle bubbling simmer, but it isn’t until you feel two slender fingers sliding inside you that there’s a tangible shift in pleasure. Like taking an exit on a highway, you feel a distinct change of path, like you’re now moving directly towards your orgasm. Driven by that desire, you rock your hips, moaning as her mouth hones in on your clit and her fingers curl, seeking out that spot inside you.

Unsurprisingly, she locates it with ease, and before you can even catch your breath she’s massaging it without mercy, twisting her fingers inside you with every audible thrust so that the pleasure is inescapable. You writhe, but she still has an arm free to throw over your stomach and hold you down.

Taehyung is still deliriously in-sync, and you can’t hold back a moan as his fingers press harder and nails drag stronger. Eyes rolling back, you feel that crest build, so close you can taste it, and your moans become desperate.

The two of them read the signs and up the intensity one last time. Taehyung drops your hands so that both of his can bury deep in your hair, and Chungha switches to three fingers inside you, scissoring and grinding them against your g-spot.

You come with a broken cry, seizing up as the pleasure wracks your body. While Taehyung stops his massage to brush your hair back, carding his fingers through it comfortingly, Chungha fucks you through it without mercy, sucking harshly on your clit and spreading you open on her fingers.

It’s not until your whole body is shivering and you try anad wriggle out of her hold that she finally lets up, leaving you boneless in Taehyung’s lap.

Far more full of energy than you are, Chungha straightens up with a satisfied sigh, licking her lips. As you fight to catch your breath, she runs a hand up and down your thigh. “You’re a fucking gorgeous specimen,” she compliments warmly, “when you get out of here, come by anytime.”

Suddenly Taehyung’s arms wrap tightly around your arms and chest, chin tucked onto the crown of your head. Even as you can’t see him, you can hear the pout in his voice. “When she gets out, she’ll be coming by for me,” he protests sweetly, “but I’m sure we could invite you too if she wanted.”

You laugh tiredly, leaning your weight back against Taehyung. “I’m definitely not turning that down, holy fuck.”

Chungha giggles prettily, chin still glossy from going down on you, though it doesn’t seem to bother her. “Won’t you give me one last kiss before we go clean up?”

You can’t deny her sweetly batted eyelashes, though you wouldn’t even want to. Once Taehyung begrudgingly lets you go, you lean forward and meet her halfway, tasting yourself on her tongue. It’s filthy but chaste, a quick swipe of her tongue into your mouth, a peck, and she’s pulling away with a wink, jumping off the bed.

Once she prances into Taehyung’s bathroom and closes the door behind her, Taehyung goes slack, winding his arms around your torso from behind and tucking his face into your neck. “I hope you liked it,” his voice comes out, muffled and shy.

You ruffle his hair fondly, wishing you could do more than that. “It was perfect,” you say without a doubt. “Thank you, Tae. I-” There are words that you can’t say, shouldn’t say now. “I like you a whole lot.”

If it’s possible, his hug tightens. “I like you a lot too.”

--

The rest of the day goes without hiccups. You spend your time getting to know the girls - albeit in less intimate ways than you had with Chungha - and slowly the idea of pulling a name out of the box becomes both exciting and worrying.

Hyuna brings out a new side of Jin. He looks more unburdened with her than he has the whole time on the show, and their vibrant energy together is contagious. Jungkook acts like a smitten schoolboy around Ji-eun, and she’s so patient and endearing that you can’t help but sympathise with him. It’s very clear Namjoon and Sunmi don’t actually know each other very well, but fuck you could watch their awkward banter and dynamic for hours. Sunmi is a relentless, unflappable tease, and Namjoon eats it up with a nervous laugh and bright eyes. Chungha seems more interested in the other girls than she is with Taehyung, but they’re never far apart, sharing countless meaningful stares between conversations. Bee is much like Hoseok, in that she’s so sweet and bubbly when she doesn’t don her dominant persona, and quickly she wins you over, her kind words and cheerful laughter a highlight of the evening. Jessi seems like the type of bossy but protective older sister that seems perfect for Jimin, whose usually-concealed soft interior lifts closer and closer to the surface with every minute spent in her easygoing, boisterous company. And finally, Yoonji is an absolute enigma, commanding attention with ease but seeming entirely disinterested with it. The moment a conversation bores her, you watch her eyes shift, inspecting some person or other like they’re a science experiment. You’ve been under that gaze yourself, and you practically feel the heat of the magnifying glass. But at the same time, when she does get engaged and speaks up, she’s just as articulate and sharp as Yoongi, and you can’t help but hang off her every word.

After relaying all this information back to Eric, who seems equally supportive and bemused, the only conclusion you can draw is that it would be entirely preferable to have all seven of them stay.

“Goodness, you insatiable minx,” your best friend teases with a mock look of disapproval. It’s 9:58pm, and the two of you have been stuck in the living room for almost the whole hour, staring hopelessly at the box. “Seven men is good, but fourteen people is better?”

“It’s not that,” you defend with a whine, “not that I would protest. No, it’s just- I wanna get to know them more, you know? And I feel like I’m learning more about the guys while they’re here, which is going to prove very important for tomorrow’s decision. And once I pull a name there’s nothing separating me from elimination, and I have no fucking clue who to eliminate, but then at least-” You huff, unable to articulate it. “I’m procrastinating.”

Eric grimaces, nodding. “It took you roughly fifty-nine minutes to come to that conclusion, but I’m glad we got there eventually.”

You kick your feet up over his lap, throwing yourself back onto the couch in despair. “I could’ve been out there researching this whole time, why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, bouncing his knees so that your feet are jostled off. “I thought you wanted to work it through and that explaining every vivid detail of the past three weeks was necessary. It was riveting, by the way,” he adds in a drawl, “I’m certainly relieved you felt it pertinent to describe exactly the size and appearance of all the cocks in this house.”

You jump up, kicking him in the shin. “Hey! Don’t be sarcastic, I’m in a crisis!”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Eric defends, brows lifted. “I’m doing my own research. Taking into account the past several hours, as well as the interesting mental pictures I’ve now been able to make, I’ve decided I wish to become the sexy meat in a Namjoon and Hoseok sandwich. Do you think it’s feasible?”

You open your mouth instinctively to protest, but then you stop, mulling over the combination. They had spent a lot of time together…

Eric claps his hands together with a victorious cheer. “You considered it, that’s basically a yes! Anyways, I hate to say it,” he digresses, quickly sobering up, “but it’s time to draw a name.”

Nerves immediately alight down your spine, but you fight them off. “Fuck, okay, I guess it’s random so it doesn’t matter, right?” Before you have the chance to second-guess that statement, you lean forward and plunge your hand into the circle-shaped slot in the box, feeling sharp edges of paper bumping against your skin.

Managing to close your fingers around a slip, you pull it out, opening the fold. Two words, three syllables. Eric and you read over it in silence for a moment, before you let out a amused chuckle. “Yoongi’s going to be pissed, huh?”

ELIMINATION

On the seventh Day of every Week in the game, the Elimination vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the fan-favourite vote, which has already happened.

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[skinsharpenedteeth]

RNM After Dark - Friday - Down to Earth

Here's my submission for @rnmafterdark

Day 1 - Down to Earth.

It features... dom/sub behavior, discussions of kink and safewords, impact play, cock and ball torture (CBT), masochism, sadism, a little bit of humiliation, and a school bus converted into a sex dungeon...

it's 6400 words, rated E-AF for Explicit As Fuck.

Also posted on AO3 for your kudos-ing, commenting, and bookmarking pleasure!

-

"What You Need and What You Want"

.

Alex didn't know why he needed it. He'd thought he was past needing to be yelled at after basic and living with his father, but the drill sergeants could only yell at you about the most superficial weaknesses. He could be called soft, pretty, or a mama's boy all day and it wouldn't even tweak a nerve. But late at night in foreign cities stateside and abroad, in clubs he’d found for people like him, people who needed something more, he had found other men who got closer to making him feel the way he needed to feel. Their rough hands, their sharp words, and the way they weren’t moved by his tears unless he said a word to make them stop, had turned out to be exactly what he’d needed that was more.

Then Alex had come back home from combat and anonymity. He’d tried to move into his old life, tried to fit into the version of himself that was normal, and found out that so many things were not what they seemed. But he hadn’t been able to get what he needed in a small town. So he’d driven to Albuquerque, looking for someone to fill that part of himself that needed to wallow in punishment and pain. But Albuquerque wasn’t big enough, wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t learned enough to know the difference between dominance and cruelty. It was close enough though. Close enough for Alex to fill in the gaps with his mind of the things he was missing.

Michael had noticed his trips. Michael noticed everything. He’d noticed that Alex wasn’t coming home calm, but haunted. He'd come home with the edge taken off, but not the need taken care of. Not fully. Never fully. The itch was always there, just sometimes more manageable if he'd let someone slap him around for a bit. The trips had been to someone who would do just that. But they didn't know him. Not really. He’d been the one to point out to Alex that he really wasn’t getting what he needed. Then, after an out-of-town trip that had left Alex with one too many bruises and scratches and a significant limp, Michael had begged him to let him help instead of continuing to go to someone who wasn’t treating him right.

"Just come to me for it," Michael had said, half order and half offer. Alex had scoffed initially. He hadn't thought Michael had understood what Alex actually wanted. Michael had leveled him with a glare and continued. "I don't like the idea of you going somewhere else for this. I don't like the idea of you trusting a stranger. And it's obvious it's not enough. Next time you have to scratch the itch, just come to me."

"Sure," Alex had agreed. He'd said 'sure’ like he meant 'not a chance'. Then he'd had a week of nights filled with nightmares. Caulfield, explosions, death, dismemberment, and ghosts plagued him whenever his body lost the fight to unconsciousness. The guy he'd been seeing was too far away and busy and Alex was almost trembling with the need for someone to bleed the tension out of him. So he'd called Michael just to see. Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could be enough until Alex could find another person or another way.

He’d never expected it to work, but he’d underestimated how well Michael knew him. Michael saw the way he seemed to bend towards harsh criticisms against him or his family. He saw how he warred with letting go of those terrible pieces of himself and holding onto them as tightly as if they were his security blanket. Michael had seen inside his mind and had rooted around for the most shameful things to use against him. Once Michael had figured out what he'd been going out of town to get, he’d made Alex an offer he couldn't refuse.

Alex stepped up into the old yellow school bus apprehensively. It sat near the Airstream in the junkyard, electric cables running to it and making it glow through the cracks. Michael had blacked out the windows with paint, making it look vaguely ominous in the blue hours of dusk. He wasn't sure what he'd find inside. What he found was a work in progress.

The cavernous space had been stripped of the seats and given a new floor. Michael had installed a drop ceiling down the middle of the bus and lined it with invisible lights around the edges. It made the ceiling dark, but the rounded walls and windows glow with subdued light. The effect was modern and sophisticated, and not at all what Alex would normally expect from Michael. Michael was watching him take in the bus's interior from a dark modular sofa that had been pushed along the side of the bus. He was wearing a loose, distressed pair of jeans and his ever-present plaid-over-tank combo. Alex felt his apprehension tighten the muscles in his back, but he pushed forward until he was standing in front of Michael looking down at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and made a show of looking around the bus.

"So, starting an escort service?" Alex asked, watching for Michael's reaction.

"Maybe. Nothing wrong with sex work. It wasn't what I had planned for this space, but maybe there's a niche market for a mobile brothel in Roswell," Michael answered, spreading his arms over the back of the sofa and leveling Alex with a look. "I assume you didn't call to insult my decorating."

Alex scoffed. He shook his head slowly and gave Michael a wry smile.

"No. I guess I didn't," Alex replied. "So are we going to do this?"

"Sure. But sit down. We need to do some quick housekeeping," Michael said, waving to the empty space next to him. Alex sat and tried not to fidget. He didn't want to talk right then. He wanted to hurt and have the demons inside him go silent and be sated. Michael watched him silently, gaze intense and laser-focused to the point that Alex stilled himself, suddenly self-conscious.

"Okay. So, first I need to know what you want out of this," Michael started. Alex rolled his eyes, but Michael just kept looking at him, even and steady.

"I want… release," Alex bit out. He could feel a flush starting to heat the skin of his neck. This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about.

"I'm assuming you don't mean orgasm...well, or not just orgasm. How do you want me to give that to you?" Michael asked. Alex's knee bounced and he scratched his thumbnail over the inside of his palm, letting the sting settle him enough to answer Michael's question.

"Yes, orgasm would be nice. But, what I need isn't just physical. I want to… I need you to… I need someone to make me make my physically feel as shitty as I need mentally. I need someone to strip me bare and then flay me alive. I need to hurt. I need to feel… empty at the end of it. Quiet, ya know?" Alex explained. His thumbnail scratched over and over, dragging across the same spot. Michael's hand closed gently over his wrist, startling Alex out of his thoughts. Alex looked up to catch Michael's eye and felt Michael pull his hand away and lay it on his thigh before taking the hand Alex had been scratching and holding it in his own.

"Do you need this to be verbal or just physical?" Michael asked, carefully. Alex tried not to let his shame overwhelm him. He wanted both. He needed both so badly and he hated how weak that need made him feel.

"Both," Alex replied just as quietly. Michael waited for a moment before speaking again. Alex watched the gears turn behind Michael's eyes, but he didn't see any pity in his expression… or disgust. A small part of him was surprised. He'd expected one or the other.

"So, hard limits?" Michael continued. He had started to rub his thumb sweetly over the red line Alex had made in his palm. It was at once painful and soothing.

"Nothing permanent. No choking, for obvious reasons. No broken skin. Don't call me ‘soldier.’ Don't call me ‘son.’ Don't make me…" Alex broke off, suddenly feeling ashamed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Michael paused his thumb over the scratch and pressed down firmly. A bright flare of stinging pain gave Alex the resolution to continue. "Don't make me feel good about any of it til we're done. And I don't need aftercare."

"Aftercare isn't optional, Alex. Not for you, not for me. That's a hard limit of mine," Michael replied, voice low and serious. Alex stared at him before huffing out a little laugh.

"How would you know what your limits are? Have you done this before?" Alex asked, removing his hand from Michael's. Unconsciously, he'd started to turn his body more towards Michael's. One leg was folded in front of him on the couch seat, his prosthesis still resting on the floor of the bus.

"You're not the only person who's found themselves with a need that wasn't fulfilled by what was easily obtained. You're not the gatekeeper to kink. You were gone for ten years and I had plenty of time to experiment and learn on my own. Stop acting like just because I've never been off the continent, I'm a fucking narrow-minded moron." Michael's voice was sharp at the end, making Alex flinch internally. He couldn't imagine a world where Michael had explored BDSM or kink. He'd just assumed Michael was drinking and sleeping around like a college frat boy the entire time. It stung Alex that he hadn't even imagined Michael really living a full life without him. He always just thought of Michael biding his time, waiting on him, perpetually looking over his shoulder and waiting for Alex to appear on the horizon. What a selfish, egotistical dick he was to assume Michael had nothing better to do than cool his heels dreaming of an idolized version of Alex (the version of Alex that he wished he was in reality, that he tried to be and failed to be every single day).

"Sorry," Alex said after a quiet span of minutes where he manually adjusted his mental image of Michael Guerin.

"Try again, Alex. And look me in the face while you do it." Alex raised his head and looked at Michael. He looked older and calmer than he had a moment before. He looked like he was wearing all the years of his life on his shoulders and he was used to the weight of carrying them. Alex felt younger somehow. He felt chastened.

"I'm sorry, Michael," he repeated, keeping his eyes locked on Guerin’s. Michael nodded once before continuing.

"What's your safeword?"

"Finland," Alex replied without hesitation.

"Mine's ‘orbit.’ Are you okay with using the stoplight system?" Michael asked easily. Alex nodded.

"So, do you want a trial run tonight?" Michael asked.

Alex took a deep breath and nodded again before clearing his throat, knowing he had to speak it out loud. "Yeah, sure. Let's give it a go."

"So stand up and take off your clothes. I'll be right back," Michael said as he stood up off the couch. Alex stood also and waited for Michael to disappear behind a partition that presumably hid the way to the bathroom. Slowly, Alex undressed himself, feeling nerves and anticipation start to flutter behind his bellybutton. He folded his clothes and laid them on the couch. Before he had to figure out if Michael wanted him to be kneeling or not, Michael came back into the room. He'd stripped off his plaid shirt and was just in jeans and a tank. Alex watched him walk across the room and pick up a remote from one of the window ledges. He pointed it towards the ceiling and the lights turned from a warm golden light to an almost sinister red.

"Going to murder me?" Alex tried to joke. Michael gave him a quick grin.

"Want a different color? I've got the full range. We can disco through the whole pride flag if you want," Michael joked back.

"No. Red is fine," Alex assured him. While he spoke, Michael had discarded the remote back onto the window ledge and moved to stand in front of Alex. He reached up and brushed some of Alex's hair behind his ear, watching his own action contemplatively.

"So what brought this on tonight? What are you feeling?" Michael asked, eyes seeming to float back to meet Alex's while his hand rested on the side of Alex's neck, fingers gently playing with the too long curling pieces near the nape of his neck.

"Just… stuff. Nightmares," Alex mumbled, dropping his eyes and staring at the dark patch of chest hair that showed above the scoop collar of Michael's tank. He wanted to get started. He was doubting his decision to come. Why didn't Michael just do something already?!

"What would you tell your anonymous Dom in Albuquerque or Santa Fe if they asked?" Alex's eyes darted back up to meet Michael's and he scowled. Through tight lips, he managed to spit out an answer.

"They wouldn't have asked about why I needed it, they’d just give it to me."

"Well, you gotta give me something to work with here. What feeling is causing the nightmares?" Michael asked patiently. He let the knuckles of his left hand drag down the side of Alex's bare stomach, reminding him that he was standing naked in front of Michael while he stood there fully clothed. Maybe they should've just had sex. Maybe that would've been enough.

"Guilt. I feel… guilty about a lot of things," Alex finally confessed, shame filling his cheeks with heat and color. Michael nodded, almost to himself.

"Okay. I can work with that," he replied. Then his hands slid away from Alex's body and he stepped back. He let his eyes travel down every inch of Alex's skin and back up. "I thought I told you to get naked."

Alex furrowed his brow in confusion and looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing any clothes. Michael smiled and bent down slightly to tap at Alex's prosthesis. Alex looked at him, still confused.

"Take it off. I'm going to have you kneeling on a pillow when you're finished. Arms up and behind your head," Michael instructed. Alex sat back on the couch and began to remove the prosthesis. Michael produced a square floor cushion and sat it in the middle of the bus floor, then stood in front of it and waited on Alex to finish. The floor cushion was just far enough that Alex would have to crawl to get to it from the couch. Humiliation bloomed in his stomach, and his cock twitched with interest. Michael was testing him.

Lowering himself down from the couch, Alex crawled the short distance to the floor cushion and then began to arrange himself. He sat forward on his knees, widening them for easier balance, and then slowly he lifted his arms up and interlocked his fingers behind his head. He was bared for the cool gaze Michael was giving him, and it thrilled him how very vulnerable he was in the position he’d been asked to hold. He could and would hold the position easily, but Michael could also just as easily knock him to the ground if he chose to. Alex let his eyes lift only as far as Michael's best buckle, brain beginning to quiet and settle as he did so, and then he waited.

"Very good, Alex. You look good like this," Michael complimented with a slightly mocking edge to his tone. He made a slow half-circle to stand behind Alex so that Alex could see them. "So you're feeling guilty, huh? Think you need to earn your forgiveness? Want someone to take your penance out of your flesh?" Michael asked from behind him. Alex nodded briskly, not sure if he was allowed to speak. "What do you feel guilty for? Because I can't punish you for having dreams."

"Just… everything. I'm so angry at myself for not being over shit. For failing you, for failing my dad, for failing everyone," Alex choked out, feeling like fleeing but forcing himself to stay still.

"How did you fail me?" Michael asked, voice cool and impartial. Alex appreciated the lack of emotion. It helped him keep going. He wouldn't be able to continue if he could tell he was hurting Michael with his honesty.

"I always underestimate you. You’re better, smarter, and more capable than I think you are a lot of the time," Alex admitted. Michael hummed thoughtfully.

"How many hours of sleep do you think you've gotten this week, Manes? Sixteen? Twenty?" Michael asked. Alex did the rough mental math in his head. He cleared his throat before he spoke.

"Fifteen-ish," he answered. His lower back muscles were starting to quietly let themselves be felt as they were continually used to keep him upright, the muscles in his thighs and arms warming up from holding him still. He felt Michael step up close behind him, legs on the outside of his own and cool belt buckle pressing into the bottom of his interlocked hands. Michael's hands slid through the gaps between his arms and shoulders and smoothed down his chest before scratching back up, nails dragging red lines into his tanned skin. He shifted into the sting, wishing for Michael to scratch harder.

"Color?" Michael asked quietly as his hands once again smoothed down Alex's pecs.

"Green," Alex answered through a harsh breath as Michael scratched back up, but harder. The bite of pain had Alex gasping in surprise, and he felt his cock starting to plump up from the attention.

"How about I give you ten on your ass and give five to your balls? If you take your punishment good, I'll help you cum. Does that sound fair?" Michael asked, thumbs rubbing roughly over Alex's nipples. The low thrum of arousal was starting to build under Alex’s skin from Michael’s words. The low level sting from Michael’s nails was already starting to put him in the right headspace. He closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the rough push and pull of Michael’s fingers on him.

“Yes,” Alex agreed out loud. Michael brought his hands back up to rest on Alex’s shoulders. He bent close to his ear before speaking again. His breath was warm where it tickled over Alex’s skin.

“Then get on your elbows and knees. I want your ass higher than your head,” Michael instructed. Alex took a deep breath in and nodded before unclasping his hands from behind his head. Gingerly, he moved until his head was resting on top of his forearms against the floor. He tucked his knees under his hips and presented himself. He was keenly aware of how exposed he was. The cool air from the A/C unit fluttered over his backside. Michael hadn’t moved as Alex had gotten into position, so he could also feel the threat of someone lording over him. He could almost feel Michael’s eyes trailing over his naked skin, taking his time, mentally caressing every curve. After what felt like an eternity, Michael moved. He knelt down next to Alex’s side. When his fingertips started to skim down Alex’s side, it made him jump.

“None of that now,” Michael said, though his tone was soothing instead of harsh, like Alex was a spooked horse he was trying to calm. His hand continued stroking gently over Alex’s side and then down his back, around the curve of his ass and down his leg. The touch almost tickled and Alex had to fight not to flinch or shy away from the sensation.

“You always think you know better than me, don’t you, Alex?” Michael asked quietly. He shifted his body, moving further down Alex’s body and behind him. He started to use both hands to tickle over Alex’s back. When he got to his ass, though, Michael paused. Carefully, he spread Alex’s cheeks to look at his hole. A light touch of Michael’s thumb trailed down the center, barely glancing over Alex’s hole, and then down over his taint until Michael could cup Alex’s balls in his hand. He massaged them gently in his palm, pulling gently at the skin of his sack. Circling his thumb and forefinger around the base of Alex’s scrotum under his cock, he used the other three fingers to cup around the fleshy sack and began squeezing gently. Discomfort and heat prickled at Alex’s skin, making him whimper softly when Michael’s hand began to tighten and loosen in a slow rhythm. It wasn’t rough, wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable in the way that triggered his most primal instinct to escape. Alex stayed still and breathed deeply against his forearms. The feeling was mesmerizing, so it caught Alex off guard when Michael reached down with his free hand to stroke his cock.

“Fuck!” Alex burst out, shifting restlessly knee to knee. Michael held still as he settled. The electricity of that touch crackled along Alex’s nerve endings, pins and needles under his skin.

“Color?” Michael asked, not moving.

“Green,” Alex replied, feeling suddenly out of breath. Without warning, the hand that had touched Alex’s cock came down with a crack on one of his ass cheeks. This pain too was electric, but more like a quick strike of lighting, localized and bright. Alex swore, but tried to stay still.

“One,” Michael counted. His hand rubbed over the stinging skin before he removed it. A moment later, he was using it to loosely stroke over Alex’s cock. The hand around Alex’s balls tightened, again threatening the violence that Alex wanted. He moaned, wishing for more. “I was just never good enough for you, was I? But you kept coming back. Kept slumming it with the foster kid. Did you think I didn’t notice the way you kept me secret?”

Another slap against Alex’s ass, another sting, and another gentle caress by Michael’s hand over the heated skin. The next one came faster and harder than the first. Michael learned forward over one side of Alex’s back, the roughness of his jeans irritating and wonderful over Alex’s heated skin. He leaned close enough to be able to rest his chin on Alex’s shoulder.

“Two and Three. You’re an arrogant piece of shit sometimes, Alex. You’re wrapped up in classism, just like your father was. At least you can recognize that you’re a fucking asshole for it and that you deserve for someone to take you down a peg.”

He kept his voice calm and the words stung all the more for it. Alex held his breath against their effect until he couldn’t any longer and then let it out in a long, slow breath. Michael took his hand away from the base of Alex’s balls.

“Do you think you’re better than me, Alex? Smarter? Think you need to always be the white fucking knight for everyone?” Michael asked, fingers dragging up Alex’s perineum in a firm line.

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head. A hard crack sounded and fire lit up the previously untouched ass cheek. Alex felt a throb run through his body as the heat started to radiate. His cock hung heavy between his legs. He looked down the line of his body and could see it hanging, tip wet and threatening to drip onto the floor.

“Are you lying to me, Alex?” Michael asked, nails scratching over the abused spot on Alex’s ass. His voice was quiet, threatening, teasing and starting to make Alex feel unraveled. Alex shook his head weakly. Another lick of fire, another crack, and Alex was moaning into his forearms.

“I think you’re lying to me. You think I’m stupid, Alex? Your actions speak louder than words. You think you’re the only one in the room who's aware enough to notice other people. You think we don’t have you pegged? You think you’re better than your friends, your family and me and you always have, haven’t you?” Michael asked, right before pushing up off from Alex’s back to sit back on his heels. His hands came to rest on Alex’s waist, pulling him back to center Alex’s hips back over his knees and correct his position. A hand slid up Alex’s spine and then pressed between his shoulder blades. Alex followed the unspoken direction until his chest was resting on the floor. He laid his cheek against the cool flooring and closed his eyes, letting his mind sink into Michael’s words.

“We’re halfway through your ass punishment. Your skin is getting so pretty and pink for me. And your cock is making a fucking mess on my floor. You look so fucking shameless right now. It’s a good look for you, Alex. You just needed to be reminded of how good you look when you’re being put in your place,” Michael praised from behind him.

Michael’s hands slid back from Alex’s hips to grip his ass. Alex felt himself being spread wide, Michael’s thumbs pulling at the skin next to his hole gently. The feeling of something warm and wet hitting his pucker and starting to slide over his entrance confused Alex for only a moment until he realized Michael must’ve spit on him. Hot shame and arousal flushed through him at the mental image. One of Michael’s thumbs moved in and he massaged his spit over Alex’s hole, pressing firmly but not truly trying to penetrate. Alex groaned, pushing back against the pressure of Michael’s thumb, vainly wishing he’d open him up and fuck him. He wanted to feel pinned open under Michael’s cock.

“Maybe next time. If you’re good,” Michael assured him before he took his hands away. Alex shook with need. He needed pain or pleasure or words or something. He was rewarded with a quick series of slaps, two on each ass cheek, one right after the other, heavy enough to thud through his muscle. These weren’t the stinging, surface slaps of earlier. When Michael finished, his hands massaged roughly across the skin. Alex felt a dizzying rush of blood and emotion coursing through him a moment before he felt the warm wet of Michael’s mouth and the sharper sting of his stubble as Michael nipped and kissed over the abused cheeks. His final slap on one cheek was quickly followed by a sharp bite to the other. Alex cursed and his foot flexed against the floor, toes trying to dig against the hard surface as Michael used his jaw’s grip on Alex’s skin to coax a whine from Alex’s throat. Alex didn’t need to see the floor under his cock to know it was sticky with a pool of his arousal.

“Mmm,” Michael hummed, rubbing his stubbled cheek over his bite mark, sounding well-pleased. “So warm.”

“Michael, please,” Alex managed to choke out. Michael hummed again, but Alex felt subtle movement behind him. A moment later, Michael’s hand wrapped around Alex’s cock, wet and slick and tight. His hand slid up and down Alex’s shaft and it was all he could do not to hump forward into the pressure. It felt so fucking good. Michael was still rubbing his bristled chin and upper lip over Alex’s ass, mouthing at the inflamed flesh.

“You’re doing so good. I love hearing you beg, Alex,” Michael murmured against his skin. Alex almost didn’t hear him, his attention so wrapped up in the slick sounds and tight hole Michael’s fist was making for him. He was getting close, he could tell, but he knew he hadn’t finished his punishment. Abruptly, Michael let go of Alex’s cock and sat up. Alex wailed into his arms, eyes stinging at the loss. His cock ached where it swung, newly neglected and dripping between his legs.

“You still need to take the five to your balls. Then I’ll let you cum,” Michael reminded him, tone lazy. He said this while wrapping his hand around the base of Alex’s sack again and pulling back towards him. Alex whined at the stretch, his balls had been tightening close to his body in preparation for cumming and now Michael was stretching them away. He’d stretched them far enough that Alex could imagine they looked like two pink plums in Michael’s grip, skin tight over the swollen orbs, looking fit to burst. He felt Michael’s hot breath against them a moment before the blunt pressure of his teeth resting on either side of one of his balls. Some heady mix of fear and arousal shot through Alex’s body making him tremble, his stomach tightening and hips hitching forward. “So full. I bet you haven’t cum since your last trip to Albuquerque. Maybe I should make you wait longer, see how big of a load you’ll save up for me.”

“Please, Michael, I need…,” Alex started, only to yelp in surprise at the first three-fingered smack to his testicles.

“You need,” Michael started, voice harsh and admonishing; another smack, wringing out another, higher-pitched yelp from Alex, and then Michael continued, “to let me make the decisions here. I know what you need, Alex. I’ve got you all figured out. You need to stop,” SMACK! “Underestimating,” SMACK! “Me.” SMACK!

Alex's breath was heaving from his body. He didn’t even realize he was speaking until Michael was pulling him up to sit back onto his lap, hands around his waist to help support him and Alex’s back pressed against Michael’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex continued to mumble thickly. Michael was shushing him softly, arms tight and comforting around him, lips delivering soft kisses to Alex’s shoulder and neck. Alex’s cheeks were hot, his eyes tight, and he knew he was crying.

“I know you are, sweetheart. I know,” Michael murmured against his skin. Alex’s breath hitched under another sob. Michael gently maneuvered him to half turn so he could wipe at the tear tracks on Alex’s cheek and kiss the corner of his mouth softly. “You did so good. I know you’re sorry cause you followed all my directions and took your punishment. So good, baby.”

Alex found himself turning more until he could cling to Michael’s neck and hug his body close. Michael stroked one of his hands up and down Alex’s spine while the other combed through his hair. The new position trapped Alex’s aching balls and still-hard cock in between their bodies. The cotton of Michael’s shirt was irritating against Alex’s sensitive skin, but Alex couldn’t bear to pull back.

“Did you want me to help you cum, Alex?” Michael asked, nose gently bumping against Alex’s, lips a hair's breadth away. Alex took a deep breath in to steady himself before nodding. He moved forward, hoping to capture Michael’s mouth in a kiss. Michael let him, opening obligingly when Alex smoothed his inquisitive tongue along Michael’s lips. Michael let Alex kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. While they kissed, Michael’s hands wandered over Alex’s naked body until his hands came down onto Alex’s ass cheeks. Alex had almost forgotten about them until the flare of fire was reignited under Michael’s grip. The pain only served to excite Alex further.

“Michael, fuck me, please,” Alex begged, lips against Michael’s cheek as he pressed his body back into Michael’s strong grip.

“Not this time,” Michael responded gently. “But I’ll help get you off. You did so well, I can let you cum.”

“Please,” Alex said again, writhing softly in Michael’s lap to get some much-needed friction against his cock.

“So impatient,” Michael griped fondly. Removing one of his hands from Alex’s ass, Alex watched as he went to a previously unseen pump bottle of lube. He pumped twice and then brought his hand between their bodies and wrapped it around Alex’s cock. The lube was slick and sticky, and Alex immediately hitched his hips to push his cock through Michael’s grip.

“Oh, it’s like that?” Michael teased, tightening his grip to slow Alex’s quickening thrusts. Alex whined, hands flexing against Michael’s shoulders. Slowly, Michael started to move his tight-fisted hand over Alex’s cock. It was too tight for Alex to get off on it, but the edge of pain kept him hard and hoping. “If you keep acting greedy like this, I’m going to strap you down and edge you until you’ve learned some patience. Would you like that, Alex? Want me to keep you hard and begging for hours? Or do you want me to just make you cum until you’re dry and begging for me to stop?”

“Both, please,” Alex gasped out after a particularly cruel twist of Michael’s wrist. Michael loosened his grip then and paused, letting Alex catch his breath.

“You insatiable creature,” Michael praised. He kissed along Alex’s jaw to his shoulder where he bit harshly into the meat of Alex’s muscle. Alex groaned and tried not to writhe against the pain, but couldn’t seem to stop his body from rocking gently against Michael’s fist.

“That’s it. You can fuck my hand now.” He continued to kiss and bite Alex’s flesh after he said it, causing small fires everywhere his teeth touched. His mouth moved down from Alex’s shoulder to his chest, causing Alex to lean back. Alex held onto Michael’s shoulders tightly, but didn’t stop thrusting into Michael’s perfect, slick grip. Michael sucked Alex’s nipple into his mouth and let his teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh as he pulled his head back. Alex moaned and cursed at the feeling, throwing his head back. The tension in Alex was building quickly. He wanted so badly to cum, wanted to feel himself released from reality into oblivion if only for a few seconds.

“Please, Michael. Just a little tighter, please,” Alex managed to pant out. Michael kissed across his exposed throat.

“Show me, sweetheart,” he insisted. Alex pulled one of his hands from Michael’s shoulder and wrapped it over Michael’s. He squeezed until the pressure was perfect and then let go, replacing his hand on Michael’s shoulder. The hand that had been harshly kneading at Alex’s ass, encouraging his rolling hips and sloppy thrusts, came around to stack itself on top of the hand gripping him. Together they created a deep channel for Alex to thrust his cock into over and over again.

“Shit, shit, shit, Michael. I need to cum. Can I? Please?” Alex whined, even as he kept pushing his body towards the edge.

“Sure, darlin'. You can cum,” Michael said agreeably. Alex let go of any restraint, pressing close and letting his thrusts get quick and out of rhythm as he felt the pressure building behind his balls. When Alex was only a few thrusts away, Michael continued, “But I’m going to make you clean up the mess you make with your mouth.”

The last bit did it for Alex. With a strangled, silent yell, his cock swelled against Michael’s hands and then erupted white, sticky streams that dripped and smeared along the insides of his fingers and palms. When Alex was able to move, Michael let go of his slowly softening cock and Alex lowered himself onto his back on the floor. The coolness of it felt good against his overheated skin. Carefully, Michael crawled over him to straddle his stomach, careful of his oversensitive cock.

“Open up,” Michael demanded, tapping two sticky fingers against Alex’s lips. Obediently, Alex opened his mouth and felt Michael plunge his salty, spunk-covered digits in. Alex moaned at the taste of himself on Michael’s skin, using his tongue to trace every inch of skin to find more of his leftover pleasure. Michael made him lick and suck all of his fingers and then palms. When he was finished, he swooped down and took Alex’s mouth with his own, plunging his tongue in for any traces left for him to taste. When the taste dissolved into nothing they parted. Michael helped Alex up onto the couch, where he held Alex against his chest and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Want some water? Dinner?” Michael asked a little while later when Alex was practically dozing off against his chest where he was sprawled. Alex hummed noncommittally and nuzzled his head against Michael’s shirt, laying a kiss against his cotton-covered chest.

“How was it? Everything you expected?” Michael asked easily. Alex nodded, eyes still closed and mind still wrapped in a blanket of satiation.

“Anything you didn’t like or would like me to do differently next time?” Michael asked next. Alex thought about it. His hand drifted down to Michael’s crotch, completely covered, but still half hard from their scene.

“I want you to use this on me next time. Mouth, ass, hands, whatever. I want you to get off too,” Alex replied, voice drowsy but firm. He opened his eyes and locked eyes with Michael. His hand stayed resting over Michael’s crotch and he could feel it twitch against his palm. Alex raised an eyebrow in question. Michael smiled, bent his head down to kiss Alex’s mouth, and brushed his hand away.

“Next time. Promise,” Michael responded easily. Alex knew it wasn’t a real rejection, so he nodded and turned his head to lay it back down against Michael’s chest, his ear pressed to where he could hear the steady thumping rhythm of Michael’s heart. He drifted and with faint surprise, realized he was really falling asleep. He wondered how long Michael would let him lay like this if he fell asleep. Would he wake up to warm sunshine tomorrow morning? Would Michael only let him nap for a while and then wake him to get dressed so he could go home to his own bed? As if hearing his thoughts, Michael ran the back of a finger along Alex’s cheek bone.

“Do you want to sleep here, the Airstream, or your house?” Michael asked softly. Alex considered it.

“Let’s go to the Airstream. I don’t wanna sleep alone tonight,” Alex said through a yawn. Michael nodded and hugged his arms around Alex’s shoulders.

“Sure. Whatever you want,” Michael concluded. Alex only hummed a vague response before he was oblivious to anything else. He didn’t have nightmares that night.