#they would get along like white on rice...OH it was my pleasure reading up on Charlie :]

[recitedemise]

Spot a familiar face a thousand times, and there'll inevitably flower a sense of camaraderie. After all, so numerous are these portraits and so robust are these grand and spiraling halls. Yet, for all those details in these jaw-dropping works, it's but another living soul that'd enthrall him the most. Like Monet. A Caravaggio! How deep his intrigue.

But then, darling Gale — lost, graceless as he stumbles in his life's new chapter — is a soul of a make much lonelier, too. Funny. Maybe Charlie would withhold it, so skilled as he is in all manners of statecraft; however, it's more the cosmos than ruses this professor pairs with his jammy scones, and admittedly, Charlie is a face he's sought out on occasion. He laughs. At the very least, this peculiar man has learned his schedule.

"Shame. I would have insisted that you did. Seeing as though you aren't, however," Gale teases, abundantly genial, "I suppose I've been forced to keep that to myself." Charlie gathers himself, scrabbling for some dignity Gale hasn't even realized he'd somehow lost. Still, he makes no mention of it, gentling the matter with that affable grin. He tries not to sound overly eager. "I'm here for leisure. It's Wednesday. I come between classes when I can," he says, "but you're hardly interrupting. Besides, I'm of the opinion that art is made all the better shared. Were it to be a singular affair, we wouldn't have these large, lumpy ottomans waiting to be taken. Gale Dekarios. I believe I was subtly asking you if you enjoyed the stars yourself." / @rvolving, continued from here.

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol). 

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.  

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn. 

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor. 

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.” 

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight. 

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number.  “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves. 

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation. 

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.  

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.” 

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss. 

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

 You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping. 

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee. 

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.” 

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.” 

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?” 

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?” 

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you…  And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side. 

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. 

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression. 

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

 A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

 “I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess. 

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent. 

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. 

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.” 

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides. 

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue. 

“I think I may need a little…”  Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks. 

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback. 

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry. 

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.” 

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start. 

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips. 

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest. 

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment. 

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself. 

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants. 

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table. 

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.  There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already. 

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh. 

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him. 

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee. 

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil. 

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers. 

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching. 

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins. 

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan. 

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk. 

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his. 

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.” 

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it. 

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this. 

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt. 

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning. 

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you. 

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something. 

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going. 

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting. 

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know. 

He’s not stopping. Until he does. 

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin. 

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.” 

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact  you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth. 

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin. 

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound. 

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it. 

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt.  “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm. 

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat. 

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.” 

This. 

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire. 

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are. 

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.” 

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.  

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.” 

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip. 

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure. 

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you. 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that. 

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that. 

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure. 

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence. 

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.” 

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding.  Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes. 

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core. 

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever. 

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit. 

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking. 

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes. 

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.  

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect. 

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it. 

 You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat. 

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it. 

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had. 

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?” 

-- 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #348

“nothing will be free  /  nothing will be done  /  black out the sun”

Do you have any famous relatives? My third or so cousin is the author of Not Without My Daughter, but she's not like a smash hit or anything that most people know. I really do recommend the book, though. It's a long read, but a beautiful, true story. Do you care about celebrity gossip? Nah. Have you ever failed a science course in high school? No; I was very good at science. What’s your favorite breakfast food? Cinnamon rolls. Does your house have a basement? No. No house I've ever lived in has had one. Do you like Hot Topic? Well duh. Do you think imagination is valuable? VERY! Just imagine how many incredible things wouldn't exist without it. What was your reaction to your first time falling in love? Unspeakably happy, and I felt like I was building a future with someone. I felt like I had purpose, which I should mention to anyone reading is a mindset to NEVER adopt. No one gives you purpose; you're born with it. How much weight can you lift at once? Ha, not a lot. When you have your own house someday, what color Christmas tree do you want and how will you decorate it? I want a black one with faux snow on the branches, then maybe red ornaments. Kinda look like blood dripping off. Sounds metal. Name three YouTube channels you’ve been loving lately. Lately, John Wolfe, The Dark Den, and Aim To Head Mix. Have you ever bought a designer purse? No. Do you wear jewelry often? No. What color was your senior prom dress? Black. Are you colorblind? No. Name the people you know who are colorblind. Jason's older brother is colorblind to two colors, but idr which. Would you ever consider a career in writing? I'd love to. What was your first favorite color? Red. What do you think about horror movies? I love them. If you love them, what’s your favorite? I really enjoy The Crazies and both The Blair Witch Project movies. Oh, and of course Silent Hill. Got any cool Christmas presents picked out for family or friends yet? I don't have the money to get anyone presents... and while I sometimes get ideas about something I could make someone, then it wouldn't be fair to the rest of my family if I don't make them something, too. What’s your favorite word and why? I really like the sound of "serendipity," as well as its meaning. It's just a pretty, nice word. Do you like to do craft projects? If so, what’s the coolest thing you made? Not really... I think the coolest thing I made was when I put the clay heart I made in Art into a shadowbox, and a poem I wrote was in the background. It was a gift for Jason. I remember working really hard on the whole process and being really happy with it. I don't want to know what he's done with it since. What’s one occupation you think gets paid too much and doesn’t deserve to? I don't know. What’s something you are currently saving money for to buy? Everyone knows about Venus' terrarium by now... Do you smoke/vape? If so, what brand do you smoke/what device do you use? No. Ever done drugs? No. Tell me one of your worst habits. Catastrophizing. I take a tiny seed of something potentially bad, and in seconds it's a damn redwood tree. And I do mean "in seconds." What’s a weird quirk you have that no one else you know does? I don't know, I don't have any particularly unique ones, I think. If you game, what type of headset do you use? I just use earbuds. Do you think you would be a good therapist? You know, it's funny, I've actually pictured myself as one a few times, given my level of understanding and empathy for people, as well as how deeply I want to see others succeed and spread the word that recovery from things like depression is very possible. I've never truly entertained the thought, though, given I'm quite sure I legally couldn't be given my suicidal past and mental illnesses. There is also NO way I could listen to so many people's suffering and manage to stay healthy myself, so, no therapist position for me, thanks. Have you ever been to a Chinatown? No. Do you prefer chunky or creamy peanut butter? Creamy, 100%. Do you stop to pick up heads-up pennies? No. Do your pets have collars? Describe them: Roman has an adorable navy one with a bowtie. Do you have any friends that speak any languages you don’t understand? Old friends, sure. What is something you want to begin learning? I want to improve my ability to perform what in therapy is called "opposite action," where you do the opposite of what your depression (or other conditions) make you want to do. It always helps me feel good, like when I draw even when I don't initially feel like it, but it's rough to really force yourself to do it. What is a food you find comforting when you are sad? Ice cream is my comfort food. What is a quote you find comfort in? There are really a lot, but none come to mind immediately, gah. What is one Tumblr blog you really appreciate? I actually haven't been on my main Tumblr in months, but oh my god there is a Markiplier blog called "lady-raziel" and she is FUCKING HYSTERICAL. The meme quality is A+. What is a comfort movie/show for you? When I actually liked watching movies, I enjoyed watching Silent Hill when I was down. That whole franchise just makes me so happy. What is a recent creative project that you are proud of? That I'm PROUD of, idk. I'm not that happy with the last drawing I made, and I haven't done any serious writing lately that I find noteworthy. What is a video game that you find comforting? Shadow of the Colossus is probably #1. I find it so relaxing while equally epic as fuck. The soundtrack is to die for, and after playing it a billion times, it's pretty easy for me to kinda breeze through and just enjoy myself. Do you know how to bake bread? If so, what is something you’ve baked recently? No. Would you rather live in the mountains, city, beach, or the forest? THE MOUNTAINS!!! Particularly in the woods IN the mountains! Are you closer to your mother’s or father’s side of the family? Mom's. I don't even remember anyone from Dad's. Have you ever been in a “perfect relationship”? I thought so. Have you ever lost a fingernail or toenail? No. Were you a Disney or Nickelodeon kid? I preferred Disney. Have you ever been inside a jail/prison? No, and I don't plan on it. Have you ever dated a guy with a beard, mustache, or goatee? Jason had a goatee usually. He'd go clean-shaven sometimes. Did you ever name your stuffed animals? I named every single one I got as a kid. Now I don't, really, unless they're really special. What’s the name of the person who cuts your hair? I'd rather not share, given her name is very unique. Do you like cheeseburgers? Yes, they're one of my favorite foods. Do you have a Flickr? Yes, but I don't use it anymore. Did you ever want to be a fashion designer? No. Do you drink milk? Yeah, I love milk. Where was your FB display pic taken? My room. Have you ever burnt your tongue like REALLY bad? If so, what on? Yeah; white rice. My dumb ass didn't realize it had JUST come off the stove. My tongue hurt literally for weeks. Have you ever gotten your legs waxed? No. Do you own any CLOTHES from Victoria’s Secret? Er, are undergarments not clothes? But I know what you mean. No. What are your grandfathers’ names? William and... I can't remember Dad's dad's name. Have you ever seen a snake in real life? Well yeah. Are you against seances? I don't know if I believe in them being effective, but either way, they seem like a bad idea. Even risking luring a negative energy/spirit to you is something I'd stay away from. Do you own any superhero shirts? No, just Harley Quinn ones, some with the Joker on them, too. I need to toss 'em though because I am like, violently against romanticizing their abusive relationship. I used to just like them as a story character couple, but I got to a place where it just seemed... wrong to "glorify" it by wearing merch and stuff. What band has the best guitar solos? Metallica, durrrr. Who is the biggest jerk you’ve ever met? Can you believe that would be my former best friend? Have you ever swerved off the road to avoid hitting an animal? I've never had an animal in my path. Have you ever grown your own herbs? No. Do you like kissing in public? If you're my serious s/o, I could care less, so long as it's a simple peck. I'm not making out in front of people. Do you think someone has feelings for you? I don't know. Do you want to be in a relationship this year? I don't know. I'm lonely and love feels amazing, but I need to get my life on track before I can be a good partner to someone and not just dead weight. Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you? Huh, funny, he's the one that walked away. How long can you just kiss until your hands start to wander? Uhhh that would depend on how serious we are, where we are, and just what mood I'm in. What’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for you? ugh What’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for someone? also ugh What’s your dirtiest secret? TMI AHEAD. Probably receiving oral while bare-ass naked on the chaise in the living room while we were home alone. Or having sex in my sister’s bed. Oops. Would you ever get lyrics tattooed on yourself? Yeah. I already do, anyway, and I plan on getting another. Can you photoshop images well? I'm decent at it. Where did you last drive to? Mom and I went to go get our Covid vaccines today. What’s the first verse of the last song you listened to? "I don't know what we're supposed to be, but I know we lost it along the way to something better, something so much more than pleasure that we seek, so blind inside to fill these holes left by these lies that we tell to ourselves as we manufacture our own hell." What do you hear right now? The aforementioned song: "BLACKOUT" by 3TEETH. What was the last thing you laughed about? This is so fucking immature lmao but when we were driving earlier, we passed a gas station that had a sign that was advertising Coke, but due to space limitations, it abbreviated to "2 liter Cok" and I cackled like a child. Mom laughed harder than I did. Do you know any gay people personally? Ye. What was the last thing that startled you? I think it was a car hoonking at somebody the other day. What was the last thing to make you even remotely sad? Today's been a kind of rough PTSD day thanks to Facebook. My old high school friend had her beautiful daughter, a childhood friend just got married the other day, another friend is due to have her baby in just a couple weeks... It's just weird but even more painful to know it was the life I once fantasized about with a guy that just dropped me and made a break for it. I hate admitting that there's this deep, deep bitterness in me about it, like he took my life away from me, even though that's of course very unfair to say. I don't want to talk about this anymore, so moving on with my day.

[namelessthirst]

Domestic

So this is straight up gonna be a compilation of gross, silly, and funny domestic moments of various characters. And of various things. If you’re easily grossed out, maybe don’t read this. I’ll try to list all yucky things ahead, but be warned. Just a snack while I work on rqs and wips!

I’m not listing every character on here like usual and you can’t make me.

3k and some change words total.

Butt zits, pregnancy, vomit, snot/sneezing, blackheads, farts, burps, poop, periods, yeast infections, B.O., Testicular cancer, pee, pubic hair, teeth goop, bad breath, and some smut.

You were shimmying your shirt on, trying to avoid staining the edges with your deodorant, when your boyfriend hurried to you from the bathroom.

"[Name], is this a blackhead or a freckle?"

You sighed as you spoke, paying little mind to Izuku as you checked the shirt's edges for marks, "It's a freckle, Izzy."

When you were met with silence, you looked up into his fervent pout.

"Don't give me that look, that's the same tone you gave me when I asked you that a week ago!"

"Just- check, please? I might have an interview later," he wheedled.

You huffed without malice, "Yeah and they're definitely going to do an HD zoom check on your pores."

"Ow owww, your nails are sharp!" For a guy who got his bones broken on the regular before, he sure did whine about little things.

"Ah."

"What?"

"It wasn't a freckle."

"I TOLD YOU." ---------------------------------------------------

"Hi babe," you called from the living room, your voice raised over the sound of the TV.

Eijiro headed past the living room to dump his gym bag on the bedroom floor, "Heey."

"Have fun?"

"Well, you weren't there so..." His voice came through more clearly as he walked back toward you.

"Awww," You cooed with puckered lips in a mock kissy-face.

He flopped heavily down beside you on the couch, tucking his arm behind your head.

"Tetsu says hi," he notes cheerfully, leaning in to mouth at your neck.

It takes a second for the prickle of teeth to pull your eyes away from the screen and into a lidded stare, "Mmm."

You can feel Eiji nudging his leg up under yours, trying to settle you more into his lap.

The firm pressure of his thigh under your ass didn't stay comfortable for long.

"Eiji..." You almost didn't want him to stop the tickle of hot breath on your throat.

"Mmm..."

"Eijiro."

"Yeah, baby?"

"You're stinky." -----------------------------------------------

"Honeeeey-"

You heard your husband's feet hurried across the floor to the bed, "Yeaaaah?"

"Feel my balls."

"Are we really already past the sweet-talk phase?"

"No, really."

You sighed, seeing the wavering smile on Neito's face that tended to show up when he was worried, and sat up away from your book to cup the presented scrotum.

"Do you...feel anything?"

"I feel balls."

"[Name]!"

"No, sweetie, I don't feel anything. Why?"

"I just...thought I felt something."

With another sigh, you smiled fondly, "No baby, they feel just like they always do. Come lay down?"

Without a smug comment or cocky look, he climbed in beside you as you made room. He must have been really freaked out.

Nothing a few kisses can't fix.

--------------------------------------------- It was moments before disaster.

The calm before the storm.

The gentle hugs and rubs before movie night was rudely interrupted.

The sneeze caught you off-guard, even caught Katsuki off guard, his hand coming to your side when you jerked from the force.

When you stilled, nose still buried in your arm, he raised a brow.

"Babe, let me up."

"What? Why?"

Despite his protests you moved his arms from around you and lifted yourself up off his lap, revealing the wet spot left on his poor soft sweat pants.

He ended up following you out to change pants. -------------------------------------------- "Ow, babe, careful!"

"I'm trying! This isn't exactly a clear process."

Untangling your boyfriend's pubes was not exactly how you expected your evening of intimacy to go.

Things had been so sweet, naked and cozy in bed, gently running your fingers through the black tufts above his cock while you sucked tongue together...

And now the damn thing was in the way. His half hard dick trying to spring up with every shift while you tried to pull apart the knot.

"That’s it, I'm getting the scissors."

"No!" -------------------------------------------- Tetsu nearly ironed up on reflex when you jumped him immediately outside of the locker room.

"Whoa, babe!"

You snickered at him, comfy even with his firm grip on your biceps. "Whats with that look? Don't tell me you really got spooked by me."

"I just didn't expect you here! I'm not off duty for another few hours, y'know," He huffed.

You wiggled free of his grasp to dip your hand into the satchel on your hip, tugging out a yellow lunchbox, "Yeah, but now's about your lunchtime, right? I thought we could eat together."

He looked curiously at the meal once you'd opened the box, steam wafting out from the pan-fried spinach and egg. Little strips of cooked beef took up more of the box, along with some rice and lemon.

He was drooling with as much intensity as his heart throbbed for you.

With a relieving snort, he wrapped his arms around you, tight and firm.

You got the box closed just in time to keep his pressing from spilling the food, "I take it that's a positive response?"

"It would be stupid of me to say no," he spoke into your hair while his hands rubbed into your sides.

With his chin untucked from your head, you peered up as he leaned in for a kiss. Butterflies were still frequent, though they laid forgotten when you spotted green against pearly white.

He expected your lips on his mouth, not your thumb, picking at leftover spinach from the morning. The butterflies were well and alive in his chest. ---------------------------------------------- Your muscles ached wonderfully as you stretched out in bed. You knew you needed to get up and get going for the day soon, you had things to get done.

Waiting for Katsuki to be done in the bathroom was just taking way too long. You could feel the sog in your panties from your night-time pad. Nasty.

So off you rolled from the bed, shuddering when your bare feet touched the cold floor.

"Katsukiiiiii," you called through the bathroom door.

All it garnered was a grunt.

"Are you gonna be much longer?"

"Go back to bed!"

That was definitely a yes.

"No, I'm coming in. I have shit to do," you fussed as you opened the door. Neither of you had bothered locking the door in ages.

"So do I!" He huffed at you from the toilet.

You wheezed slightly when the brick wall of stink hit you. Goddamn his love for bowel ruining food.

He glared up at your wrinkled nose as you leaned over him to the cabinet above, tugging a pad out, "Explosive sweat, explosive attitude, explosively rank farts. A triple threat."

You squirmed when he took to nipping at your exposed belly, "Shut up."

He quit when you whacked him in the head with the pad, "Brat."

He didn't bat an eye when you stripped off your panties to free and roll up the used pad, stuffing it into the trashcan beside the toilet.

He did however rip another deafening fart with a smug grin.

You only half-mocked the gag you let out, deciding to grab your toothbrush and paste with your panties still around your thighs.

"Fuck you I'm gonna use the kitchen sink."

"Told you to wait."

"I'm gonna spit in your favorite mug." ----------------------------------------------- Candlelight danced against the walls, rolling in just the same as how your lover's hips did with yours.

The scent of them was a bit overwhelming, Izuku having dug into your stockpile and grabbing a bunch of random types.

Still, with your nose buried in his neck, most of it was drowned out.

You bit and moaned into his skin as the tip of his cock ground against your sweet spot, "God- yes! Right-Right there, Izzz-Izuku!"

He leaned back enough to lick into your panting mouth, clearly just as lost in the pleasure.

Your nails carved into his back, toes curling, as you came on his fat dick. And he didn't stop, chasing his own release while the flutters and pulses were still strong around him.

So, you were very caught off guard when a lustful groan broke into a screaming sneeze.

Usually, it was his face getting splashed on during sex.

"O-Oh my god I'm so sorry!" His hips abandoned their assault while he took the sheet to quickly wipe your face. You tried to ignore the snot trail on his nose.

So were the risks of mixing candles. ----------------------------------------------- It wasn't terrible often that you got to top. Denki was usually too restless to just lie back and take you like he should, even when he wanted to!

But tonight he moaned and keened for you so sweetly, legs spread wide and hips twitching off the bed with each suck to his taint.

"Yes, yesyesyes, god yes! Right there!"

Your fingers were a bit sidetracked, their objective to simply spread the lube and stretch Denki out forgotten once they'd found his prostate.

You let your fingers grind into that spot until Denki was fucking himself back on them. Oh, how he whined when you took them out, the pleasure leaving with them.

You gave the back of his thigh a slap, lifting it as you nudged the tip of your strap against his slick asshole.

He sighed happily when you slid it in, but you only made it a few inches before your warmup thrusting was interrupted.

His moans cut out suddenly and his eyes were wide. You were sure it must have hurt when he scrambled up off your cock and bolted off the bed toward the bathroom.

"NOT NOW, NOT NOW GODDAMMIT!"

You caught onto the issue and belted out laughing, "You didn't go beforehand?!" ----------------------------------------------- These weren't exactly the sighs of pleasure Hanta expected to hear tonight, but they were pleasant all the same.

It was a lover's duty to love and care for one another, and one he was happy to perform.

"God, yes, Hanta. Right there."

When the vaginal cream appliques proved too short for his sweetheart's vagina, his dexterous and long fingers were the perfect thing to assist.

"Feel better, babe?" He asked softly.

You hummed approval, already feeling relief from the damn surge of yeast, even more so when he pressed a soft kiss to your temple before he went to go clean off his hands. ----------------------------------------------------- It felt like Eijiro's cock was in your throat with the way he had you bent. Knees up so far and hips off the bed while his thick cock stretched you so deliciously.

His breath was hot on your neck, panting and groaning against you with each hungry clench your pussy gave around him.

You were giving him similar treatment, cracked moans of pleasure each time his pelvis brushed and pressed to your clit.

You could tell he was peaking, thrusts getting spastic and hurried, so you egged him on, crying his name in his ear and digging your nails into his back.

He was so close, you were sure.

You weren't quite as sure after another thrust shoved a belch out of you and into his ear.

He was snorting and laughing as he came. -------------------------------------------------- It'd been a bit since Izuku was willing to be atop you.

The swell of your belly either simply getting in the way, or his worry of accidentally pressing against it too much doing the same.

But with you laid down in the bed, Izuku's hips moving slowly above you while he dented the bedframe with his grip, you found it was a wonderful compromise.

You'd missed his cock, finding that with your positions limited, it'd been hard to get him as deep into you as you'd have liked. Especially for oral. The height wrong to simply sit on the bed and let him stand, your stomach being an issue for laying down, and you just couldn't kneel for long anymore without pain.

So finally having the weight of his dick in your throat, the taste of his skin heavy on your tongue, was a blessing.

He was still being so gentle, keeping his thrusts smooth and his eyes glued to your expression, a hand tangled in your hair. Even so, your hands were pinned to his ass, nails leaving crescents beside the freckles.

Another moan around him was all he needed to chase his peak, cock twitching as he fucked his cum into your throat a bit faster.

The next few seconds were too dizzying to be anything more than a blur.

The taste of his cum was never great; it was cum after all. But it'd always been on the better side and had the bonus of it being his. Plus, you were kind of a cumslut.

And yet, you yanked off of his cock in a blink, leaning around his thigh to the trashcan beside the nightstand, cum and some of dinner coming violently from your mouth.

Izuku panicked, climbing off you and rubbing your back as you coughed, "[N-Name], are you okay?"

He reached past you to pull the tissues closer, bringing one to your leaking nose, "I haven't forgotten to eat the fruit..."

You let him wipe your snot and misdirected vomit, "It's not that, baby..."

Apparently, you had to add spunk to the list of things your body rejected during pregnancy. ----------------------------------------------------- It was almost a quiet evening.

A satisfying dinner, and love-making a bit later even more so.

Neito had a glass of water in one hand, a book in the other, smiling contentedly as you scrolled your phone and laid your head on his lap.

The way your fingers combed through his soft curls almost made him want to go again, and he thought nothing of it when your phone fell out of view.

After a few tugs at the carpet and the distinct sensation of your hand on his dick, he moved the book aside to actually look at what you were doing.

"Uh...love?"

You snickered, gently placing another fallen out pube on the tip of his cock, "Look babe, it's got a toupee!" ---------------------------------------------------- You were so cozy. It was a sunday morning, and for once Tetsu wasn't rushing off to work, or an emergency call, or to go train at the gym.

It was just you, him, and the sleep-warmed bed.

It was so quiet and calm, you didn't quite want to even roll over into your lover's arms, lest it disturb the peace and summon something to ruin the day.

At the sound of Tetsu's phone going off, you damned your thoughts for drawing the attention of the universe.

He shifted sleepily, a deep breath against your hair as he reached for his phone. You pressed back against him a bit insistently, holding his free arm tight against you with an unquiet whine.

But, instead of a groggy and admittedly pleasant sleep-roughed greeting to whoever was on the phone, you were met with silence, and his arm coming to rest back over you.

"You're not gonna answer?"

Tetsu turned toward you, rolling that gruff voice that you loved into your ear, "It'd be shameful to spoil our time like that."

His nose brushed up over your ear and at last you let yourself turn in his grasp to tangle into him properly.

"Aww, babe," You cooed.

His hair was messy, his eyes half closed and clearly ready to go back to sleep, but you couldn't help a kiss, just one to settle yourself.

The texture and warmth did just that, though the heavy smell of dry mouth and iron kind of ruined it.

At your wrinkled nose and retreat from the kiss, Tetsu huffed, "That bad?"

"Like a dying car."

"Now that's just rude," He snorted. "Guess I'll just have to do something else."

With his pearly daggers looming over you, suddenly it wasn't his bad breath you worried about. ----------------------------------------------------- Denki had been looking oddly smug all day. Since the moment he woke up, till the moment he was shucking his clothes for bed.

"Y'know, you really did me in last night."

You looked up from where you had your phone balanced on your breast, "Yeah?"

He kicked his briefs across the floor, climbing in with you to lay on his belly, "Yeaaah. My assholes been sensitive all day. If I sit wrong, I can feel it."

You snort, "Is that why you were wiggling around all damn day?"

He just gave you a sly grin, utterly pleased as he shifted his bare hips around on the sheets.

You roll your eyes fondly and lean in to play his game, bringing a hand down on his ass-cheek loudly and going in for a kiss.

"Been thinkin' about that ache all day, honey? Just couldn't get my cock out of your head?" You tease, both by word and by the fingers brushing over the swell of his ass. You tug a cheek open and let it snap back against the other.

Denki groans softly, wagging his ass against your touch.

You coo a bit of praise and lust into his ear while you slip a finger between his cheeks, running them over his well-loved hole.

"...Denki, pull your butt open for me?"

With a smile he obeys, not picking up on your less than lustful expression.

After a bit of shuffling, you click your tongue, "Yeah, that ache you kept feeling, hon?"

He hummed in acknowledgement, though it cut off into a yelp when he felt a pinch near very sensitive skin.

"Yeah, it was a zit." --------------------------------------------------- Sometimes you amused yourself with the idea that your husband's hair was made specifically for you. For your hands to grip and tug at the perfectly tall and available peaks.

But that thought is as fleeting and light as Katsuki's tongue on your clit.

It would surely be easier for him if he'd just use a hand to part you, but he really did seem to prefer merely bullying his mouth between your folds and keeping his hands pinned under your ass, rolling the flesh in his rough palms. Each time he slipped out, your slick pussy making it hard to keep inside, he'd suck noisily to each labium before diving back inside.

As soon as he took his tongue from your hole, you were using his hair like reigns to grind yourself on his tongue. Lips, nose, chin- it was all fair game when he let you use him like this.

You earned a sharp smack to your arched ass when you ground a bit too much on his nose, sure he'd be snorting your arousal for at least a good hour.

Regardless, he tucked his nose back against your clit, tongue finding its way back in to thrust quick and heavy in your entrance.

It would be your love's undoing, as another grip to your ass spurned your guts to release air.

A rolling fart, as well, one that would often leave you shifting uncomfortably for a good while as you tried to press the air bubbles out.

Instead, it slipped right into your lover's face.

He recoiled fast, coughing and wiping his face as if the smell and butt particles would merely wipe away.

An apology was on the tip of your tongue, until you remembered last week's interruption in the bathroom.

"VENGEANCE IS MINE!"

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 5 - The Interview

It was Monday morning and Varian stood outside on the university grounds waiting. Hiro had told him that he was to meet with the school’s headmaster today. He needed to speak to this Professor Granville about obtaining supplies to build a new portal machine to send him home. 

Varian had never met a dean of a university before. He wanted to look his best to impress such an important person. He wore the white linen shirt he had bought on Saturday and a pair of the khaki dress pants, both pressed and ironed the night before, along with his Sapporian boots, polished and shined to match the black belt he wore. On his head, he still wore his customary goggles but he made sure to polish them as well. 

Wasabi had tried to comb and fix his hair this morning, but it was already back to its usual unkempt state. It hadn’t even stayed in place for twenty minutes before his swept back bangs started falling and the cowlick on top of his head started to spring back up despite the use of styling gel, much to Wasabi’s frustration. However, there was no time to fool with it any more as Wasabi had to leave early to take Ruddiger to the vet. 

Varian deeply appreciated the older teen’s assistance. For the duration of his stay, Wasabi had gone out of his way to help Varian and make him feel at home. Not asking for anything in return, nor walking back on any promises (no matter how much the existence of Ruddiger annoyed him), and going above and beyond anything a regular person from Varian’s world would do. He was far different from any other fair-weather ‘friend’ Varian previously had. 

They had spent the previous day hanging out together at the dormitory; with Wasabi teaching Varian various things about this new world and helping him and Ruddiger get situated. 

They set up the cage for Ruddiger to sleep in. There wasn't much room in the apartment for such a large kennel so they had to tuck it up under the kitchen table. Placing the pet bed and bowls of food and water inside. Ruddiger hated it. He much preferred the fake log that Varian wedged into the corner above the sofa; curling up there whenever possible.   

As for said sofa, Wasabi took the new sheets and blankets he’d bought and fixed them up into a proper bed. With the cushions tucked tightly into a fitted sheet and the new pillow fluffed up and placed at one end. 

Next to the couch they put up the small chest of drawers and organized Varian's new things. Helping him to set up his own little space inside the small apartment.

He also helped Varian set up his new phone. Teaching him how to make calls, text, and the myriad of secondary functions the device could perform. But the most impressive thing about the new phone was something called the internet. It was a worldwide information and communication exchange system. All of human kind’s accumulated knowledge, history, and personal banalities was a mere click away. 

Varian started off reading about the history of quantum physics on an online encyclopedia, which somehow led to him arguing with a person in someplace called Indiana over the exact meaning of the pentagram symbol on something called a public forum, and finally ending up watching a bunch of moving pictures, called video, of seals playing in the Antarctic. All in less than an hour. 

One could get lost in the sea of words, images, and sounds that this new invention had to offer. Varian could only marvel at just how smart and well educated the people of this world must be with such wells of information so easily accessible to the public at large. In his world, all they had were books and you could only get those that happened to be shipped to whatever area you lived in. Corona itself only had one bookstore, located on the island capital, if Varian wanted new reading material he either had to make a trip into town or hope that some of the traveling merchants had any on hand they were willing to part with. 

Thus the day had passed until Wasabi had to leave to go to work. In his absence, Varian did a bunch of chores. He took Ruddiger for a walk, cleaned up the washroom, and tried to cook dinner. 

He had wanted to surprise Wasabi with a good meal as a way of thank you. Unfortunately the little makeshift kitchen wasn't well stocked. Varian had very little to work with and some of the stuff on hand was unfamiliar to him. 

Worse, the only thing to cook with was the microwave and toaster. Wasabi had shown him how such appliances worked but he hadn't had much practice with them. 

Ultimately he had decided on fixing some oatmeal. That was easy enough and Wasabi had everything to cook it with. He poured the milk and oatmeal into a pot and placed it in the microwave and set the timer for thirty minutes. He then cut up some new tropical yellow fruit called bananas to go in it. Ruddiger loved the rare treat and Varian had to cut him his own banana slices so as to keep the animal from stealing their supper. 

Varian also tried out the toaster. The pieces of bread turned out a little darker than he had expected but all in all he was happy with his first attempt. He buttered them up and started on a second batch. 

He was just hunting down a sweetener to use in the oatmeal when Wasabi came home. 

The tall man nearly cried with joy when he spotted the newly cleaned bathroom.

"You … you cleaned? Like, you scrubbed down the shower and the sink and everything! And I didn't even have to ask you!?" 

"Well yeah. If I'm going to be staying here awhile I might as well do my part in maintaining the place" Varian said matter-of-factly, not understanding what the big deal was. 

"You don't get it. I've never had a roommate who would help out with chores. Trying to get those guys to even just fold laundry every once in a while was like pulling teeth. And I've gone through a lot of roommates in the past two years." Wasabi said with a weary tone at the end, as if recalling some of those failed partnerships. He then switched back to the present. "Thank you, man." He said with an appreciative smile. 

Varian was about to tell him that he was welcome, but then the microwave exploded. 

Sparks were flying from the sides and oatmeal came gushing out from the front. The interior light was flickering on and off and smoke poured out the back. 

Wasabi gave a little scream and ran past Varian to unplug the device before it caught on fire. 

Apparently one wasn't supposed to put metal into a microwave. Which Varian personally considered as a design flaw, but he kept this opinion to himself and instead profusely apologized. He promised to replace the machine but Wasabi only sighed and told him not to worry about it. 

All was not lost though as Wasabi ordered Chinese take out for dinner instead. Varian had to admit that the bowls of rice, vegetables, and meats covered in various sauces were far more substantial than the oatmeal he had had originally planned. In particular he enjoyed the pork dumplings. They reminded him of the pierogi he would make back home but with a thinner pasta shell instead of the thicker breading he used. 

Varian recalled yesterday's events and had only just resolved to make it up to Wasabi somehow, when he spotted Hiro walking towards him. 

He was talking to an older woman with short dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes. She was smartly dressed in a grey business suit and carried with her a folder and pen. 

Trailing behind the two of them, Baymax wobbled along. Not being able to keep up with his stubby legs. 

"He's really smart; He just doesn't understand our world fully. But, he can learn things real quick." Varian overheard Hiro say. He figured they were talking about him, and that the lady must be Professor Granville, but the older woman said nothing in response nor gave any indication that she was impressed by what Hiro was saying. 

"Oh there he is." Hiro pointed out to her. He waved at Varian and excitedly broke into a jog to meet him first. 

"Hey! Varian, this is Professor Granville. Professor Granville, this is Varian." Hiro introduced them as the woman came up to meet them.

Professor Granville did not hurry, she remained calm and composed as she walked over to join the two boys. She appeared almost regal like, to Varian; tall, aloof, and fully in charge. However, despite this cold demeanor, her face did break into a warm smile when she met Varian's gaze. 

"Ah, the boy who built the portal. Hiro has told me all about you. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

Her voice, while not unkind, did hold an air of authority to it. A tone that very much conveyed that this was her domain and that Varian was merely a guest in it. Like a queen meeting one of her newest subjects. 

Varian didn't know whether to wave hello, shake hands, or give a bow to the woman. Not that she gave him much choice. 

No sooner did he squeak out a faint 'hi' did she sail past him and opened one of the large double doors. 

"If you'll kindly follow me, we'll go ahead and begin your interview." She said while holding the door open for him. 

"Interview?" Varian echo. 

"Yes. All prospective students must complete a college interview if they are to attend SFIT." She said matter-of-factly. 

Varian looked at Hiro in confusion. He thought he was here to talk about gaining supplies for his experiments, not to become a student. Hiro however only gave him a shrug in reply. So Varian moved to follow the woman. 

"I'll meet you out here when you're done." Hiro said to him as he walked into the darkened hallway and Professor Granville closed the door behind her.

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

"Right this way." Professor Granville led her newest charge into an empty classroom. It was a spacious lecture hall with a desk at one end and upon the blackboard were mathematical equations written up. All of the staff had returned a week early from spring break to prepare for the coming summer semester and Granville had planned on continuing setting up for her next class after she was done admitting the new student. 

Hiro had explained the whole situation to her, about the portals and the kid from another world who had built them, and for her part she figured it best to go ahead and enroll him. That way he could have access to any materials he needed to continue with his experiments, a place to stay during that time, and more importantly she could help forge for him any legal documents that he would undoubtedly need to get by. Not to mention that if the boy could indeed deliver on his portals then it would be a great boon for the school and its reputation. 

"Have a seat please." She indicated for him to sit down in a chair that she had pulled up to the desk. He did so, and she sat on the other side and opened her folder.

“Now first I’ll need your full name.” She instructed as she clicked her pen and made ready to fill out the application form for him.  

“Varian.” The boy replied,“ uh, V-A-R-I-A-N”

She wrote the name he had spelled out down and waited for him to continue, only no other names were forthcoming. She looked up and asked,“And your last name?”

“I haven’t got one.”

“They don’t have last names where you come from?” She asked. The boy was from another world so who knew what other customs they had. 

“Oh no, there are people with last names.” He clarified. “It’s just I’m the only Varian in my village so there was never any need for one. If anyone ever referred to me by anything else it was usually either, you know, ‘Here’s Varian the alchemist’  or ‘There goes Quirin’s son.’” He paused briefly before explaining further, “Uh, Quirin’s my dad’s name.” 

“And how do you spell that?” 

“Q-U-I-R-I-N” He replied while the professor went back to writing. When done she looked back up and continued her line of questioning.

“Very well Mr. Quirinson, now I’ll need a former residency to put on your application. Mr. Hamada has already mentioned that your country of origin does not exist in our world, but I’ll need an equivalency to put on your official documents.” She took a globe that was sitting upon her desk and handed it to Varian. “Why don’t you see if you can find anything familiar and maybe we can glean a substitute from that.” 

Varian scanned the globe, gazing over the continent of Europe; his finger following its northern coastline on the map. Everything was jumbled up. Countries were missing, new ones he had never heard of before in their places, what kingdoms he did recognize had different borders to what he had previously known. Even the geography was different, with rivers, lakes, and mountain ranges appearing in different places. Everything was slightly off. As if someone had taken a map from his world and then proceeded to move everything slightly to the left. 

Finally, in his confusion, he found something. A small peninsula jutting out into the Baltic Sea, and next to it were the words The Curonian Spit. It didn't look exactly like his Corona and it was spelled differently, but it was a peninsula, it was on the northern sea, and it was in the general vicinity, northeast of France.  

"Uh, here." He said while pointing to his find. Professor Granville peered over the desk to see the tiny country his index finger nearly covered. 

"Kaliningrad Oblast." She read, curiously, before sitting back down and turning to her computer. She looked up the country in question. "Says here Kaliningrad was a former part of Germany and is now a territory of Russia. I don't suppose you speak either Russian or German do you?" 

"I speak both actually." Normally Varian would brag about just how many languages he did know, but for right now he was just confused. He still didn't fully understand why this barrage of questions was important. 

"Excellent!" The professor exclaimed. "We'll get a passport and a student visa for you in no time. Now I'll just need your date of birth." 

"March the 24th." 

"And the year." 

"1639." 

Professor Granville paused, and slowly looked up from the form she was filling out. 

"1639? As in 1639, A.D.?" She asked in disbelief. 

Varian nodded his head. 

"You are aware that it is currently the year 2015 in this world, right?" She continued. 

Varian could only stare blankly back at her and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Maybe our worlds have different calendars?" He offered up helpfully. 

"Must be." Granville agreed quietly. There was no way a child from the mid 1600s could possibly have invented an interdimensional portal, she thought. Out loud though she only asked. "How old are you, Mr. Quirinson?" 

"Sixteen." 

She wrote 03/24/1999 onto the form. "Now I'll need the name of the last school you attended and we'll be done with the formalities." 

"I..I've never been to school before." He stuttered, suddenly self-conscious. This was where he'd be rejected he knew. Poor farm boys didn't get fancy educations. She undoubtedly would decline to admit him and he'll be left scrambling for another means of rebuilding a machine to get home with.

"You've never been to school?" She asked, horrified. 

Varian squirmed in his seat. "Well you see," he explained, desperately trying to think of some way to salvage the situation, "there is a small school in the capital, but that's a good day's trip and Dad needed me to help around the far- uh, estate. Besides, I already knew how to read and write by the time I was old enough to go." He gave a half smile at the end, hoping his advanced reading skills would be enough to impress her. 

"And how did you manage to learn advanced physics and engineering?" She asked in disbelief. 

"Well, I read books, and studied the masters, like Copernicus, and did a lot of experimentation on my own. A lot of trial and error." He said this last bit dryly, personally recalling some of his past failures. 

"Sooo you're completely self-taught then?" She asked, still trying to make sense of this strange boy. 

Varian nodded his head. 

"Well, why don't we just put home-schooled on the application." She suddenly suggested with a wide smile and Varian internally sighed with relief with the knowledge that his past wasn't going to be held against him. 

"Now for some personal questions. Here at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology, we pride ourselves on admitting the most dedicated and accomplished of students." Professor Granville proudly proclaimed. "Tell me what are some of your biggest accomplishments in the field of science?" 

"Uh…." Varian's brain froze. He had no real accomplishments. Everything he built either blew up, broke down, or worked in a way he hadn't originally intended.

"Come, come, no need to be shy." Granville encouraged. 

"Ummm…" 

The professor looked at him expectedly and Varian heard his heart pounding in his ears as his mind raced. 

"I invented a bath bomb!" He blurted out in haste. 

Professor Granville blinked back at him in surprise. "Well that wasn't what I was expecting," she said slowly,"but tell me about this 'bath bomb'." 

Varian wanted to sink into the ground. How stupid could he be? This world had everyday technology that was so far more advanced compared to Conora's that of course she wasn't going to be impressed by his makeshift cleaning supplies. But he had already said it out loud, might as well commit. 

"It's a small alchemical ball full of soap and hydrogen. So that when you throw it into a tub and ignite a flame underneath, it combines with the surrounding air to create condensation and voilà, instant bath." 

"Interesting," the woman said, and she did genuinely appear to be so as she adjusted her stance and leaned in a little with her arms upon the desk and hands clasped together. "And tell me what was the inspiration for this 'immediate bath'." 

"Well, umm, there isn't any running water in Corona and sometimes carrying water from the well or the river is a pain." Varian explained, then reflexively, under his breath and through gritted teeth, he added, "Or sometimes you might find yourself in a position where you can't bathe for over a year." 

He hadn't meant for this last part to be heard but Granville commented on it anyways. 

"You've been without running water for over a year?" She asked, concerned. 

"Oh, no. We've never had running water. It doesn't exist in our world." Varian corrected, hoping to distract from his previous comment. This however was not the correct thing to say as Professor Granville only furrowed her brow even further. 

For Granville's part, she was just simply bewildered and more than a little worried. When Hiro had first told her of the boy from another world, she had assumed he came from one similar to their own, or perhaps one that was even more advanced. She'd have never in a million years expected that the inventor of a portal device was from a world stuck before the pre-industrial era. Yet it all added up to appear that way; 17th century birthday, no running water, his biggest academic influence was Copernicus for crying out loud. How ever was the boy supposed to keep up with modern college level studies? And yet where else was he to go? 

So she pressed forward. Ignoring the growing doubt building in the back of her mind. 

"Where do you see yourself in five years?" She asked. 

She was met with only a blank stare from the young man sitting across from her. 

"For example, do you have any career aspirations or personal goals you would like to achieve?" She clarified. 

"Well, I'd like to go home and free my dad." The young boy said slowly. "I haven't given much thought to anything else?" 

"Free?" Granville asked, confused. 

"I mean, see again, obviously." Varian hastily rectified. But Granville was growing ever more concerned, the boy was hiding something. 

"Well I can understand why that would be a pressing matter to you, but surely you've given some thought to the future; some idea of where you might wind up." She encouraged him. 

"Jail?" The boy questioningly threw out. He looked wide eyed now, confused and lost as to what she meant and looking for an answer that clearly alluded him. 

"And why would you say that, Mr. Quirinson?" She pressed.

"Cause that's where I've been for the past year." The boy admitted. He was growing agitated and impatient. He didn't understand the point behind any of this and was slowly getting fed up with the woman's prying questions. Not the least of which because they made him feel self-conscious. 

"I see," the professor said as she began to piece together the clues. Granville had spent several years working in both academics and social services. She knew the signs of a 'problem' child when she saw it. Typically, young kids with unchallenged intellect, accompanied by perhaps a broken home life, would sometimes lash out or make trouble for themselves in an effort to receive attention. The boy's father was missing in some way and he grew up in an unstimulating environment that didn't encourage his creative genius. 

"And because of a mistake or two you don't see yourself rising up to doing anything else." she cajoled; sometimes a push could help inspire the aforementioned child to challenge himself. 

"No. Because they typically don't let you back out after you've committed high treason." He answered back bitterly. Headmaster or no, who did this woman think she was to make such sweeping judgements? He was properly angry now and no longer cared about making a good impression nor about keeping his past hidden. 

He quickly stood up and leaned over the desk to glower at her. "Look, I came here to get help not to be grilled about my past. If you're not interested in giving me the supplies I need then I'll find some other way to get them. But I am not giving up on my father." He angrily pounded his fist on to the desk to emphasize his point. 

Then almost immediately his demeanor changed when he looked back up to see the blackboard behind the professor. "Also the answer to that equation should be 2.6 not 4.6. Sorry that's been bugging me for the past ten minutes." He apologetically stammered in exasperation. 

Professor Granville turned and looked back at the offending equation in question. Glad for a momentary distraction from the growing tension in the room. 

The boy's mood swings were bewilderingly quick and the 'treason' comment had not been something she had been expecting. If he really was from the 17th century then 'treason' could mean anything, to being locked away for scientific study or for simply knowing the wrong people. Given his comments about his father needing 'freeing' she suspected the latter. 

The aforementioned equation was a long physics question with an answer provided, in order to serve as an example to the class. It was far too long to solve in one's head so she had to pull out a calculator and resubmit the numbers into the machine to check the boy's calculations. And to her surprise he was right. She had accidentally written the wrong number up on the board. 

"That...is correct." She replied, double checking the calculator she held in her hand. "You figured out this whole equation in your head in less than ten minutes?" She asked in disbelief. Granville had worked with many gifted students throughout her career, but scarcely any could perform such advanced mathematical problem solving in such record time without the aid of any tools; not even basic pen and paper. And this was made all the more impressive by the fact the child lacked a high school education or even the passing knowledge of more modern mathematical advancements, like those of Einstein. 

"How else would you do it?" Varian replied, not knowing any other way himself.

"A calculator," She responded, holding the device into the air. 

"Wait. You have a machine that does math!?" The boy exclaimed in equal parts disbelief and excitement. 

She nodded and handed the calculator to him. Which he eagerly snatched up, looked at it longingly, and then cradled the device to his cheek while proclaiming, "It's so beautiful," in the exaggerated manner kids often do. He then began to fiddle with the machine, testing out its various functions like a child that had just received a new video game for Christmas. 

"Where has this been all my life?" He excitedly laughed. This device would make checking his calculations ten times easier. 

Granville watched on, bewildered. Who was this child? How did someone from such a primitive world manage to invent such a scientific miracle? In all her 40 years she had never come across such a contradiction before. Just imagine what such a child could have achieved had he been born in a time and place that nurtured his natural talents. 

Then she shuddered as realization hit her. A short range teleportation device was his original intent, Hiro had told her, and Varian himself had mentioned prison and not being let out. And not just any prison, they weren't talking about juvie here, but a 1650s style dungeon no doubt. History wasn't her expertise, but Granville knew enough about that time period to know that he wouldn't have been fairly treated while within there. No telling what horrors the boy had faced in the past year or more. 

Her heart went out to him then and she could have just cried at the thought of this little teenaged boy huddled up in some dark dank stone room. She pushed the image out of her head and regained control of herself. Crying wouldn't help. But giving him the opportunities that had been denied to him thus far would. 

"Let's return to the interview shall we?" She said instead, slipping back into the role of professional administrator and taking her seat again. 

Varian looked up from the calculator he was playing with in confusion. He had assumed his previous outburst would disqualify him but Professor Granville gave him no time to question. 

"Now Hiro has informed me that you are currently staying on campus with Mr. Gari, how is that working out?" 

"Mr. Gari?" He echoed blankly. 

"I believe you and the rest of his friends refer to him as 'Wasabi'." she clarified. 

"Oh, yeah, he's great. Things are going fine." He replied, still confused. 

"Wonderful," the professor smiled back. "In that case we'll keep that arrangement for the upcoming semester." 

"Whatd'ya mean?" 

"I mean, Mr. Quirinson, welcome to SFIT." She said with a warm smile as she handed him a pre-typed acceptance letter that she had tucked inside the folder. 

Varian read the letter in bewilderment. He was being accepted into a university? Him? And not just any university, but one specifically for the study of science. He couldn't help but give a breathless laugh. He'd honestly never thought that he'd ever be given such a chance, especially after such a disastrous interview. But no, the woman at the desk seemed genuine in her approval. 

"Now if you'll just sign these forms you'll be granted a full four year scholarship, or until you finish, whichever comes first." She said as she slid the folder over to him and handed him her pen. 

He signed his name upon the dotted line as his stomach filled with giddy butterflies. It all hardly seemed real. His dad would never believe it. Oh how he wished he could run home, wrap him in a hug, and tell him right now. Surely something like this would make him so proud. 

He blinked back tears at that wishful thought and finished signing the other papers the professor handed to him. When done he looked back up at her and she said, "Good. Now because of your... unique, situation; there will be a few extra steps you'll have to complete before classes start next week. Which I'll talk to you about as I give you a tour of the facility."

With that she stood up and walked to the door and held it open, once again indicating for Varian to follow her.

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

Varian stood outside next to the physics building where he had first started the day, waiting for Hiro to join him. He leaned against the wall while sucking on a small lollipop the school’s nurse had given him. Professor Granville had given him a quick tour of the school, a folder full of important papers, and instructions for how to proceed with his education. The final stop was the medical office where she had left him with the nurse in order to attend to other business. 

Said nurse had given him the ‘vaccines’ that Wasabi had told him about; the near magical medicine that was supposed to prevent certain illnesses. The shots had stung a bit, but it was all over very quickly and the kind woman who administered the procedure gave him some colorful sticky bandages and let him pick his favorite flavor out of the bowl full of suckers sitting on her desk.     

He was just finishing off the last of the butterscotch flavored treat when Hiro finally found him. 

“Hey! There you are! How did it go?” He asked. 

“Well, she admitted me into the school but she said I had to do some stuff first before she could fully enroll me.” Varian replied.  

“Yeah, what kind of stuff?” 

“I have to take something called a ‘General Educational Development’ test and a ‘Scholastic Aptitude Test’. She gave me a study guide and was going to give me both tests on Friday.”

“Ah.. yeah, you wouldn’t have an eligible high school diploma here. But it’s fine. I took similar  tests in order to graduate early. They’re not that hard, the only thing that should trip you up is the history stuff, but we can all help you study for them.’ The young boy offered. 

Varian smiled back at him appreciatively. It was nice to know that he now had people in his life that he could depend upon for help.    

“So what else?” Hiro asked. 

“She also gave me an extended reading list. I don’t have to read every book on there in a week, thank goodness, but I’m to keep up with it for the rest of the school term so I can catch up on things that the rest of the students will already know. I also need to give her a ‘photograph’ of myself that she can put onto a passport and something called a ‘visa’.” Varian scratched the back of his head in confusion as he said this last bit. Apparently one needed lots of documents and forms in order to maneuver within this country's society. Granville had asked him all of those questions at the beginning of his interview precisely because she was going to help procure those official papers for him, or forge similar facsimiles that could do in a pinch. 

Hiro nodded along. “That makes sense. See it’s a good thing you met with her. Granville has connections that can help with things like that. Also she’s the only one who even thought of it to begin with.” He laughed. “Man, that would’ve been bad if someone like Chief Cruz found out you were here illegally. Anyways, you can take the ‘photograph’ using your new phone. I’ll help and show you how to email it to her. Wasabi set you up with an e-mail right?” 

Varian nodded yes. That was one of the functions of the internet that Wasabi showed him yesterday.  

“Great! I’ll also email you the stuff I found on Project Silent Sparrow. It’s the portal project that Krei Tech was working on.” 

So Hiro spent the rest of the day with him, with Baymax also tagging along, and together they helped Varian take his picture and send it to Professor Granville, gather up some of the books on the reading list from the library, and briefly went over the project files behind the portal that sent him here. 

After Hiro and Baymax had decided to go home, Varian made his way back to the dormitory. He couldn’t wait to tell Wasabi all that had happened. However, as soon as he opened the door he was met with the sight of Wasabi chasing Ruddiger around the apartment with a broom. Food, slimy shampoo, and various other items were strewn about the place and Wasabi was covered in soap bubbles while Ruddiger himself was sopping wet. Varian sighed and closed the door behind him. Looks like telling about his day would have to wait.

[cagestark]

Rose-Tints My World

Anon asked for Peter wearing a corset and/or ballgown. This is probably not what they meant. 

Warnings: Peter fakes an orgasm onstage lmao. Alcohol, too. Also, this probably requires a semi-decent understanding of RHPS and the characters :/

Read here on AO3.

-

“Shots!” Ned shouts from the bathroom.

MJ sighs, putting down the eyeliner she’d been using to rim Peter’s eyes dark. They are in the kitchen because the light here in better than the light in the bathroom. May came home a half hour ago, took one look at Peter and MJ’s getup before throwing up her hands and retreating to her bedroom. Peter kind of wished he could do the same, watching MJ pour each of them a shot of tequila.

“The theater has a strict no-alcohol policy,” MJ says, rolling her eyes when Peter makes a face, shot glass held between his thin fingers. “If we don’t drink now, we don’t be drunk at all. Do you want to do this sober, Parker?”

Peter takes the shot. It tastes horrible. The salt they pour into their palms directly from the shaker doesn’t help. Much. While MJ is distracted, gagging, Peter picks up the handheld mirror beside them to look at himself and fuck, he gives a long, horrified groan.

“I can’t do this,” Peter mutters. His entire face is painted white with leftover makeup from Halloween, and his eyes and lips left a vibrant red. That’s the best of the costume, he thinks. The rest is worse: the black corset they’d bought from the women’s department at a lingerie store, the black thigh high stockings, the garters. The gloves. The heels. “Look at me, MJ. I can’t go out in public like this.”

“Peter, I swear to God,” she mutters. “Everyone is going to be dressed the way you are. Trust me. I went last year—”

“What?” Peter cries. “How?”

“I was invited, okay? And—”

“Shots!” Ned cries.

They both roll their eyes, pouring more tequila. This one isn’t as bad, actually. The first two must have burned Peter’s taste buds off.

“Anyway,” MJ says. “I went last year, and everyone dresses like this. Chad from your Women’s Studies class? You remember him?”

“Can’t forget him,” Peter mutters, only a little begrudgingly. Why did all the hot guys have to be straight and fucking jerks?

“He was dressed like this—only he didn’t look half as good. You’re the fucking twinkiest twink. You don’t even have chest hair.”

“I’m a late bloomer,” says Peter, crossing his arms over his exposed chest. His head feels light from the alcohol. How he’s going to walk in the heels, he has no idea. He holds the mirror up higher so that he can see his body better, and at least he has a good physique, because most of it is on display including a two inch section of chest-to-abs visible through the laces of the corset. When he speaks next, his voice is small. “Can I—can I at least have the blue feather boa?”

She pats his head condescendingly. “If you’re a good boy.”

“Shots!” Ned shouts.

“Are you taking all these shots back there, too?” MJ bellows.

There is the rumble of feet and then Ned is in the doorway, dressed in a leather jacket, working hard to get the fake cut on his eyebrow to drip blood. “Am I supposed to be?”

-

The Uber they call knows where they’re headed without the trio of them asking. Partly because MJ had entered the address before the guy got there, but also because these screenings of Rocky Horror Picture Show are pretty fucking famous by now, and that’s the only place they could be headed dressed like alien transvestites. At least it’s a warm night, he thinks while they all pile into the back of the SUV. At least he’s not shivering with all his bits on display.

“God, tonight is going to be great,” Ned says. He’s dressed like Eddie, right down to the alto saxophone that he borrowed off of his cousin for this purpose alone—under the condition that no one play it, and he doesn’t get it wet. Not guarantee-able things, according to MJ. “Are we meeting Tony there?”

“Tony?” Peter yelps. “Tony Stark? Physics class TA, Tony? Tell me there’s another Tony.”

“I doubt there’s another Tony, kid,” the Uber driver mutters up front.

“Thanks,” Peter snaps. He turns back to MJ, who looks stunning (in a very female way) as a colored Janet, wearing the character’s signature virginal white bra, tattered shirt, and prim skirt. Debauched. “You didn’t tell me that Tony Stark would be there—that we’d be meeting up with him. I’m wearing thigh highs and panties!”

“And he’s going to love it,” she says slyly, rummaging through the large tote of prompts they brought along for the show: rice to throw at the wedding scene, water pistols to shoot during the rain, a package of uncooked hotdogs—Jesus, if they got purse-snatched, the person would probably think that they were off their rockers. “You look fucking hot. I don’t know why you’re feeling shy all the sudden. Remember last Christmas when Rihanna was on the radio and you did that dance—”

“I’ve got the video if you need your memory jogged—” Ned supplies helpfully.

“I remember,” Peter says quickly, catching the raised eyebrows of the Uber driver glancing back through the mirror. “I just—I mean, I had a lot of sangria at that Christmas party.”

“You’ve had a lot of tequila tonight,” MJ sooths. “If you aren’t feeling it yet, you will be soon. Look, I’m not saying you need to fuck him tonight. I’m just saying that if you let your guard down even the slightest bit around the guy that you’ll be leading him by the cock before sunrise. Trust me. Will you trust me? Jesus. Here, drink this.”

She passes him a water bottle, but as soon as he opens it, the stench of alcohol hits him. “Is this nail polish remover?”

MJ laughs so hard her mascara runs and she has to redo it. But after a few long sips (and he’s almost positive it’s nail polish remover), he’s feeling even looser than he was before. Too much more and he’ll get sloppy, or worse, sick. He cuts himself off, capping the water bottle and tucking it back into the bag beside yesterday’s newspaper.

The Uber drops them off a block away, and they walk the last distance. It gives Peter a chance to get used to—everything. Being so exposed, feeling so many eyes on him. Some people whistle when he goes by, and he’s glad his face is painted so that they can’t see him flush in pleasure. When someone catcalls down to them from a balcony, he shimmies the feathered boa around his shoulders, shaking his flat chest and they hoot in delight.

MJ was right, too. Everyone is dressed up: corsets and thigh highs and high heels and exposed bras. It looks like the strangest collection of fetishists coming together, and the air is full of excitement that Peter is shivering. He feels drunk with it. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol. The eyes all over him feel as good as caresses, and he feels a stirring in his groin that there is no chance his underwear will hide—and oh fucking well. Tonight is about letting loose.

Getting into the theater is an entire affair. The place is packed with lookalikes: Magentas and Riff-Raffs and Columbias and Frankenfurters. There’s a blond guy who is doing a very good portrayal of Rocky, wearing nothing but golden panties, his muscular skin oiled and gleaming under the lights. His skin beckons Peter to touch.

But then it all comes to a stop, because Tony is there. Tony Stark, the senior that Peter has been crushing on since the professor of his Physics class introduced Tony as his TA for the year: the dark, fluffy hair, the whiskey eyes, the shadow of facial hair after the weekends when he comes stumbling in wearing sunglasses to disguise his hangover. There’s nothing about Tony that doesn’t get Peter hard, and tonight is no exception. He looks incredible dressed as Eddie, tight jeans, white t-shirt, black leather jacket clinging to his biceps. It’s so carelessly greaser, and Peter wonders if Tony drove his motorcycle here—the motorcycle Peter jerks himself off imagining Tony fucking him on—because that would be the cherry on top of this sin.

Tony’s smoking inside, though on a night like this, that’s probably the theater’s least concern. His face fucking lights up when he sees MJ, Ned, and Peter—Peter, who his eyes drag up and down unabashedly. It all comes rushing back then, like a movie pressed to play. Peter is dressed like Brad during the floorshow, dressed like kinky sex itself. And he looks good. Judging by the way Tony’s eyes grow wide and then narrow, the lids heavy…Tony knows too.

“Damn it, Janet,” he says around his cigarette, grasping MJ’s hand. “Was this a fucking set-up?”

“I wouldn’t have to be nefarious if other people wouldn’t be obtuse and stubborn and—”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Peter says. “But I’m feeling a little insulted nevertheless—”

“Have we missed anything? The traffic was awful, I thought we were going to be late,” Ned chimes in.

“Nah,” Tony says. “They’re rounding up virgins.”

“Virgins?” Peter squeaks. Everyone turns to look at him. He tries not to look panicked. Surely his virginity isn’t tattooed on his forehead. Or at least, it wasn’t until he squeaked like a mouse caught between a cat’s paws. He looks around, feeling like Virgin-Police might suddenly appear with batons shaped like dildos to shame him for his chastity. “Wh-What do they want, you know, virgins for?”

“Virgins, as in, people who have never seen the show live before,” Tony says, eyes glittering brighter than the ember at the end of his cigarette. “They bring a bunch up on stage and make them fake orgasms—”

“We’ve got to get Peter up there,” MJ mutters under her breath, barely heard over the roar of the other patrons. She stands up on her toes to try to find the stage helpers who are rounding up virgins (so to speak).

“I’m sorry, I know I misheard you—"

“I’m getting you on that stage, Peter,” MJ says through her teeth. “And you’re going to fake it like that time you told me about with Flash Thompson behind the gymnasium—”

If Tony’s eyebrows climb any higher on his head, they’ll disappear into his hairline. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth to ask, “What’s all this about faking it with Flash Thompson—”

MJ snags one of the stage hands and points to Peter.

“No, no, no, no,” Peter is chanting under his breath. MJ grabs him by the feathered boa and pulls him a few feet away from where Ned and Tony are watching cautiously. She cups a hand around his ear—the closest they can get to privacy surrounded by other people—and whispers to him.

“Look over my shoulder right now. Look at Tony.” Peter does as she asks. It’s not hard. The guy is so fucking handsome, and for some reason, his eyes are glued to Peter’s legs—Peter has always had thin, shapely legs, and the hairs on his thighs are finer and blonder than they have any right to be. It almost looks like he shaves, thanks to the low lighting. “Tony can’t take his eyes off you. Look at the way he can’t stay still—you think he’s hiding a semi like you are? Don’t squawk at me, Peter, everybody can see you’re half-hard. He’s fucking thirsty for you. Get up there, pretend he’s sucking your cock, and give everybody a goddamn show. I guarantee he’ll be trying to go home with you before the night is through. Trust me, Parker. Trust me.”

She digs in her bag to hand him the water bottle. Groaning, he takes a generous sip, face scrunching. God, that’s horrible.

But it works. The alcohol, the rousing speech. That’s how he finds himself being ushered on stage with a dozen other ‘virgins’. When it’s announced that this is their first time seeing the show live, the crowd goes wild for them. Peter’s always had a bit of a thing for exhibition, for being the center of attention (Ned’s phone has a very incriminating video from last Christmas on it, after all). As soon as the lights and eyes are on him, it’s like a great sense of calm comes over him.

He tosses one end of the feathered boa over his shoulder like a brat might toss her hair, and whistles go up for him. He’s pretty sure that Tony is one of them, his figure barely visible beside Ned and MJ toward the back of the crowd.

Then they begin to go down the line, coaxing each virgin to fake an orgasm for the amusement of the room, and Peter can’t bother hiding how hard it makes him: the muscled boy dressed like Rocky gives out groans and tosses his head like he’s being given the blowjob of his life. A short, heavy-set girl dressed as Magenta makes the crowd go wild for her as she pants, palming at her breasts.

Too soon and not soon enough, it’s Peter’s turn.

-

“What are you playing at?” Tony asks MJ. He can’t stand still, chain smoking and dropping the butts in the pop cans people leave behind on the disused bar. The moment he saw Peter’s signature head of curls, he’d felt his heart drop to his shoes. His stomach tossed like a boat on the sea. He was known for his confident exterior, but no one knew about the deep-seeded anxiety he worked so hard to mask. Something about the baby-faced freshman put Tony on edge—made the blood in his brain go against the tide and head straight for his cock. “You told me it was just going to be us, that Peter was out of town visiting relatives.”

“That’s weird,” MJ mutters. The white she’s wearing emphasizes her warm, dark skin. If she weren’t so fucking sneaky and irritating, he’d probably try hard to get underneath her skirt. “That’s not true at all. Why would I say something like that?”

“You lying bitch,” Tony mutters, rolling his eyes when Leeds gasps. MJ looks pleased as a peach, regardless of his potty-mouth. “I told you to quit trying to push us together. He’s so fucking shy, you’ve probably scared him back into his shell.”

“Did you see what he’s wearing?” She asks flatly. “Parker isn’t shy. At all.”

Fuck yes, Tony had seen. It was indecent, little Peter Parker dressed as Brad. His legs were impossibly long in the black stockings and high heels (heels which actually made the kid taller than Tony, for once). The tight, satiny briefs that did nothing to disguise Peter’s package. The garters tempted Tony to run his fingers underneath them, to pull them away from the pale, hairless skin and let them snap back into place. The corset itself didn’t change Peter’s masculine figure, and the modesty panel was missing so that beneath the gaping laces was firm, pale skin. Who knew that Peter Parker had a fucking six-pack? More importantly: who knew but hadn’t told Tony?

How the hell MJ had convinced him to leave the apartment looking like sin incarnate, Tony would never know.

“Shut up,” Leeds says. “It’s Peter’s turn. Oh my god, I can’t watch this, this is like watching my brother get off or something—”

Tony turns his eyes to the stage just as the hot spotlight reaches Peter, bathing him in its glow. The kid’s eyes go half-lidded, not squinty. The crowd is shouting to goad him on, but the smile he gives is painfully patient, borderline coy. Tony swallows—his mouth is so fucking dry, but there’s nothing for him to wet it with.

Peter holds the microphone between both his palms, lovingly, like he might hold his cock. His eyes shut fully, and a sound comes out of him, picked up and amplified by the microphone, a low sound of pleasure that Tony might make when he eats one of his mom’s brownies after returning home on break. Tony watches raptly, cock hardening already and the kid hasn’t even done anything yet. Then Peter’s mouth parts in a breathy sigh, his head tilting back in the mimicry of ecstasy.

“Fuck,” Tony whispers. The whole world narrows down to that light beam on stage and the boy that’s caught in it. Peter’s breath hitches the way it might if someone was kissing at his neck and then decided to use their teeth, and a long whine comes out of him that has the auditorium howling. The kid’s chest is heaving like he’s having the fuck of his life, and then he lets loose a long, nearly pained groan that Tony can feel in his bones, he can see it all, Peter spread out beneath him, naked (okay maybe he’s still wearing those stockings), fingers gripping the sheets because Tony’s giving it to him so good—

On stage, one of Peter’s hands comes off of the microphone. He presses it against his heart like he’s trying to hold the organ still, but then his palm slips down, thumb catching on the laces of his corset, strumming them as he runs his hand lower and lower and fuck, there’s only one place it could be headed. There’s a ten in the kid’s black panties, no doubt he is at least half-hard, maybe more—and he runs his palm over his own erection. Right there on stage, with a hundred, two hundred eyes on him. With Tony’s eyes on him. The jolt it gives Tony makes him feel like it was his own cock being petted.

Peter pulls his hand back and then dips the tips of his fingers into the tops of the briefs, and the final noise he makes is somewhere between a shout and a cry, the perfect simulation of an incredible orgasm, and it makes Tony’s cock twitch in his pants.

The crowd loses its shit. Of course. And Tony, dazed as he is, barely is able to clap for the kid. MJ stands there the whole time, cell phone out and filming, shooting Tony these little fucking smug looks. His head is still spinning as the stage hands usher the virgins off stage, and Peter returns to them with damp skin, hot from the lights on stage, curls plastered to his forehead.

“How’d I do?” Peter asks, breathily.

“You melted his brain,” MJ says, face tilted toward her phone as she watches the video.

“I—she’s right.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “I—sorry. Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing,” Tony says, shifting on his feet and pulling at the crotch of his pants to adjust himself. Peter’s eyes drop to track the movement and his mouth parts a little, like the breath has been stolen from him. Tony knows then, that the image he had of innocent Peter Parker was only a misconception. This kid can handle his attention.

And if he wants it, he’s going to get it.

“You want to get out of here?” Tony asks.

Peter nods.

-

Consider leaving a tip <3 

[sjbuchananbarnes]

The one where she finds out

Steve rogers x reader 

W.c: 1814

-

“Ok we have the steak ,rice,chips,tortillas,salsa and guac.” Nat pointed at each of the items of food. “What else are we missing?”

“Nothing, beer is cooling along with the tequila, will take everything out once everyone is here.” Wanda assured, looking down to see if she got any stains on her high waisted shorts and white tank top.

“Alright where's the girl of the hour?” Sam walked in the kitchen with Bucky not far behind.

“She had a quick phone call ,she’ll should be done any minute now.” Natasha threw her apron and smoothed down her mini cotton white dress and fixed her tan sandals.  

“What’s up bitches!” You walked into the kitchen, in a cute mini red floral dress and white sandals.

“Congrats babe!” Nat and Wanda made there way to hug you, which ended up being a big group hug.

“400 missions how does that feel,hot stuff?” Bucky asked his arm still around your waist.

“Amazing.” Smiling up at him. “Now what do we have here?” You looked around the kitchen.

“We have your favorites.” Wanda voice was filled with excitement since Nat and her self cooked dinner.

“Thank you girls.” Hugging them once again.

“Anything for our favorite girl.” Nat pinched your cheeks.

“So when are going to eat?” Sam rubbed his belly.

“Just waiting on Steve.” And right on cue the blonde came walking in with a duffle bag in his hand and a small gift in his hand.

“I got called in for a last minute conference call in DC.” He sighed,sad that he had to leave you. “I’ll be back in a week,I’m sorry sweetheart.” Saddened that he couldn't be here with you tonight.

“It’s okay Steve, will go out to dinner, just me and you when you come back.” You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around him, resting in his arms for a couple of seconds.

“I’d love that.” Steve mumbled into your hair, hugging you tighter, and earning teasing thumbs up and winks from the group,which he only rolled his eyes at. As much as he dread pulling away he finally let you go and shoved two neatly wrapped box into your hand.

“Steve, you shouldn't have.”

“It was nothing.”

“Should I open it now?”

“No!” He yelled but tried to play it off “Maybe later, with everyone else's.”Scratching the back of his neck.    

“Mr.Rogers, I’ve been told to inform you that the quinjet it ready.” Fridays voice interrupted you.

“I have to go know.”

“Thank you Steve.” Giving him one last quick hug he walked out.

“It’s always a pleasure, pretty lady.” He walked out.

“Now, let’s feast!” Wanda clapped her hands in excitement and soon you only heard laughs and plates clattering together.

-

“My god I’m stuffed.” Tony groaned and plopped next to heavily pregnant wife,whose swollen feet  rested on the coffee table.

“Me too, everything was delicious, thank you girls.” Laying your head in Bucky’s lap and quickly his hand was giving you a scalp massage. “Buck, stop.” You mumbled,but made no effort to stop him. “ ‘M going to fall asleep,Buck!”

“Ok stop,stop.” Wanda got from her spot next to Vis and made her way to you, with her hands behind her back. “Close your eyes.” Excitement filled her voice, quickly doing as you were told you sat up and closed your eyes. “Tada, open.”

“Wanda you shouldn't have.” You got up to hug her and opened up your gift, it was a photo of the team, in front of the new Stark facility,the one up state, all giving a toothy grin, cuddled up next to one another,happy, you never got to see how the picture came out and this was the first time seeing it.“I love it.” You gasped and held it up to your chest. “Thank you,Wanda.”

“Okay, okay me next.” Nat handed you her gift, it was a small display box that held a scrap of metal along with a bullet and underneath it read. ‘Kabul, Afghanistan,2009.’ “Our first mission.” The two of you were driving a nuclear engineer out of the city , but you were ambushed by the Winter Soldier, both of you shot by him, she worse than you, left for dead.

“ I would've died without you.”

“And now I think I’ll die without you.” You latched onto her.

“Sorry about that,again.” Bucky murmured.

“It’s okay,Buck. We know it wasn’t you.” Resting a hand on his lap for reinsurance. After opening up the rest of the gifts, which were really thought full you were only left with two gifts, Steve’s gifts. Going for the smaller box first, you opened it contained another small black velvet box, after opening it up you let out a gasp.

“He remembered.” You whispered, eyes filling with tears as you traced ever so lightly the bracelet.

“What? What is it?” Natasha was basically jumping out of her seat, everyone around you was just as eager as there redheaded friend.

“One time we went to the mall, you know we were trying vamp up his wardrobe.” Chuckling at the memory of Steve standing in front of your door, asking for fashion advice, which Tony scoffed.

“Why didn’t he ask me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.”You have horrible sense of fashion.”

“Anyways.” You threw a playful glare at Tony. “He asked for my wonderful taste in fashion and we walked by a Tiffany and Co and I saw a bracelet, and it was exactly like the one my mother had, the one she was buried in.” There were tears down your cheeks, memories of your mother flooded your mind, her laugh filled your ears. The horrible sight of your dad holding your fifteen year old hand as she was lowered into the ground.

And before you knew it, you were engulfed into a big group hug as you cried into Sam’s chest.

“I’m sorry.” After a couple more minutes of crying you pulled your self of Sam’s chest, but was still begin surrounded by the group.

“No need, sweety pie.” Pepper gave you her award giving smile.

“Can we see the bracelet?”

“Oh yeah.” You handed them the black velvet box.

Tony let out whistles as examined the bracelet. “ Capsical really out did him self.”

“That must of cost him a fortune.” Wanda couldn't keep her eyes away from the bracelet.

“I can't believe he did this.” Pepper was at ‘aw’ with the gesture.

Bucky quickly let a snort,”C’mon it’s like you guys don’t know him, one time he blew out so much money for a Walther PPK/S, for Peggy because he was so in love with her.” He snorted at his friend.

The whole team stared at Bucky with wide eyes.

“What did you just say?” You questioned him.

Bucky’s eyes widened at shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “ U-uh a W-walther PPK/S, that’s what he got her.”

“No, no, the love part.”

“Uhhh, uhh.”

“Bucky?’

“No, no, no.” He mumbled rubbing his temple.

“Yeah, that’s helping, keep doing that.” Sam patted his thigh.

“So your telling me all you fuckers knew he was in love with me yet decided to tell me nothing?” You paced back and forth through the living room, biting on your thumb.

“It wasn’t something for us to say, sweetheart.” Pepper spoke up.

“Pepper we literally told you that Stark was in love with you, because you were to blind to see.” You threw a questioning look.

“True.” She pointed her finger at you.

“So do you like him?” Bucky aked.

“Of course I do you idiot, It’s so painfully obvious, I thought I was going to have show up naked in his room.” You threw up your hands in frustration.

“What stopped you?” Nat smirked as she leaned back on the couch.

“I kept thinking he didn’t like me, I mean I know he likes me as a friend but I didn’t think it went further than that.” You mumbled and played with your fingers.

“Oh c’mon, your telling you never knew?” Sam questioned.

“Samuel.” You raised your eyebrow at him.

“Okay, okay.” He threw his hands up in defence.

“It’s just that.” Letting a sigh out, “If we were to go on a date, it would be like if we were on our twentieth date. We know everything about each other, if we do go out and then break up it’s going to be so awkward.” You were talking out loud but you were basically talking to yourself .

“But what if you do work out, and live happily ever after.” Tony lifted his brow.

“Yeah, look at us.” Pepper rubbed her belly and laid her head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Fuck it, I’m going to talk to him.” Declaring and standing up.

“He’s already asleep.” Sam informed.

“I’ll just call him tomorrow then.”

-

“No luck.” Wanda asked as she threw herself on your bed.

“I had one second with him before they called him in again.” You sighed and massaged your temple. “He told me he’s not going to be able to talk to ‘till he gets back.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to wait for him when he gets back.”

-

“He’ll be arriving soon, so I’ll tell you how it goes.” You decided to go with  miniable makeup and threw on a pair of jeans and the other gift Steve gave you, a plain white t with a small pocket on the left breast, and it smelled just like him. It was his and he knew how much you loved his clothes felt on your skin and how it smelled so much like him.

One last look on mirror you tied a knot on the shirt so it showed just a bit of your stomach and put on your shoes.

“Good luck.” Wanda and Nat threw you a thumbs up.

“Thanks.”

-

“You got this girl.” You mumbled to yourself as you paced back and forth in the room before going to the actual departure room and before you knew it Maria came running to you out of breath, resting her self on your shoulder.

“Wow, you okay?”

“He’s -He’s not-Woo.” She clenched her side. “Wow I can’t breath.”

“Maria what is wrong?” You stared at your friend who was freakishly out of breath for begin an agent.

“He’s not alone!” She whispered yelled at you not sure who could hear.

“Who Maria?”

“Steve.” She finally stood up straight, and then you felt your heart drop.

“What?” Devastation filled your voice.

And right on cue Steve walked into the room with a very smiling Sharon Carter wrapped in his arm.

“Hi Y/n, I missed you, how was the party?” He gave you a side hug.

“Great.” You threw him a fake smile, you were late.

-

The one where Steve finds out

[excindrela]

Summoned (18+)

Supernatural AU

Pairing: demon! Ayno (Noh YoonHo) VAV / Female reader

Genre: Fluff/ a touch of Angst/ and graphic SMUT

Warnings: occult, oral (female receiving), **graphic sex**

Word Count: 3253

AN: Ok. This is only the 2nd thing I have ever posted, and my 1st attempt at smut (sorry if I offend or horrify anyone). Feedback is always appreciated (please be kind).  FYI: “a-spot” is not a typo. Google it. ;)

Happy Halloween!!

AN2: Ayno returned for Thanksgiving, and by request (thank you lovlies) he has become a series! Christmas is here:  12 Days: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9

It turned out to be the Halloween where things actually did go bump in the night. The truth of which no one would believe if you decided to tell it.

On-the-fly parties were Misha’s specialty, so there you all were, former college roommates with crazy lives & jobs, on the Friday night before Halloween sitting on Misha’s floor in make-shift costumes with random Asian take-out being washed down with cheap rice wine and sake. You played with the Ouija board, read each other’s tarot cards and thumbed through the Urban Witch’s Guide to Practical Spells (bought on clearance at Barnes & Noble for $5.27).

Come to think of it now, the whole thing was Jia’s fault. She was the one who picked up the spell book and started reading from it.  “Oooo! Oooo! This one is for you!!” , she said punching you in the shoulder. Having gotten your attention, she read aloud, “Are you lonely? Sexually frustrated? Summon a demon specifically to satisfy you and take care of your needs.” “I am not sexually frustrated!” you protested. Misha snorted. “…And when was the last time you got laid, Princess Workaholic? Do I not remember you describing your last boyfriend as a ‘lazy pencil dick’?” “I thought it was ‘rice dick’?”, Jia countered. You sighed, “Ok, yes. My last boyfriend was a lazy un-endowed slob who thought only of himself, and it would have taken an act of Congress for him to go down on me. …but 8 months isn’t that much of a dry spell…” Jia shook her head. “Yeah no. You need this.” She said with a laugh. She tore off a piece of napkin and made you write your name on it, then she reached over and yanked 3 hairs out of your head. She grabbed a black candle with a pentagram on it, held it up and read “I seek the realm beyond! I call upon those who can make manifest the desires of mind, flesh, and heart to cross the veil and grant fulfillment!” as she burned your written name and hairs in the candle. You threw a popcorn ball at her head.

The Uber dropped you off at home sometime just before midnight. You dropped your bag on the floor, locked the door and wandered into the bedroom of your converted warehouse apartment. You had just thrown on an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers when you saw a strange blue light coming from the living room. Upon closer inspection, you discovered it was coming from the large antique floor mirror you bought at an estate sale last year. The whole glass was lit up as though surrounded in neon. Slowly a shadow appeared in the center that as it grew larger took on the shape of a person. You stood, transfixed, as a man stepped through your mirror as though it was any other doorway.

He had to be close to six feet tall. Black pointed toe boots with studded bands led to black leather pants with a similarly studded belt, his shirt was a soft button up in white with a red floral pattern, hidden mostly under a burgundy leather motorcycle jacket.  He had a face like Lucifer fallen: high cheekbones, full pouty lips with a ring through the bottom one and a distinct cupid’s bow on top, and almost black hair covered in a layer of teal. He was a sinful nightmare, straight from your dreams.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” you asked with a slight tremble in your voice.

He eyed you up and down. “I am Ayno. I am a lesser demon of manifestation and desire. You summoned me. I was called upon to service you mistress.”

You stared at him in shock. This was not really happening. “What? No…no…no…that wasn’t me. That was Jia. Jia summoned you. I think you have the wrong mirror.”

He smiled as he approached you and gently tucked your hair behind your ear, bringing his long fingers down to your jaw line to raise your chin and get a better look at you. His thumb brushed across your lips as he chewed on his lower one, using his tongue to play with the ring in it. You felt your underwear growing damp just looking at him. “Mmmm…I don’t think so. But let’s check, shall we?”

He turned on his heel and strode back to the mirror he had stepped out of. The neon glow had disappeared and it looked normal again. He knocked on it in a strange rhythm and then placed his hand in the center of the glass. Nothing happened. He was satisfied. “No. The portal is closed. I am definitely here to see to your…needs.” He turned back to his reflection, studying it for a moment. “My hair is blue? Green?” He peered closer. “Exactly what color are my eyes? Am I Asian? ” he questioned. You shrugged, “Maybe? Do you not know? Isn’t this what you usually look like?”  He shook his head “I look however you desire me to.”

“So mistress…how can I serve you? Which of your desires would you like me to fulfill?” he said as he casually tossed his jacket on the couch and began advancing on you.

You started backing up. “Oh no no…I don’t need anything…I don’t think I have any desires…” you said as you maneuvered around the couch, trying to put distance between yourself and the supermodel from hell.

“None? You’re putting off an awful lot of pheromones for someone with no desires.” he chided. You scooted backwards between the counter and the island in the kitchen. He followed you, unbuttoning his shirt and discarding it on a barstool. “Your heart is pounding…see something you like?” he asked. You moved around the dining table, pulling out the chairs and leaving them as obstacles.

Ayno just kept walking toward you at a languid pace. You continued backing up wondering how to stop his advance. Unfortunately, you didn’t pay attention to where you were going and you backed yourself right into the bedroom. Now you were trapped with nowhere to go. This seemed to please Ayno who leaned in the doorway smirking as you looked around in panic for an escape.

“Oh, please. Don’t kill me.” You whispered breathlessly. He smiled and gave a small chuckle. “Aww- don’t worry baby, I’m not going to kill you. …I’m not even going to hurt you…but I am going to make you scream.”

He held up his right index finger and twirled it in a circle before flicking it in your direction. Like some otherworldly cowboy, a rope of red light shot from his finger, lassoed your wrists and dragged you backward onto the bed – arms above your head, your wrists now bound together by energy and secured tightly to nothing. You tried yanking your arms down, but they wouldn’t budge. “You know, the more you pull on that, the tighter it gets.” Ayno cautioned. He glanced down at the university t-shirt you were wearing. “You won’t be needing that” he said as the shirt was whisked from your body by nothing more than a wiggle of his fingers and a wave of his hand. “You won’t be needing those either” he said looking at your boxers. He made a ‘come here’ motion with his hand and your boxers and panties slid down your legs and flew straight to his hand. He put your soaked panties to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly before dropping them to the ground.

He held up two fingers like a Boy Scout and then pointed them towards you and split them apart as he did so your legs shot open to opposite sides of the mattress unable to close them of your own free will. His eyes never leaving yours he advanced on you like a predator to their prey. You felt the foot of the bed dip is he climbed on it and crawled towards you.

“I’ll bet you taste delicious.” He purred, glancing down to eye your dripping sex fully on display for him. “Oh oh no! Please!! Oh please no!” you begged knowing what he was about to do, but the demon only laughed.

With a speed that no human could match, he dove between your spread legs and dropped his head to lick a thick fat stripe up your slit. He took excruciatingly long laps, his tongue stretching out and dipping into your hole at the bottom and flicking across your clit at the top. You moaned and writhed, trying to escape him as he guided the tip of his tongue up and down between your folds. Finally he grabbed your hipbones and held you still as he placed his whole mouth to your core, sucking at the juices you couldn’t stop flowing. Without letting up, he slowly inserted his middle finger to your waiting heat, moving it in and out in gentle even thrusts causing tiny currents of electricity to slide along your slick inner walls. You made soft gasping noises that slowly morphed into “more” as your hips bucked upward to meet the thrust of his hand. Ever obliging, Ayno added another finger and increased the pace. The friction caused you to whine softly as your hips twisted in pleasure, held fast in his firm grasp. You could feel yourself winding up, waiting to be pushed over the edge. “Oh please- please- make me cum” you begged. He raised his glowing red eyes to your sweat damped face, as he moved to take your clit between his lips and suck while he curved his fingers upward into your sensitive spot. You gasped and made incoherent sounds as everything behind your eyes went white and your whole body twitched as your orgasm washed over you.

At last he released your throbbing clit and raised his head, the lower half of his face covered in your slick. You felt yourself growing desperate as he continued working his fingers in and out of your soaked core. His breathing was heavy when he asked “You’re so wet…how do you want me to serve you?”

“Fuck me. Please Ayno…please I want to feel you inside me!” you begged like a shameless slut. You had no idea what had happened to the rest of his clothes, but his body was naked as he shifted on top of yours.

A moment later you felt the sweet painful stretch of his thick cock pushing achingly slow inside of you. He took his time pressing in, letting you feel every inch of him as he slid into you. “So tight” he hissed as he bottomed out. He bent forward gently trailing soft wet kisses down your neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. Gradually, he felt your hips begin to twitch, knowing that you were ready for him to move. He slowly dragged his length out of you pushing back in with slightly more intensity; and with each stroke he increased the pace and added force.

“Does it feel good baby? You like the way I’m fucking you?” he asked as his hip bones crashed into your inner thighs again.

“Mmmmph…uhhh…yes…oh Jesus yes…more…” you choked out.

The demon gave a dark laugh and said “HE has nothing to do with this, I promise you.” as he lifted your legs up over his shoulders and began making quick sharp thrusts that slammed the head of his cock into your sweet spot with every thrust.

“Ayno...my hands… please…” He flicked his fingers at the headboard and you felt the bonds give way and your arms fall to your sides to grip the sheets. You could feel the edges of your vision darkening as all your muscles tightened and the butterflies began in your belly. Ayno reached forward and laced his fingers in yours. “C’mon baby, cum for me…you’re almost there…” he coaxed as he flexed his hips faster. You moaned loudly as the pleasure washed over you like a wave while fireworks exploded behind yours eyes, and you felt yourself clenching around him harder than you ever had. “Yes! Yes! Oh fuck yes!” you yelled loud enough that you were sure the entire building could hear you.

Ayno slowed his pace, and slid your legs off his shoulders until your knees were around his elbows, while he watched you pant and come down from your high. “I don’t think you’re satisfied yet. You want more baby?” “More??” you gasped. He smiled and nodded as he unhooked your knees and reached down with strong hands behind your back and pulled you up until you were sitting in his lap, his cock still buried to the hilt inside you. He began gently rolling his hips, the motion causing him to simultaneously apply rhythmic pressure to your clit and the tip of his cock to graze your a-spot. Your breath began coming in short staccato gasps. You threaded your fingers into his hair “Aren’t you close?” He smiled and shook his head. “Don’t you need to come?”

He gave a throaty laugh. “I can if you want me to, but it’s not necessary. Orgasm or not, I can do this any way you want, all night if you desire.” He said gazing up at you with burgundy eyes that sparkled like glitter and a smirk on his lips. You brought your mouth to his, suddenly prepared to give up whatever sleep you thought you were going to get.

***

You startled as you realized there was someone in the bed with you. Cautiously you rolled over to find your dream-nightmare leaning on one elbow watching you sleep with detached amusement. “Ayno? Oh god. That really happened.  Wh-what are you still doing here? Its’s daylight” Ayno rolled his eyes. “I’m a demon, not a vampire. Daylight is not a problem for me. ...and I can’t leave. You haven’t released me.” “Released you?” “Yeah- you summoned me. I have to do your bidding, and then when you’re satisfied, you release me and I leave.”

“Does what happened really count as summoning?” you questioned. Ayno nodded. “..and do my bidding? I didn’t bid you to do anything.” Ayno’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No? Didn’t you? What do you think last night was?” That? All of that??? “Uh no! That was you demon boy!” The gorgeous demon laughed in earnest showing off the Hollywood-esq smile it didn’t seem a creature like him should have. “That’s not how it works. It’s not about me or what I want. It has to be in you- it’s what *you* want. I just know - I can sense it. But it all comes from you.” You were mortified. That came from you? No no no. That wasn’t you- that was like smut you’d read in a fanfic on Tumblr. Not that it wasn’t awesome, but... “Wait. So you’re stuck here and have to do whatever I want until I tell you to leave??” Ayno’s eyes narrowed. “Something like that.”

*** 3 weeks later***

The smell of coffee pulled you out of bed earlier than you would like on a Sunday morning. You wandered into the kitchen to be greeted by what had become one of your favorite things: Ayno, shirtless, making your breakfast. You paused for a moment to admire the view of his triangular torso, but since he was attuned to you, it was impossible to sneak up on him. He spun around and picked up your coffee cup and strutted down the kitchen like a model on a catwalk to hand it to you. You giggled.

“Did you enjoy the show? Can I have a shirt now?” he pleaded. “Please?”

Please. So human. You’d been working on the human thing. “Of course.”

He retrieved his shirt from the back of the couch and paused at the mirror to look at himself on the way back.  His hair was now chocolate brown, very short on the sides and back, but longer on the top with caramel colored highlights. “I look Asian now.” He confirmed with a smile, as he began fluffing and styling his bangs. He gestured at his new hair, “This is good?” he questioned hopefully. You nodded enthusiastically.

“I think this look will go over better with my family. They will approve, therefore there will be fewer questions.” You explained. He nodded – he didn’t get a choice- his appearance was still subject to your whims. “We can change it up when we get back. I think you’d look great as a blonde.” He arched one eyebrow and eyed you doubtfully as he picked you up by the hips and effortlessly lifted you up to sit on the counter.

“Tell me again about this ‘Thanksgiving’ we are going to.” He asked as he plated your breakfast and handed it to you.

You didn’t answer right away. You stuffed a piece of pancake in your mouth to hide the small wave of guilt that hit you for not having released him yet. Ayno did make great pancakes, but it seemed unfair to keep an accidently summoned demon as a sex slave and pretend boyfriend - even if he was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. He was a good cook, the house was spotless, he had turned out to have a great sense of humor and was a pro at cuddling- as well as everything that came after it. However, you were pretty sure that demons were not supposed to be domesticated, and that this went against his nature…he was probably miserable.

You looked up from the food you had been concentrating way too hard on to find his nose inches from yours. It surprised you, because, if anything, your thoughts and feelings should have pushed him away, not called him to you. He was looking in your eyes in that way that made you think he was staring at your soul (and you weren’t entirely sure he wasn’t).

“I am not unhappy.”

“But this doesn’t seem right.”

He shrugged. “Right is whatever you want, whatever makes you happy.”

“But what do you want?”

He sighed and looked down at your breakfast plate. “My desires do not enter into it. What I want doesn’t matter.”

You placed your hands on his cheeks. “It does to me. What do you want, Ayno?”

“This.” Suddenly, his velvet soft lips were on yours. You were surprised and hesitated for a moment – never before had any of Ayno’s actions been something you hadn’t willed. He pulled away, smiling.

“You allowed me choice. Why?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know…I mean I know you’re a demon, and probably inherently evil, but it just seems like you should have some say in your life.”

Ayno shook his head. “I am not evil. I am owned and managed by evil. But you might be surprised to know that I do have feelings.”

You were surprised actually. “Really?” He nodded. “I assumed that you couldn’t…you never told me.”

“You never asked.” He hesitated a moment, “Why do you keep me here?”

Embarrassed, you went back to playing with your pancakes. Knowing that he deserved an answer, you whispered, “Because I like you.”

He placed his hands on your hips and pressed his forehead to yours. “I like you too. More than any soul I have ever encountered. Is that not how it is done in this world? You like each other so you stay together?”

He made it sound so simple.

“Something like that.” You replied.

[peaches-of-1]

Day 10 | On Tip Toes

Black!Reader x Dad!Namjoon

An excited dark tan little human woke up to their own inner clock and looks around. Mama or Dad must’ve brought them in here after they fell asleep on the couch. Either way, the young girl knew what day it was and excitedly climbed down the pipe like ladder.

She had wanted them painted like the candles in the Kwanzaa display on the special table, but Mama had never gotten to it. Mama was a busy woman and--

Wait, what’s this? There was a camera in the corner of the room. Ah, them again. It was Christmas Day, so of course the aunties and uncles came to visit and set up the cameras while they slept. Sparkling white teeth showed off to the camera and a small hand waved before the roundest face in the world turned to see its only match.

She quickly used her tiny feet to walk towards a face similar to her’s and kneel on the step before the doorway beneath the dark gray sign that read “SANTA’S WORKSHOP” in English and tapped a shirt covered in candy patterns.

“별자리, Byeol-iiiii. Wake up! Our grown up friends are here.” She notified her twin sister just like any good sibling would. “And it’s Christmas.”

Hazel eyes suddenly sprung open, “Is it really Christmas?” 

A stern nod before adorable yawns left 초승달’s mouth and soon two 3 year old bodies were fully awake to make a heart for the cameras like they usually did when are red carpets with their parents. Then they changed the date on their “color by day” calendar and began to hop around in their pajamas.

“It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!” they were just as excitable as their parents for the holidays.

The two girls then opened their sliding door before holding hands and walking to their parents’ room down the hallway, knowing they were asleep but also oh so ready to wake them up to spend the day together.

However, they got distracted by the white lights that had fallen from the hallway as RapMon trotted beside them. The dog sat next to the wall and let the children enact their little plan before they continued on their way.

The uncle in the green tent decorated like a Christmas tree tried not to laugh too loud as he was the only one at the right angle to see this.

Dark skin and hair in a green bonnet was held closely by tan skin with dimpled cheeks that were even more noticeable as husband opened brown eyes when wife got wiggly. A parental Spidey Sense of sorts went off in both adults as she turned to face him.

“What time is it?” I asked in a groggy voice as a farewell to all the sleep I would’ve gotten if it were not for being a mother as well.

“Not yet. Pretend they’re still asleep for a few minutes, ok?” Large and protective hands enveloped slightly smaller ones and rubbed the back of them, the gentle touch almost willing slumber into his spouse’s eyes.

I suppressed a yawn before ignoring the door being opened by two giggling little elves. The door was always unlocked in case of emergency such as an early morning boo boo or a nightmare in the late evening. This was neither, thankfully. Simply two of the cutest little girls on the planet launching themselves onto Mama’s and Papa’s soft embrace.

The usual morning tradition of a four person hug and kisses for everyone ensued. Mom to Byeol, Byeol to Choseungdal, Choseungdal to Dad, and then Dad to mom before it reversed. Cross over and then the kids were excited and bouncing up and down once more.

“Mama, Papa! Mama! Papa! Guess what? Guess what?!” The twins said, jumping on the bed and claiming the hug of a parent for themselves.

“What is it?” Idol and father Kim Namjoon asked.

Byeol spoke up, “It’s Christmas morning! We get to open presents now, right?”

Choseungdal looked from her sister’s face to her father’s, “I really wanna open the big red one!”

I gasped in an overexaggerated way, “A gift before breakfast, isn’t our hug enough?”

“No.” She said, honestly.

“Fair enough.” I replied with a giggle while my husband laughed.

Then he spoke up, “Alright, let’s open a present then, shall we? One before breakfast and then we get all~ cleaned up to eat Mama’s yummy food, ok?”

“Ok!” They replied 

“Wait, Choseungdal.” Byeol said, “We have to show Mama and Papa how we decorated RapMon this time.”

The parents blinked and shared a look. This time? They decorated him again? They literally pulled us into the living room to see the white fluffy dog sparkle with glittering Christmas lights. So that was what you heard in the middle of the night. You had decided to ignore it since you had believed it to be a sound from whatever dream you had been having.

And he was just there smiling like a goofball. Namjoon said that they shouldn’t do stuff like that because it could hurt the dog, and he was too nice to do anything about it. It was a light scolding and more of a teaching moment because no one wanted any sad faces on Christmas. As my husband and I unwrapped RapMon,, Byeol-ie decided to go around and greet all of the aunties and uncles.

They were in Christmas themed tents to help make the young kids more comfortable. The crew of The Return of Superman always came around every once in a while, and it was usually the same ones unless someone was sick or quit or got fired, y’know. Choseungdal had taken a liking to one unnie in particular.

She kissed Camera Unnie on the cheek to greet her while shyly waving to the others. The twins had gained personalities rather quickly according to the family counselor we went to see. Byeoljali...had a more outgoing personality and would often speak up for Choseungdal who was rather non verbal. I had a suspicion that she was like me, and so we were always extra clear in instruction and repeated stuff a lot to make it easier for her to understand.

Byeol was Byeoljali’s nickname. We named her as such since she had light hazel almost amber eyes. Choseungdal was often shortened to Cho-ie.

They were both cheeky sweethearts, though. Both girls enjoyed creative things, so the crafts room sometimes took over the living room. Currently, the girls were not allowed to use rhinestones because it had taken nearly a whole day to get all of them out of RapMon’s fur. The older dog understood that they were only little and they had apologized in the form of treats, so he wasn’t mad.

My two girls sat down after picking out which gift they wanted and I was there with my own camera to take pictures of them opening up their gifts. Luckily, they had similar hobbies, so gifts were easy.

“On three, start ripping them open.” I said. “Ask Dad for help if you need it.”

“Appa!” Cho-ie said. “Help me, please.”

He chuckled and went to sit in between them just in case. I counted to three, and the box opening began. Byeoljali began to open up the gift with raptor like swiftness while Cheoseungdal made sure it was unfolded properly with hardly any rips. Yep, we literally had a moon child. How could we not?

Our love for space and the unknown was mutual, and celestial names were so beautiful.

Cho-ie had gotten a collection of new canvases with a custom easel since the other one was missing a few pieces now. That’s why it was so big: the easel had been set up top of the canvases and already put together.

She hugged her dad and thanked us. Byeol had revealed a new set of paints that included glitter glue too. Maybe it wouldn’t get everywhere if they were in some sort of adhesive already...or it would be harder to get off of furniture. Only time would tell. She sprinted to hug my legs and then did grabby hands for the phone so she could record us.

She didn’t have the best hand-eye coordination or grasp, so I said that our darlings didn’t need to take pictures of us since we already had other adults to do it for us. I just didn’t want another broken phone. Namjoon had gotten us matching chokers that we would surely be wearing out today.

I hugged him and kissed him on his lips, excited to see his expression when he got his gift from me. He opened the bag and gasped, almost in tears as he lifted out the headphones he had been yearning over for the past four months. My husband has said he wouldn’t get them since he didn’t need them and they were too expensive anyways.

He hugged me tightly. Then it was time for coloring the picture of the day while I made breakfast. Namjoon had prepared some stuff last night while I helped get the kids to bed which made cooking much easier. In fact, he had finished making the entire fruit salad and it was wrapped in the fridge.

“Thank you, yeobo! That saves so much time!” I called over to him.

Namjoon just smiled, “It’s my pleasure. I was extra careful too, so no hurt fingers this time.”

I giggled and Christmas music played while I cooked and The Return of Superman got footage for their Holiday Special. My voice sang along as I filled pie crusts with a mix of rice, spinach, and cheese before sticking the first batch into the oven for ~18 minutes. Although he tried very hard, Namjoon-yeobo was still a bit of a hazard in the kitchen. He mixed things very well, though.

Like the vegetables that would become part of our omelettes. I still wasn’t a big fan of omelettes, so I would just be making three for my husband and kids. Also, I knew two of the crew didn’t eat eggs. So a total of five. I glanced over into the living room and saw him handing the girls whatever color they asked for.

Every time he got it wrong, he would say, “I’m sorry, my princess.” and then give them the right one eventually. He soon came over to show me a pictue of our girls in front of their finished mini Christmas tree in their playroom. He took it yesterday and forgot to show me.

It was so cute. All of the eggs were done, so you cut two of them in half as soon as the timer went off for the breakfast pockets. I gave them a quick call to ask if they washed their hands after coloring. The three looked at each other and ran to the bathroom as I set up the plates and washed my own hands.

I looked at the camera people who were in tents, “What are you waiting for? I didn’t make this much food just for the four of us. Use the one in the guest bedroom.”

They were so surprised and decided to take turns to make sure at least two were recording while the others ate. However, they were family at this point and this was a family breakfast. All of them were to sit at the table and enjoy the homemade meal.

I told them that if their boss had a problem, they could bring it up to me directly. I was a child of four, so I knew how to make a lot of food in a short amount of time and still have it taste good. I had even made a few pockets without cheese because a few were lactose intolerant.

Then everyone was ready to dig in. Namjoon made sure that the two elven twinsies thanked me for the meal before eating. It was a very warm breakfast. It was lots of chatter but still quiet and kind. Choseungdal made sure to feed Camera Unnie a few times, getting a thank you in return. Then it was time for me to clean up while my love got the girls cleaned up, getting them to brush their teeth and all that jazz.

The camera people went back into their tents while one stood in the bathroom doorway to record.

Since Joon was an idol, he was usually very busy doing TV shows and making music and all that stuff. So, he got to spend most of the time directly helping the kids on his days off.

Once the dishes were in the dishwasher (the first Christmas gift we bought together) and Cho-ie was in her little Christmas dress, I started on making the cookie dough with the mini sous chef. Both Byeoljali and Cheoseungdal were adamant about bringing cookies to Taehyung’s holiday party. He and his huge family held one every single year, and we always attended.

My apple cake was always a hit, so I was bringing that. However, the kids wanted to do something too. I was glad to have the extra help in making cookies. It was a good distraction while Namjoon got ready first. He’d do their hair and pack up the cookies when it was my turn. The apple cake was a family recipe from this cookbook we’ve had since forever. I was stumped five years ago as to what to make since I had been bringing boozy eggnog the last couple of years before everyone started having kids.

Ever since then, I’d make two cakes just so we would have enough. Namjoon always bought eggnog or vanilla ice cream to go along with it. Every year had a theme, and this time it was pearls. I had found the perfect skirt for it and was able to get two of them. The second one were made into child versions for the young ones if they wanted.

“I’m gonna decorate this one all by myself.” Choseungdal said, grabbing the white makeshift piping bag and adding “snow” to the already frosted Christmas tree.

Byeol was decorating a snowman with edible glitter before Namjoon came in to swap places in the kid duty.

“Why don’t we let Mama finish up the rest of these so she can take a shower?” He said and the kids agreed, getting tired of decorating but not eating as the kitchen smelled of butterscotch and chocolate with a hint of gingerbread.

So, I finished up the rest of the cookies and was able to decorate them after they cooled and surprised them with an extra cookie for them each before heading into the shower to get all dolled up. I loved matching with my family so much! It was something we did often.

Namjoon had put on his black pants with pearls scattered about the legs and green oxfords with pearls in the heels. Pearls also lined his black velvet jacket that went over his green sweater. He put on the more simple looking choker out of the set he had just watched me unwrap meaning I got the bowtie one. He was also wearing his red beanie because he knew how much I loved him in it with a simple pair of gold and pearl drop earrings.

I was in my black skirt that reached just above my ankles with my red sweater tucked into it but outside of the green stockings I slipped on to make walking in my pearl adorned red ankle boots easier. With the pearl and bowtie choker, I put on pearl and chain dangle earrings. I decided to wear a green beret as well.

“Don’t forget this, Mama!” It’s the gift me and Choseungdal got you.

“Oh, really? Thank you~” I said and opened the box, smiling when I saw it was a classic Pandora bracelet.

My hazel eyed girl said, “We helped Dad pick out the charms to go on it.”

Then we turned to our kids and asked them what we did most every day, “Who do you want to dress like, Mommy or Daddy?” which basically was asking if they wanted to dress more masculinely or femininely. I was a girly girl most of the time and Joon-ie was more laid back but still well dressed as most Korean men seemed to be.

Choseungdal pointed to her father while Byeol pointed to me. That was that then. Namjoon helped our little girl into matching pearl pants and jacket with a green knitted sweater underneath while I helped our other little girl into her skirt and stockings with a red sweater that was covered in pom poms that were used to make hearts all about the top. Then we helped put them each into pearl studs that they had worn before.

Namjoon did their hair while I finished up my makeup and we double checked to make sure RapMon was ready to come with. He was by the door waiting for his leash like a good doggo.

“Good boy.” I said and rubbed his head.

The five of us hopped into the car, singing Christmas carols and watching Papa Joon get shy every time a song he sang with the other BTS uncles came on. Sometimes he’ll say which ones he helped to right and we’d talk about that while he two Christmas fairies played make believe in the back seat.

“Hiiii!” I said with two apple cakes in my arms while The two youngest ones held boxes of cookies.

Hugs upon hugs and bows galore occurred while talking overlapped in the forms of greetings and barking. J-Hope’s husband helped me take the cakes to the kitchen while Jin called for the host and his wife.

The children played with their friends while I was handed some sparkling cider by Yoongi, whose facial hair scratched my cheek a little as he hugged me.

“Long time no see.” He said.

“Oh my god! You’re back from America? Since when?” I gasped.

“Two days ago. I wanted to surprise you guys.”

Namjoon chuckled, “Well, it worked. I’m surprised.” and hugged his dear friend tightly.

He had been working on a bunch of stuff in America for the past couple of years and usually sent gifts for the holidays. A young man with raven black hair and pale skin approached both me and Namjoon and bowed.

“It is nice to see you in person, uncle Namjoon and auntie Y/N. Father has told me a lot about you two.” He had to be about 13 and…

I gasped and looked at Yoongi and back to the kid, “You can’t be 시우. The 시우 I know is this tall, and you’re a whole tree.” I put my hand near my hip.

He giggled nearly at eye level with me, “I am 시우.”

“Oh my gosh~” I beamed. “Well, it’s nice to see you again. What have you been up to? How’s school and your hobbies?”

“I got in a bit of trouble recently, but school is going well. I kept skipping one of my classes since the teacher is super ignorant. He is my history teacher and tried to incorrectly explain the Joseon area to me. I always show up for test days, though.”

Namjoon chuckled, “It seems that righteous rebellion doesn’t fall far from the tree.” and took a sip of his own cider.

Siu chuckled, “I have to choose an extra elective to do outside of school if I don’t want to be suspended, but I’m not really a creative guy.” he pulled at his ear like Yoongi did when nervous.

His father spoke up, “Your auntie here is a pretty famous actress.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say famous.” I replied, my cheeks getting warm.

“Would you suggest I take acting? It is the only one I have seriously been thinking of doing.” Siu looked up at me with his deep blue eyes that he got from his nameless mother.

I had to nod, of course, “Stage acting is a very good skill to have. Although you’re not lacking any confidence, it can help you feel a bit more comfortable in public spaces. Keeps you accountable too. You have to learn your lines or you let the cast down. More importantly, it is a lot of fun.”

He nodded. Namjoon kissed my cheek and said he was going to check on the kids while I continued my conversation with the young teen. I enjoyed telling my theatre stories, but I am sure Joon was tired of hearing them over and over again.

Namjoon walked into a curious scene of nearly 10 children sacrificing his moonchild who was tied up with a jumprope to the side of a bookcase like contraption. He could just stare at the kids in various wigs and holiday clothing reenacting something.

Hoseok entered asking, “Why did it suddenly get so qui--”

Taehyung’s second youngest child came in with a bucket of water which Namjoon scooped out of their hands rather quickly, too in shock to say anything.

“What’s going on?” Hobi asked instead.

“Daaaaddd, we’re reenacting Uncle TaeTae’s TV show.” A darling little kid with blonde pigtails reached for the bucket of water. “We need the water to splash on Choseungdal’s faaaceeee. It’s her punishment for fighting on sacred ground.”

The brown haired father shook his head and Namjoon silently walked back to the bathroom to pour the water out while his hyung told the children to use fake water and their imagination instead of real water and to make sure the jump rope wasn’t too tight.

Not exactly the type of parenting the dirty blonde man was hoping for, but as long as they were safe, it was ok. He then recorded the children’s antics for a while to show Taehyung.

Although, it was another Hwarang member that he saw kissing his wife on the cheek.. Do Jihan and her had won favorite TV Couple nearly every year for the past 10, even that time he played a stalker. So the three knew each other well.

“Jihan-hyung, it is nice to see you again.” Joon slapped his friend’s back, making his wife giggle at the facial reaction.

“Ah, yes. Ouch. I’m doing well.”

Y/N giggled, her teeth like marshmallows on top of hot chocolate and Namjoon wanting to sip every last drop of her. Taehyung lifted her up and spun her around all of a sudden.

“You guys are here! I’m so sorry it took me so long to come see you. I was finishing up something for my daughter.” and then set his friend’s wife down.

She kissed him and his wife on the cheek before they hugged Namjoon. The older man had hopped things wouldn’t be as awkward this year since Tae was married to Joon’s ex girlfriend, but she was an awkward girl. She wasn’t sure if it was ok to hug him or if it was better to bow or just shake hands.

“지현,” I begged, “Please, just hug him or bow. It’s not that deep, fam.”

The three men laughed at how straightforward I was. It was like this every year since Tae got together with Jihyeon, and I was sick of it. I could not care less that she was an ex to my husband.

Jihan put his arm on one of my shoulders, “That is why you are my favorite co-worker.”

I laughed and asked how the kids were doing, not expecting my husband to show me and the others our kids playing “Hwarang” since the youngest ones were now learning how to read and Tae’s children were natural thespians.

“I need to sit down.” I said as soon as it was time to open presents.

The cookies and the cake were hits, and I had my fill of the food that was there. Gifts and friends were amazing. Whatever troubles we had been having throughout the year and were still probably were going on could wait until next year a week from now. Right now, it was time for an outing to the park for the boys’ performance.

It was a medley of all the title tracks they had done throughout the years with the last one being done by the kids that weren’t too grumpy. The boys were idols after all, not even fully disbanding or retiring, just not performing as often as a group.

Jungkook and Jimin with their spouses revealed that they were going to have their first children soon. Jin’s 10 year old asked if she could name the baby, making everyone laugh before it was time to pack everyone up into cars and head to the park.

Namjoon squeezed my hand, “Our kids will be fine. You will do a great job, and I will be there to help you as soon as possible.”

I nodded and he kissed me before going off to perform for his fans. Some older than me and some younger. I was there with the other spouses talking and momentarily checking on the kids who were being watched by the older children. Siu was the second oldest to Jin’s triplets, two girls and one guy who made 14 this year.

When the boys were on stage, it felt like I was 20 again, staying up late nights to watch them on award shows and festivals in the states due to the 15 hour time difference. Sometimes it was like that even when Namjoon and I were dating.

Now I was much older with two of his kids, Cho-ie sleeping on my shoulder and Byeol-ie in my lap. They would wake up soon because this song was their song.

“To my children” Suga and Namjoon said.

“Yeah.”

“To my stars and my moon. To my children.” Namjoon continued.

“Yeah.”

“I hope that I’ll see you soon. Your dad loves you no matter how far away and every time I look up at the sky I know you’re looking at the same one, same sun, same moon, same star, same love. Love you. Be home soon, ya don’t give mom too much trouble.”

He wrote a song years ago that was a B-side that got more popular than the title tracks. By that time, Jin already had his kids. Hobi and his husband had adopted their first child. Yoongi was back in the states for this comeback while 11 year old Siu was being raised by his nanny for a bit since the mom left after stealing several things and dumping the child on him.

서준, 민서, and 윤서 said that the children were ready for the stage and got the point choreo down as good as possible. My little elves woke up and yawned, ready to show off their skills. Both of them had gone after the microphone and the paintbrush on their first birthday, and it was no surprise that fate had decided they would be in the arts.

Choseungdal said in her small voice, “I don’t wanna dance today.”

“It’s ok. Do you still wanna go on stage, though?”

She nodded and held onto me as we brought 13 kids on stage to help close out the holiday concert in the park. Everyone went wild as several of them had on noise cancelling headphones since they couldn’t keep their eyes open so long.

The others danced and sang along with their dads having a grand old time. Byeol-ie ended up being carried by Namjoon while I had Cho-ie in my arms. Looking out at all the faces that loved my husband and their father, I recognized a few who had been with them since the beginning. They had kids too now.

In the car ride back home, our little elves had tinkered themselves out and were fast asleep with RapMon by their feet. I was exhausted as well, knowing the crew of The Return to Superman crew would be back tomorrow for Kwanzaa and the cameras would still be there.

Namjoon took one hand off of the wheel to hold my hand, causing my attention to turn from the hypnotizing city lights that passed by to the comforting fingers rubbing the back of my hand.

“Thank you so much for being the mother to my children. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

I smiled and kissed his hand, making him smile and scrunch his nose, “Merry Christmas, yeobo.”

He giggled, “Merry Christmas, yeobo.”

[rogerblackwolf]

The Fox and the Huntsman

-Year 1889-

The man awoke suddenly to the blaring of the steamship's horn. He reluctantly gets dressed and heads up to the top deck, his eyes adjusting to the dawn light and the smell of seasalt teased his nose. He stretched because he didn't sleep well, the various vertebrae in his back were popping loud enough to be overheard by a pair of crewmen as they went about their morning duties. He then leaned against the rail to further awaken himself, the spray of the sea helped as did the rays of the sun as it made it's ascent above the horizon.

"Up early again, I see." The captain of the vessel said as he descended the steps from the helm of the steamship.

"Didn't sleep well." The man replied

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Soldier's lives are hardly peaceful." The captain said

The man looked at him surprised before asking

"How did you know?"

"Remember when those rebels had an uprising back in 1828 in Brazil? I was in the Royal Marines back then, I just so happened to be in port during it all." The captain says showing a pin from the time.

"I was in the 66th." The man says

"At Maiwand?!" The captain asked stunned

"Yes."

A few moments of silence went by before the captain spoke once again.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, Captain Howard Channing, at your humble service."

"Nathan Andrews. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He says as they shake hands.

The two vets proceeded to chat while the ship continues on its course. The call "Land Hoe!" interrupts their conversation. Nathan looks out to see the horizon turn from ocean to a vast expanse of land, in response he goes below deck to his cabin to collect his things, including an letter with an official seal. He sits down on his bunk reading it one more time.

"Sergeant Nathan Andrews

By the order of the Elders, and the will of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria of England, you are to be sent to the colony of Hong Kong, China to hunt a vengeful spirit that has been causing trouble for many of the locals; one village in particular has expressed great concern about this spirit. Your mission is to travel to this village and determine the nature of this spirit. If it is possible, relocate it somewhere away from civilization; if the spirit is hostile you have permission to kill it. May your hunt be a success and your travels safe.

-Elder J."

Nathan then folded the letter and packed it away before checking his weapons. His single shot carbine, his 6 shot webley revolver, and finally his bayonet. As he did this, a second letter fell from his pack, this one from a woman he was engaged to in London. He had hoped this this hunt would be short so he could return quickly.

By the time he got back topside, Nathan realized that the steamhip had managed to dock.

Once the anchor was dropped and the gangplank lowered, Nathan was among the first to disembark along with several of the crew. The captain waved him off and wished him luck as Nathan surveyed his new surroundings. Unquestionably Hong Kong was a beautiful city, the streets were full of people from food vendors to clothing salesmen, and shops. The mountains however captivated and startled him reminding him of a time he wished he could forget.

Thankfully he was brought back to reality by a tapping on his shoulder. Nathan turned and was met with a short portly man dressed in a suit with a dark overcoat and a wide brimmed hat.

"Sergeant Andrews I presume?" He asks whilst nervously extending his hand.

"Yes." Nathan answered a little on edge

"Oh jolly good, I'm Reginald Collingwood. The Order saw fit to elect me as your guide and interpreter." The portly man explained as they shook hands. Mr. Collingwood then went on to explain the situation as he understood it from his own investigation.

"It started some weeks ago, the villagers all told me they witnessed a young woman come into town for supplies. The day after she left several young men became bedridden and had episodes of convulsions; I, myself, was able to cure this with some help from a local monk, curious fellow. Still though the villagers believe until this spirit is found and destroyed they will be in danger."

"Do you have any idea what I should be looking for? Aside for some strange woman?" Nathan asked

"Well I'm certain the villagers would be keen to assist you. We're heading there now." Reginald responded as he brought Nathan to a cart, the driver ready to take them to their destination.

The sun was directly above their heads by the time Nathan and Reginald had arrived at the village. With some assistance from the villagers the two Engishmen found themselves welcomed into the Elder's home. Nathan was fascinated by the many rituals that went into serving a single cup of tea, not to mention he was also served a bowl of rice with some sort of meat coated in a spicy sauce.

"Mr. Collingwood, I'd like to begin my hunt as soon as possible." Nathan insisted after they each had their fill

"Alright alright, I'll translate for you so don't worry." Reginald stated before asking the Elder about the spirit.

The elder and Reginald spoke for some time with Reginald stopping every so often to explain;

"He said that a mysterious woman came from the wilderness looking for rice, meat, and incense. She didn't leave til evening but when night came, the first of several young men began having convulsions and talking in their sleep. They kept saying the same thing.."Shen Li". Curious if you ask me." Reginald stated

"Is there nothing else he can tell us?" Nathan asked gesturing to the Elder.

"He said that the woman went North and the only place that he can think of is an old shrine that no one has visited in decades. Perhaps that would be a good place to start?" Reginald questioned

"Better than nothing." Nathan spoke.

After everything was said and done, the two men thanked the Elder for his help. Nathan decided to leave Reginald with the village for his safety, after all it was just an animal he was hunting. Taking his weapons, Nathan traversed to the northern parts of the countryside eventually arriving at the ruins of an old temple. The stonework was noticeable despite the multitude of vines and overgrowth, on the inside was wooden pillars holding up a stone roof and a shrine had freshly lit candles and incense.

"Someone was here...where are they now?" Nathan asked himself before deciding to lay in wait at the back of the temple. When night came so did the keeper of the shrine. Dressed in a loose white robe with long black hair, Nathan could barely make out a feminine figure in the low light. Only when he made himself known did he see her face, her eyes captured his attention the most. Their silver glow striking him in a way that made him blush embarrassed, even making him lower his weapon.

"Who are you and why are you here?" She asks in English.

"You speak English?" Nathan asked

"Should I not when faced with an English Man?" She replied.

"Hmph, you got me there." Nathan said.

"You have yet to answer my question." The woman responded.

"Right you are, I am Nathan Andrews and I was sent to hunt a spirit that may have come from this temple." He explains

"Do you intend to kill this spirit?" The woman asked as she locked eyes with him as if studying him

"If this spirit is a danger then yes...I won't hesitate." He said after a pause.

"We have not been introduced, I am Shen Li and I am a Hulijing, a fox spirit." She says, revealing her long tail and ears.

"I am Nathan Andrews. A Huntsman from England." Nathan said

"For being polite I will give you an explanation. You have earned that much." Shen Li says.

As Nathan sits with her, Shen Li explains that her magic is random in terms of enchanting men. In many cases men tend to forget her and move on with their lives due to her reclusive nature but sometimes men become annoyingly obsessed and refuse to leave her alone. Shen Li then goes on to say those particular men she tried to ignore but their cries and pleas are not deaf to her, she had to physically remove the enchantment herself. Thankfully there was a Englishman and a monk who cured the men she accidentally enchanted recently.

'Hmm, guess Reginald wasn't entirely useless.' Nathan thought.

"Well...what do you think? Am I a threat?" Shen Li asks him.

Nathan contemplated silently weighing the evidence of both her testimony and Reginald's investigation. As he thought he couldn't stop looking at her as if absentmindedly memorizing the curve of her cheeks, the smoothness of her skin, and her lengthy black hair but above all he found her eyes the most pleasing. He was so lost in them he didn't realize she was staring back at him, as if looking for something hidden.

"I think you're misunderstood, and despite your abilities you are not a threat. If you wish, I will gladly leave you be." Nathan says finally.

"I do enjoy my life here but it does get lonely. I would not be opposed to you returning whenever you wish. It is late, you may remain in the temple til morning. Get some rest, I must hunt for food." She says before turning into her fox form. Nathan would be surprised but he was already tired to begin with, he watched Shen as her silver fur glistened in the moonlight and with a pounce out the entranceway she was gone.

Once Nathan had lied down he began to slowly dose off but this night he didn't have any nightmares, for the first time in many months he was able to have a peaceful sleep. Nathan stirred from his slumber by the rays of morning, as he went about having some rations for breakfast he saw no sign of Shen. He decided to head back to the village since his work had been done, the only thing left to do was to deliver his report. As he traversed the path Nathan felt at ease, again a first in a long time. When he arrived back at the village he was welcomed by the people and Reginald.

"Mr. Andrews! Great to see you again old chap. Did you find the spirit?" He asked

"I did, and I have a report to write and send." Nathan responds

"Of course, at once." Reginald said as he showed Nathan to a office where he could write. It took maybe an hour before Nathan emerged once again and gave the letters to Reginald.

"You know what you have to do. Ensure the Order gets the report first. The second one I will not fault should it arrive late." Nathan said

"Yes of course, and where will you be going?" Reginald asked as the wagon was brought to the residence the two men were staying at.

"To have a chat with someone I met." Nathan said before he gave Reginald a handshake and a pat on his shoulder before walking back off into the woods.

Reginald also saw a silver furred fox sitting on a rock at the edge of the woods, even he could tell there was something not normal about it. When Nathan got close to the fox it let him pet it's head gently before both disappeared into the forest.

"Hmm, Curious." Reginald said to himself as the wagon leisurely made it's way to Hong Kong's port.

[minhoslut]

♡ summary: Y/N is a fairy in a world of magic hating humans, who moves into a house with seven young men after being kicked out of her old dorm. She learns about all their secrets while hiding hers for as long as she can. Lots of parties, games, sex and maybe even love.

♡ pairing: ot7 x fem!reader, fem!reader x various idols

♡ chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | ? |

♡ series warnings: alcohol consumption, blood mention, drug use, mxm, fxf, threesome, foursome, orgy, swearing, anxiety, depression, past trauma, past abuse

♡ series genre: fluff, smut, slight angst

♡ series rating: R

♡ word count: 2530

♡ posted on: AO3

♡ chapter three: closer

Groaning, you stretched your body as you woke up, soft sunlight dripping into the room. Slipping on a floor length, silk, black robe  with slight puff sleeves, you exited the room and made your descent. Jungkook and Taehyung were in the kitchen and looked like they were going to choke when they saw you. “What’s wrong?” You questioned, eyebrows raised in confusion. “You just, look nice, is all…” “Oh. Well thank you! I like this robe quite a bit and the slip makes my figure look nice!” You shot them a smile, “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can change?” “NO!” They both basically yelled at the mere thought of you changing. “I mean, no, you look good and if you are comfortable with it so are we, just, tell us if anything we say is too much?” “Oh for sure, though I’m not to shy with any of that stuff, and you all seem like good people.” The boys seemed to relax at your words and you smiled again, heading to the kettle to make tea.

You chatted with the two as you sipped your drink, the rest of the boys slowly joining you at the table, each with their own reaction to your outfit. You told them all the same thing and it seemed to make them feel more comfortable. You were excited that they seemed to adapt fairly quickly to your somewhat odd personality, it warmed your heart, but you knew you couldn’t put your full trust in them. It had blown up in your face the last time, and you didn’t feel like going through that again. Pushing the memory away, you tuned back into the conversation.

“Me, Jin and Tae have class on campus today so someone else has to make food!” Hoseok said. “Not Namjoon, he sucks!” “Says you Jungkook!” “I can cook you guys.” You said laughing. “Really??” Jimin looked at you with the biggest puppy eyes you’d ever seen. “Yes, I’m not the best but I was the one in charge of food in my old dorm.” “You’ve saved us all.” Yoongi said sending you a smile. “So what do you guys want anyway?” “Uh… Anything you make is better than whatever we would’ve made.” “How about salmon and egg fried rice?” “That sounds soo good (Y/N).” Jimin all but moaned, “It’s a plan then!”

“By the way (Y/N), do you have any on campus classes?” “Nope! I don’t like campus.” You said making a face, you found it incredibly boring to sit through classes, especially since you didn’t even need them really. “Lucky~” Jungkook whined, “Mine are so boring.” “How else would we meet anyone to invite to parties then?” Jin said shaking his head. “I guess, but it still sucks dick.” Jungkook grumbled back. Hoseok clapped his hands, “Ok idiots, we have to go now so don’t destroy the house!” You all exchanged goodbyes and then they were off down the road in Hoseoks car.

The remaining four and yourself dispersed to get dressed, you opted to shower first and gathered your clothes before heading into the bathroom. It was more modern than your bedroom, brown tiles lining the floor, a glass shower and a big tub beside the window. It fit your taste perfectly . Stripping out of your robe and slip, you stepped under the warm water of the shower, a sigh leaving your lips. You were very connected to all the elements and being enveloped in them was always pleasurable. You washed your white locks and exfoliated your body, you briefly considered masturbating quickly, but you weren’t good at keeping quiet so you settled against it. You dried your body with a quick spell and wrapped your hair in a towel, slipped on a black t-shirt dress  with a pink decal that looked like angel wings on it, and some knee high black socks.

Back downstairs, you curled up on the couch with your laptop, begrudgingly writing an essay for one of the stupid human classes you were in. At some point Jimin joined you with a laptop of his own, and Namjoon sat opposite reading a book. You assumed Jungkook was still in his room and Yoongi was definitely in his, you could hear the soft beats of music coming from above you. Around 5pm you stretched and removed yourself from the couch, heading into the kitchen to begin making dinner. “Do you mind if I put music on Jimin?” You called to the black haired boy on the couch, “Nope, go ahead!” You shuffled the music on your phone and danced to the beat as you cooked, singing sometimes to songs that you knew by heart. “I really like it but it’s too late, Too bad, it’s already 12. What to do? It’s already 12.” Chunghas ‘Gotta Go’ made you want to dance, so you did as best you could while still cooking.

Just as you finished putting the dishes on the table, Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung came through the door. “It smells so good~” Taehyung called dumping his bag and skipping to the table, “I’ll grab the others!” Jimin called running up the stairs. Once everyone was seated you all served yourselves, “So how were classes?” “Soooo boring. I wanted to come home the second I got their.” Jin whined, the other two nodded in agreement and you giggled at their despair. “Don’t you all have only like, one on campus class?” “Yes and?” Jungkook said, “You have zero so you get no opinion!” Taehyung stated, you just rolled your eyes and laughed again.

Namjoon and Yoongi did the dishes when everyone had finished their food, “Thank you for cooking such yummy food for us (Y/N)!” Jungkook said, surprising you with a hug from behind. “Yah! Don’t be so touchy!” Jimin smacked Jungkooks arm. “It’s fine! I love skinship, and I’ll tell you if I’m uncomfortable, don't worry.” Jungkook stuck his tongue out at Jimin and continued to nuzzle into you from behind, Jimin just shook his head and went upstairs. Taehyung joined the hug so you were now sandwiched between the two, it was nice and warm and they smelled so good. “Guys~ Lemme go.” Immediately freed from their embrace, you blew them each a kiss and ran upstairs.

Your heart was beating fast in your chest as you hurried to your room. It was like they were trying to make you lose it on purpose, holding you like that. You wanted to kiss them both then and there but it was still too early and you didn’t feel like using a spell to make everyone who had been downstairs forget about it, that was too much work. One day you would get them but for now it was too soon, you didn’t want them to feel awkward. Stuff like that never bothered you, but humans were always acting weird after something sexual happened between friends or roommates.

Sighing, you threw your dress off and pulled on a black one piece swimsuit with cross straps on the back, and high cut sides . A black sheer long-sleeved beach cover up  and you made your way to the pool, surprised to find Jin sitting on the deck with his laptop. “Studying in the dark?” You called as you walked over to the lounge chair beside him, sitting down and catching his gaze. “(Y/N)! A late night swim?” He gestured to your attire, “Yup~” You popped the ‘p’ and smiled at him, he returned it with his own and his eyes twinkled.  He is really stunning. You thought, studying his sharp features, “Like what you see~” He teased. “Yes, you’re very handsome.” You cooed back to him, giggling at his taken aback expression.

Tossing your cover on the chair, you dip a foot in the pool. Perfect. You smile to yourself and lower your body into the pool, swimming to the bottom once you had submerged. The water was like the best friend you never had, always there when you needed it, never judging. Resurfacing, you brushed the wet hair out of your face and stared at the sun setting in the sky. Beauty was everywhere, surrounding this house and living inside it, you were happy with your decision to move in here. The boys were all welcoming and fun to be around, not to mention how you had made some progress in the physical department.

Diving back down you swam along the bottom, twisting your body about in the water, relishing in its embrace. You weren’t sure how long you swam for, but when you decided to get out, the sky was dark and full of stars. “Pretty~” You murmured, watching the moon as you squeezed water from your hair, a towel was wrapped around your shoulders and you turned to see Namjoon. “Thanks.” “No problem, I saw you forgot to grab one.” He winked at you then headed into the house, it seemed Jin had disappeared inside as well while you were swimming. Pulling the towel tight around your body, you walked into the house and up to your room.

Peeling your damp swimsuit off, you changed into a cute silk, baby blue shorts romper, that had white lace on the bottom . You slipped under your sheets, and scrolled on your phone for a minute, but soft moaning distracted you. A deep moan was coming from the room next to yours, as you listened closer another slightly higher pitched moan was mixing with the low one. You bit your lip and tuned your hearing into the room, thanking the universe for giving you the ability. Your hand slipped between your legs and you rubbed your clit slowly, the moans next door were delicious. Inserting one, then two, then three fingers you pumped faster as the moans got louder and more unwound, you shoved your other fingers in your mouth to keep the moans down and for the choking sensation.  

Judging by the heavy and excessive moaning whoever it was in the next room was getting close and you clenched your walls tight, finishing at what you assumed was the same time as them. You breathed heavily and removed your hands from you pussy and mouth, licking your own juices off and flicking off the lights. You felt a bit bad for tuning into them, but you had been able to hear them regardless. Not like you could apologize anyway, without seeming crazy. Sighing, you fluffed your pillow and let sleep take you.

~

Sun on your face woke you in the morning, rubbing your eyes and getting out of the sheets, you made your bed with a quick wave of your hand. Downstairs at the bar, sat Yoongi and Jungkook drinking coffee. “Morning~” You sang as you walked over to them, sitting on a bar stool beside Yoongi. “Good morning (Y/N)!” Jungkook returned your greeting while Yoongi just nodded his head. “You two are up early?” “Class.” Yoongi mumbled, sipping his drink. “Oh boo, that’s no fun.” You pouted at them and Jungkook ruffled your hair, “It must be done though, gotta let people know about Friday~” “Oh? What’s Friday?” Your curiosity piqued. “Your welcome party! Time for you to experience your first one here.” You couldn’t contain your joy and jumped up to hug Jungkook. “I’m so excited!! This is gunna be so fun!”

“What’s gunna be fun?” Namjoon asked sleepily as he came down the stairs followed by Jimin. “I told her about the party.” “Oh, I’m glad you’re so pumped! Me and Jimin are going to the liquor store after lunch to get supplies.” “Can I come?” You asked making your eyes big and round. “Yeah, for sure.” Jimin said sliding onto the barstool you had been sitting at minutes ago. You walked over to the cupboard and reached for the box of froot loops on the top, stepping on your tiptoes to try and reach. A warm body pressed up against your back as Jungkook grabbed the box for you, “You’re a little shorty too, huh? Jimin you aren’t the shortest anymore!”

“Hey~” You whined, “I’m not short! You guys are just too tall.” Grumbling, you poured your cereal as the four laughed at your complaining. “Let’s go Yoongi, can’t be late.” Jungkook called hopping off his stool and and tugging the older boy with him. “Have fun at school.” You mocked, sticking your tongue out at Jungkook and stealing his now empty seat. Namjoon sat at the bar with you and Jimin and ate his toast, while the two of you ate your cereal, exchanging conversation.

After putting your bowl in the dishwasher, you headed upstairs to pick your outfit, and bumped into Taehyung on the stairs. As you lost your balance when you bumped into him, he was now holding your waist to keep you steady. “G’Morning (Y/N)~” He purred, not letting you go. “Morning Taehyung, did you sleep well?” “Mhm. You?” “Very well~ I’ll see you in a bit I’ve gotta get dressed.” He pouted but released his hold, you giggled and blew him a kiss as you skipped up the stairs.

The heat of his hands lingered on your waist as you searched your drawers. We may have found our first target. White fishnets underneath ripped blue jeans and a cropped long sleeved white shirt fit your mood  for the day. Leaving your room you linked arms with hoseok, who was looking very sleepy and confused, on the second floor and the two of you entered the kitchen. Jin was up now too and Namjoon seemed to have disappeared somewhere. The 3 boys were dressed casually in jeans and various coloured shirts, but they fit just right and hugged all the right spots. They seemed to make anything look good, which was frustrating to say the least.

Grabbing your laptop and heading out on the deck, you settled in one of the lounge chairs and worked on some school things, just enjoying the sounds of nature from the woods behind the house. “(Y/N)~ It’s lunch time~” Taehyung sang from the doorway, “Mmk, be right there!” You closed your laptop, satisfied with what you had gotten done and followed Taehyung inside. “Yum, something smells good!” “Why thank you, I made grilled cheese for lunch.” Jin said smiling at you as you sat down at the table.

The boys joined you and everyone began to eat, cheese melted perfectly on the bread. “How do you make everything so perfect!” Jimin moaned as he ate. “I’m just a man of many, many talents.” Jin laughed. “Any specific requests from the liquor store?” Namjoon questioned the group. “Strawberry soju!” Hoseok suggested, “Oh and vodka.” “Get a rose, too.” Jin chimed in.

“Alright, strawberry soju, vodka and rose, you two are with me so you can decide there.” You and Jimin nodded in agreement.

When everyone finished, you cleared the table, insisting it was your turn. Once everything was tidied up, you and Namjoon followed Jimin out to his car. Namjoon sat in the back, telling you to sit up front with Jimin. When you had all settled in and buckled up, Jimin started the engine and you were on your way4

[caiuscassiuss]

Whiplash | Bad Boy! NCT Yuta (M) P.2

 P A R T  T W O

Description: “They say good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring heaven to you.”

Genre: bff’s ex/ badboy angst | fluff | romance WC: 6.1k Warnings: alcohol, recreational drug use and distribution, graphic smut (angry sex) unhealthy possessiveness, profanity

(A/N: It’s probably necessary to read part one but this is basically the chapter where all the drama happens sooooo)

   “This scene looks familiar!” Eunji says jokingly as she comes through her apartment’s door, hands laden with bags of ice cream and junk food.    You grumble as you snuggle into the cocoon of blankets you have made for yourself, an astronomical belt of wrappers and trash surrounding your figure.    “So. I bought peaches-and-cream ice cream along with vanilla bean, 2 bags of onion rings and like some gummy bears. Good?” Eunji kneels down and starts sweeping away the trash from your bed.    Your head pops out and you mumble your thanks as you open the onion rings bag, greedily stuffing the high-sodium into your mouth. Eunji laughs at the sight of your cheeks being stuffed with food and shoves a bit to the left as she settles herself into your bed.    “If you told me two weeks ago you would be crying over a breakup with the same boy I was crying over, I would have never believed you,” Eunji muses, staring up at the whirring ceiling fan.    Your best friend was surprisingly un-shocked when you told her that you fucked Yuta and then consequently dumped him. She didn’t get mad or hold a grudge, but only looked at you sympathetically.    “Well, here we are now,” you sighed.  

   “Pick your poison! Popcorn, Hot Tamales, Doritos, or candy corn? Also, I brought the Hunger Games,” Taeyong exclaimed as he burst into your apartment laden with bags, his ears red from the cold.    “Why the fuck do you have candy corn? It’s the middle of February,” you criticize, peaking your head out of your cocoon of blankets you have set up for yourself.    “Look, they were on sale, okay? And I bought—” Taeyong held up a bag that was roughly the size of medium-sized rice bag “like 50 million of these fuckers. For nine dollars. Is that a steal or what?” he laughed.    At this, you gasped dramatically and your glasses slid down your nose. “What would Mrs. Lydia and her health pyramid say about that?”    “Her? Fuck our Health class, it is totally acceptable to live off of candy for a week,” Taeyong muttered as he plopped his butt down onto the couch next to you. He held up the plastic grocery to your perusal.    “Hot Tamales?” You scrunched up your nose, seeing the flaming red and yellow packaging stuffed in the bag. “Who the fuck likes those turd nuggets?”    Taeyong froze and turned slowly towards you, an expression of shock and disgust on his face.    “Turd nuggets?! Hot Tamales is God’s invention!”    “In what world? Hell?”    “I’ll have you know that only intellectuals eat Hot Tamales!” Taeyong defends, swiping the remote from your hand.    “The only people I see eating Hot Tamales is you and, like, Kim Kardashian. What does that say about your IQ level?” you quip back.    At your admittedly brilliant comeback, Taeyong floundered like a fish, mouth opening and closing several times before he childishly turned away, clutching the bag.    “You know what, meanie? You can’t have my snacks!” he pouts.    At his adorable pout, a wave of laughter erupted from your lungs. Taeyong could always raise your mood, no matter the state of mind you were in. In fact, Taeyong (and maybe Eunji) have been your pillar of support these past few weeks. Even if his first initial reaction was to beat Yuta to a pulp when he heard you spontaneously start sobbing during a phone call, he heeded your words and calmed himself down. While stewing in his anger for Yuta, he was an absolute angel. You wanted pizza? He said he’ll be there in 5 with a 4 cheese pizza. You looked down? He dragged you to an amusement park and stuffed you full of cotton candy. It was certainly a departure from the frat boy persona you had seen him grow into as you two grew apart, and it was… nice to see the boy from your childhood again.    “Taeyong!”    He didn’t budge.    “Taeyong, please?”    Not a single twitch.    “Taeyongie?” you said hesitantly. It was his childhood name.    At this, he turned his head around in shock only to be met with your pathetic eyes of desperation. He pursued his lips, but you could see his resolve crumbling before your very eyes.    “Agh, fine!” he exclaimed, surrendering the snack bag.    Everyone in the world could burn as long as you had him by your side.

    Later, when your head accidentally fell onto his shoulder while the Tributes were being introduced, snuggling and mumbling complete gibberish, Taeyong felt a warm feeling in his chest.    If this what the future looked like if he took a chance—    It would be totally worth it.    

  “Taeyong, I know you have girls to fuck, parties to throw and people to slow down, but I have to be somewhere!” you seethed at your best friend, dragging him out of the lecture hall.    “Calm your tits, woman, I’m trying to pass this fucking class!” Taeyong shot back, running a hand through his black hair as you strode down the hallway.    “By seducing the teacher? Tell me more,” you replied dryly.    “What can I say? To reach their goals, others fly, others walk, and I just sweet-talk my way there,” the handsome boy smirked, eliciting a short laugh from you.    He was so cute but so greasy. Taeyong noticed you smiling slightly, and a crease appeared between his shaped brows as he contemplated you.    “Why are you smiling like… like one of those Barbie dolls?”    You turned your gaze towards him and your soft smile turned into a smirk. “Are you comparing me to a Barbie doll, Tae? I didn’t know you saw me like that,”    Taeyong uncharacteristically blushed, and started stuttering out his apologies.    A wide grin split your face as you laughed at his red-faced complexion. The way his eyes widened even further, his stutter and the way he kept shaking his head was adorable.    “No, but, for real, this might seem random and all, but I really wanted to thank you for what you’ve done the last few weeks. Like, I don’t think I would’ve passed my classes in my current state of mind without you or Eunji. So, erm… thank you a lot,” you awkwardly smiled, and rested a hand on his forearm.    Taeyong looked like he wanted to say something, but his eyes caught onto something behind you and his happy expression vanished with a snap.    “Y/N, come on. Why don’t we go the indoor route? I heard it was going to rain in a few minutes.” He started to tug at the hand you rested on his arm, pulling you towards the double doors you just exited out of.    “But the weatherman said there was a zero percent chance of rain—”    “Well, well, well, look who it is— the new campus couple,” a voice drawled from behind.    You froze.    You knew that voice.    That voice seduced you with its honeyed words, grunted in pleasure whenever he came, and the voice that wasn’t there when you kicked him out of your apartment.    Yuta.    “Y/N, c’mon!’ Taeyong tugged more insistently now, but you were frozen in place. A rush of memories accompanied that voice and you could only stand, helpless, against its overwhelming force crashing into you.    “W-What do you mean, campus couple?” you stuttered, eyes taking fleeting glances at his face.    A huge smirk broke over his features as a devious light entered his eyes.    “You mean you don’t know?” he asked, playing with your confusion.    “What?” you frowned.    “Y/N, don’t sit here and listen to this lying motherfucker!” Taeyong hissed.    Yuta’s eyes drifted over to him and imperceptibly frowned, before covering it up with a taunting expression.    “Isn’t obvious—”    “Y/N, let’s go.”    “— that he’s in love with you?”    At first, you wanted to deny it. Because of Taeyong? The boy you knew since you were in nappies? The one that pulled at your braids and cried because his Disney cap strap snapped at his chin?” No way.    But the more you thought about, the more Yuta’s sudden reveal made a bit more sense. No guy who drifted from you after freshman year in college would do that much for you unless his feelings ran... deeper.    Taeyong had stopped trying to pull you away from Yuta and stood uncomfortably next to you like he was ready to shield you. His back was tense and his expression was pinched. He looked so discomfited that even if he wanted to protest, his body language gave it away.    You frowned and opened your mouth to ask Taeyong, but Yuta interrupted before you could.    “So he hasn’t made his move, based on your reactions. Huh.” Yuta shifted his eyes is to Taeyong, who looked like he wants to run away but also fight.    “Well, I have.”        Taeyong froze.    “Oh yes, I definitely made my intentions known on Y/N. It was— what, 3, 4 months ago? Yeah, that was a good night,” Yuta chuckled, the perfect picture of lazy confidence.    “Yuta, shut up,” you hissed, looking worriedly at Taeyong who was turning a ghost-white.    “Princess, you don’t want me to. Honesty is the best policy!”    You gritted your teeth at his light-hearted comeback, but otherwise stayed silent and still. What could you say in the face of that?    Yuta walked slowly towards Taeyong, like a predator stalking its prey. “How does it feel, Lee?”    Taeyong, now at least a bit recovered, shot Yuta a dirty glance. His posture was coiled tightly. “How does what feel, Nakamoto?”    “Knowing I was making her cum while you were wishing you could even touch her?”    “You piece of motherfucking shit!”    Taeyong leaped at Yuta, who dodged easily as if he were anticipating the strike. Your best friend recovered and tried to land a punch at Yuta’s jaw but Yuta had already kicked him in the ribs.    “What the fuck?” you exclaimed in disbelief.    Taeyong gritted his teeth and went back on the offensive, trying to land a blow on Yuta. He managed to get through some Yuta’s defense, some that would definitely bruise, but not punishing enough for his anger. Yuta, however, kept an infuriating smirk the whole he was dodging.    “Can’t pass a test, can’t score a girl, and apparently can’t throw a punch!” Yuta taunted.    “Yeah? Well, I’m not the one who’s spreading fucking STD’s around campus!” Taeyong shot back and at the same time smashed his knuckles into Yuta’s mouth.    Yuta paused for a bit, both retreating a bit. He swiped the back of his hand against his bloodied mouth and turned serious.    “Looks like pretty boy has some bite. Not bad.”    Yuta then went on the offensive, landing punishing blows Taeyong bravely defended against. You could see a red flower bloom on Taeyong’s eyelid as they kept fighting.    “Yuta! You piece of motherfucking shit, stop it!”    He ignored you, as per usual.    “Taeyong! Do you remember what you promised me?!” you shouted desperately at Taeyong.    “I don’t really have time for that now, Y/N!” he yelled.    “You promised, Taeyong!”    He paused momentarily at the despondent tone in your voice but Yuta took that as an opening, knocking a punch into Taeyong’s already bruised eye.    You ran, stupidly and blindly, to pull back Taeyong. Yuta almost continued forward but stopped himself    “Do you remember, Taeyongie?” you whispered into his ears, a hand on his shoulder.    He shuttered his eyes painfully and sighed, as his shoulders slumped.    “Yes.”    “Then?”    “...Fine.”    You sighed in relief.    “This is disgusting,” Yuta complained, crossing his arms.    “You!” you rounded on him. “You piece of motherfucking shit. Rot in hell for all I care!”    You took Taeyong’s bruised arm lightly and dragged him off.    Yuta stared at your backs walking away and clenched his fist until he could feel his blunt fingernails digging into his calloused palms. His chest felt like someone had just stepped on it, crushed his ribs, and stomped on his lungs. Your face of utter anger and slight shock was burned into his retinas. He wasn’t an enough of a romanticist to say it felt like his heart was crushed, but what was he feeling in his chest?   

  It’s been a few days since you witnessed Yuta and Taeyong exchange blows in the courtyard of your college campus. After getting Taeyong home and cleaning him up, it quickly grew awkward between the pair of you as the weight of his said/ unsaid confession pressed on you both, but you fled his apartment before it could get any worse. You hadn’t come back since.    But beneath your skin, hot anger towards Yuta’s behavior simmered like a boiling tea kettle. Where the hell did Yuta get off behaving like this? What right did he have to expose one your friend’s insecurities that drove a wedge in a great friendship? What divine being allowed for him to taunt you like this, so bold to start a fight?    It built over the few days like a tsunami wave behind your eyes. It grew when you saw someone getting high behind the sciences building and expanded when you heard your neighbor’s cries of passion late at night. You should’ve known it would’ve boiled over at one point.    As you were exiting your 3 o’clock class, Yuta’s figure rounded the corner with his hands casually tucked in his pockets. A black backpack was slung on his shoulder, while his earbuds allowed him to tune out the rest of the world.    A flash of bright red anger flashed behind your eyes and you could feel your shoulders tensing up. You wanted oh so desperately to go over there and slap his pretty face, bruise it and blacken so it would at least come close to the damage he inflicted on your heart.    Your chance came when he neared your spot near the bathrooms, and you recklessly stepped in front of him.    Yuta stopped, raising an eyebrow while pulling out his earbuds. “Oh? Princess? Are you here to come back and confess your eternal love for me?” he smirked.    Your lips curled at his casual arrogance. “No, Nakamoto. Not now and not ever.”    “Harsh, but soon you’ll find yourself alone in bed and remember the feeling of my hands on you. You will never get over me, Y/N,” he pronounced with such certainty that it infuriated you.    “Where do you get off speaking like that, huh? First to me, and then to Taeyong! There was never need to push him like that, you piece of shit!” you hissed, careful to be relatively calm in the deserted hallway.    Yuta’s gaze grew a bit more serious, until the slight smirk he had on his face disappeared and was replaced but a frown. “He would’ve kept pining after you like some pathetic puppy, and I can’t stand to see shit like that.”    You poked a finger into his chest. “Taeyong is a great person! He’s my best friend and— “    “-- your secret admirer. Tell me, how have you two been for the past few days? He finally confessed?”    You stayed silent, while he stared at you smugly.    “Avoided each other, huh? Che, what a pathetic—”    “You, shut up! He’s done more for me in the past few weeks than you have ever done since I met you!”    The corners of his lips turned down until his face was perfectly serious. “Say what you want about me princess, but you can’t say I haven’t done anything for you. I cared for you after we had sex! I cleaned you, I stayed with you,  I… held you!”    Frustrated tears came to the corners of your eyes. “Yeah? And while you did that, you fucked girls behind my back and never bothered to make me feel like I was wanted. Newsflash, Yuta, of course, I wouldn’t be grateful because you fucking used me!”    Yuta’s lips smashed into yours hard, pushing you against the concrete wall of your college. His hands came up to cup your jawline, desperately tilting your face to receive his passion. In the midst of his tongue clashing with yours, you could feel his anger and frustration and jealousy poured into your kiss. You didn’t know you could make him lose his composure to this degree, and it was… hot.    He drew back suddenly and grabbed your wrists, dragging you behind him until you reached an empty classroom oh so conveniently placed right next to your previous classroom. He threw off his bag and ripped out his earphones, cornering you against the wooden door of the classroom.    “You… make me so… angry,” he murmured between liplocks.    And you? You knew you should be pushing him off, kicking him in the balls until he couldn’t reproduce, but it had been so long since you had felt him pressed up into you with his cologne making you dizzy and the familiar hardness of his sculpted chest. Your body was betraying you, and it made you mad.    You pressed back into his kiss, actually contending for dominance which took him off guard. Your tongues and teeth clashed together as you both tried to express your anger and frustration into this kiss, unable to properly confront it.    You could feel your lips bruise as he moved down to your neck, harshly biting and nipping at the delicate skin of your neck. Your head was tilted up in rapture you clenched at Yuta’s shoulders so hard that your fingernails were digging in.    Quickly, he divested you of your shirt and his. He continued his nipping and sucking down to your chest as he pulled up your skirt to your belly.    Yuta fingers pulled down your panties, exposing your pussy to the air. While his lips were on your chest, you helped pull down his tight jeans and underwear.    You gripped his cock tightly in your palm, harshly stroking it up and down. He groaned angrily and you could feel his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist. You totally knew it would bruise.    “Stop it, princess,” Yuta protested, but you kept going. You had his cock in a vice grip, rubbing your thumb over his head that was oozing precum.    He gripped your wrist and pinned it behind your back, gaining back control. He lifted you up over his the head of his cock and slammed you down, both of you eliciting groans at the familiar wave of pleasure.    His grip loosed on your wrists as he instead clamped his fingers of your waist. He pistoned his hips up into your pussy as you whined pitifully in an open room.    “Fuck you feel so good, baby, I fucking missed this,” he hissed.    His cock, slightly curved, rubbed against the walls of your pussy in a way that drew the most pleasure from you. Your back was slammed painfully against the wooden door but it was overridden by the pleasure the man in front of you was giving.    “Yuta!” you cried, tears that were angry and full of pleasure running down your face.    He grunted and increased his pace, slamming into you so hard that every thrust he did make your butt clang against the door. If the hallways were empty enough, any person who wasn’t an idiot would know what was happening this door.    Your nails created angry red marks against his back while he buried his head into your shoulder. There were pain and pleasure, anger and lust surrounding the pair of you in a haze, intoxicating you until all you could think about was the person seated inside you.    Yuta groaned lowly and his hips stuttered, his previous rhythmic drive pushed away in his orgasm. You arched your back into his chest, clenching your eyes tightly as you orgasmed right after him. You could feel your fingers digging into his back and blood underneath your fingernails, and his back flexing in pleasure.    The both of you panted heavily, finally coming back to the world. Your hazy eyes caught on his discarded shirt on a desk and your breath caught in your throat.    Holy fuck, what had you done?    You just had a quickie with a man that emotionally ruined you for other men, making you unable to trust anyone or anything. Just willingly spread your legs for him to hump his merry way into.    You pushed away from him hurriedly, pulling up your cum-covered panties and pulling down your extremely ruffled skirt. You slipped away from him and the door frame, grabbing your materials in a rush.    Yuta looked at you with wide eyes and extended a hand forwards like you were a skittish doe.    “Y/N—”    Cutting him off, you pushed through him and ran into the hallway with no destination in mind.    You didn’t look behind, but heard his frustrated “fuck!” loud and clear as the door was kicked angrily.

   The two of you sat in awkward silence, watching the Hangover in Taeyong’s apartment with your usual stash of unhealthy junk food by your side. However, there was no playful banter, snuggling, or food fights only a stiff silence.    You refused to let what Yuta said to affect your relationship, and showed up at Taeyong’s house 8pm sharp with a bag of shit from the convenience store and a blanket. He was visibly shocked but said nothing as he let you in.    He already had some snacks set up beforehand and a movie in his disk player but clearly wasn’t expecting you, only getting one bottle of Coke and one pillow on the couch. Few words were exchanged between the two of you, and eventually just settled into the routine to watch the movie.    An hour nearly passed in silence with only the loud soundtrack of the movie to listen to. You fiddled uncomfortably but cracked as soon as you glanced at Taeyong’s unreadable face.    “Okay, I can’t stand this. Can we… can we say something?”    Taeyong stared vacantly at the screen for a few moments and sighed, running a hand through his fluffy hair.    “Y/N I- I just have no idea what to say,” he managed to get out.    It was silent until you broke it. “I think we need to acknowledge what happened the other day.”    He snorted and leaned back on the couch. “Shoot. Go for it. There’s not much to get.”    “I- Is it true? What Yuta said?” you asked hesitantly.    “...yeah. It was pretty obvious,” he said flatly.    Your lips parted slightly in shock.    “Wha— wh— how?” you stuttered.    He grinned uneasily and fiddled with his blanket. “Y/N, everyone and their mothers could see I liked you. Can see that I like you. It’s just you never noticed, you dumbass.”    You slapped him on the arm lightly and frowned and in return, he gave you a slight smile.    “How long?”    Taeyong sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Fuck, uh… I don’t know. Since grade school, maybe? I can’t remember.”    “Grade school?!” You nearly fell off the couch.    He raised a thick brow at you. “Y/N, I literally hung out with only you. Remember getting annoyed when your hair would always get loose from its ponytail or pigtails or whatever? That was me. I hated seeing you with your hair up and always tugged it down. For fuck’s sake, I gave you my fucking goldfish and I give no one my food.”    You couldn’t look him in the eye and tried to look at other things in the room other than him. He let out another sigh and stilled your fiddling fingers with his hand, forcing you to stare at him when he turned your chin towards him.    “Y/N. I know we drifted apart during some of high school and some of college, but believe me. I like you. You’ve always been—” he put your hand on his chest, feeling his heart fluttering under your touch “here.”    He leaned forward, desperately trying to impress upon you his years on yearning.    Could you see it? In his lips were the squeals of joy the two of you shared when you play-fought, tickling each other with the unrelenting persistence of 5-year-olds. In his eyebrows you saw that slight slit he cut in sophomore year, his big “fuck you” to his parents even when he looked terrified holding the razor over your bathroom sink, looking back at you nervously for encouragement. In the scar underneath his eye was his embarrassment when he fell down from the swings when he was 10, tears seeping out of his eyes while you sobbed along on the grass beside him. And in his eyes…    Was everything. Every time you’ve been together, you could see it in his dark, almost black eyes.    You didn’t realize you were almost a hairsbreadth from each other until you felt his minty breath wash over your lips.    “Y/N…” he whispered.    “Taeyong…” you said.    He leaned in closer and so did you, but suddenly his black hair transformed into a dark brown, the uncertain lilt to his lips replaced by the devious curve of a smirk, and the edges of his eyes sharpening.    You jolted back from him, the hypnotic lull broken.    He looked at you sadly and averted his eyes away from you.        “I should’ve guessed it, huh?”    “Taeyong, I-”    “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”    Your mouth trembled. “... yeah,” you whispered.    He was silent as he buried his head in hands. However, after a few moments, you could see the slight tremble to his back as he gasped in silent sobs, filling every crevice of your heart and cracking it open. Tears splashed onto the comforter beneath him, each one panging deep in your chest like a physical blow.    You hesitantly circled your arms around his shoulders, trembling in repressed emotion. He stood stiffly in your embrace but quickly buried his neck in the crook of your shoulder. Wetness bloomed in the material of your shirt as he sobbed into you, his hands gripping onto your waist and bunching your shirt in his fists. You cried along with him, your face buried in his hair and trying to offer some semblance of comfort while your love for two boys split you apart.    “I shouldn’t. I hate it, Taeyongie, but I do. I do.”    

   Yuta stared at the murky waters of the campus’ lake, looking at the small fishes dart frantically in the water.    Was he a man that usually did this? No.    That’s why it must have really seemed fucking weird to see a well-built boy sitting pitifully in the grass, spread out on his leather jacket cradling his jaw in his right palm.    Uncharacteristically, the turmoil in Yuta became so great that he made the decision to collect his thoughts by trying to find some bullshit serenity in nature. So far, the wind was blowing his hair in eyes, the bugs were buzzing around him, and his boots were getting dirty.    Not really the ideal conditions to figure out why the fuck Y/N couldn’t get out of his mind.    He groaned and slumped back into the grass, giving up on trying to figure this out. He closed his eyes, deciding to try to slip into a light nap.    However, he felt a figure towering over him after a few minutes and he kept his eyes shut, hoping they would get the message and kindly fuck off. When they remained there still, he cracked open an eye to see who the hell would disturb him with his lips curled into a slight sneer.    When he saw the black hair and angular features of Lee Taeyong, president of Sig Nu and all around nuisance staring down at him, his sneer deepened into a black scowl and he sat up.    “Is there something you want, besides from disturbing my peace?” he said viciously, unable to explain the feeling of red-hot rage coursing through him as he caught sight of Taeyong.    The man snorted and clambered down next to him, not quite invading Yuta’s personal space but enough to make him uncomfortable.    “Frat presidents and people I’ve beaten black and blue don’t usually come crawling back to me. Come back for another reminder?”    Yuta tilted his head to the side and smiled viciously. “Oh, maybe you like the pain. Certainly explains why you’ve been hanging around Y/N so long—”    “Shut your mouth, Yuta. Besides, you say that as if you didn’t have to wear bandages on your face for a straight week,” Taeyong interrupted.    “Then why are you here, Mr. Friendzoned?” Yuta asked deceptively softly.    Taeyong stayed silent but looked him straight in the eyes.    “Do you or do you not want Y/N?”    Yuta was taken aback at how straightforward Taeyong’s question was. He expected some good verbal jabs exchanged before Taeyong revealed his real intentions, but apparently not.    “Yeah? Look, if you’re trying to warn me away—”    “And what are you willing to give up for that?” Taeyong sharply asked.    Yuta was truly set back into silence by the implications of the question but quickly recovered.    “None of your fucking business, Lee. Go back to moping.” Yuta turned away from Taeyong fully intending to leave but Taeyong’s grip on his collar forced him to stay.    “Get your fucking hands off me—”    “I may not be the one she wants, but I’m not going to sit back and watch her be broken over some fucker that doesn’t know what he wants. So tell me, Nakamoto, what are you willing to fucking give up for her?”    Yuta couldn’t answer Taeyong’s straightforward question, and stood there opening and closing his mouth like an idiot. To be truthful, Taeyong’s question struck a chord in him that he had been trying to bury, and was the answer he had been trying to figure out for the past few days.    Taeyong’s grip on his collar loosened as he saw Yuta struggling for an answer, and stepped back into a more appropriate distance.    “You don’t know, do you?”    Yuta stared back at the lake.    “What do you see when you first think of her?” Taeyong asked.    “... her face. Her face when she’s asleep and looks so… so peaceful. So unguarded.”    Taeyong inwardly raised a brow at his unexpected response but kept his face straight. Truthfully, he expected some fuckboy response like “her ass” or “her pussy cumming around me” but got a surprisingly mature response.    “When you see her in pain, what do you want to do?”    “Take it away,” Yuta responded immediately. Beat up whoever the fuck did that to her and… and hold her.”    “You know she’s in pain because of you, right?” Taeyong couldn’t resist getting a jab in.    “...yeah.”    Taeyong looked at him curiously, and as his face relaxed into the mask of realization Yuta felt an uncomfortable swirl in his stomach.    “You can’t get her out your mind, can you? No matter how many girls you fuck or how many blunts you take, you really can’t get Y/N out of your mind.”    Yuta stayed silent.    “I’m right. I’m always right. But Nakamoto: can you really give that up just for one more pussy to fuck? One more night spent getting high instead of spending it with her?”    “... No,” Yuta breathed out, eyes wide.    “Then you know what to do.”    Taeyong patted Yuta on his shoulder and stood up to leave.    “Why are you doing this?” Yuta asked, his thoughts jumbled and out of order.    “...I’m doing this as her best friend, not as… not as the person who wants her. If I have to push away my happiness so she can have a chance at hers, I’m... alright with that.”    

 You twisted the silver rings on your fingers nervously, trying to get your mind away from the impending meeting in a few minutes or maybe seconds.    This was a bad idea, you thought. A really bad idea.    Really, that had been echoing in your mind ever since you opened your phone, scrolled through your contacts list, and tapped unblock on ‘Yuta’. A voice whispered in your ear to stop as you typed your message, your fingers trembling so bad that autocorrect couldn’t decipher your message. And maybe, just maybe, it hissed furiously at you when Yuta responded. You shivered even when you were in a thick cardigan.    “Y/N,” a voice beside you said softly.    At first, you couldn’t believe that was him. The way he said your name was too tender, too delicate in nature that it couldn’t be whips-and-chains Yuta. You could scarcely even believe it when he stood in front of you like a figment of your fever dreams.    “Yuta. You came,” you whispered hoarsely.    “Of course I did.”    He moved to sit next to you, closer than you would’ve liked, and you scooted away from him slightly. You could feel him still in disbelief before he settled down.    10 minutes must have passed with the pair of you sitting in silence, avoiding each other’s gazes.    “Why did you text me to come out, Y/N?” Yuta asked softly.    “I want to tell you…” you trailed off, reaching a hand up towards his cheek. He closed his eyes and nuzzled into your hand like a puppy, while you stroked your thumb over his fading bruises. “That I want nothing to do with you anymore.”    His eyes snapped open and he jerked away.    “What?”    “Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming, Yuta. I thought this what you wanted?”    “I did but—”    “Either way, Yuta, I’m making your wish come true. I don’t see the confusion here.”    His confused expression suddenly grew dark.    “Is this because of— what her’s name? Inji?”    You gave him a cold stare and jerked your head no. “Her name’s Eunji. And it isn’t because of her; it’s because of all of the “hers”.    At his confuzzled state, you sighed. “Yuta, I didn’t make this decision lightly. I didn’t just tell myself one day: I’m going to tear Yuta out of my life. You can’t just do that to someone whom you’ve given your entire fucking heart to.”    “So?! I still have your heart, you can’t just leave it behind!” he hissed.    “But I can! Yuta, I love you so much it hurts and yeah, you may have my heart, but look what you’ve done to it! It’s ruined because of you!”    “It should be because you’re mine.”    He said it with such finality that red swam in your gaze. “See? This is the fucking reason. You treat me like complete and utter shite one moment only to get angry and macho when I show some shred of self-dignity. Yuta, I know you haven’t been in any functional relationships, but that’s unhealthy! Manipulative! Grounds for fucking emotional abuse!”    He ran his hands through his hair and seemed lost for words. Suitably pleased enough in imparting your decision, you slowly got up. You left him a mourning stare and slightly turned your head away to cover your trembling eyes.    “This… This is the part where I leave. I’m going to—”    Yuta stood up quicker than you anticipated and grasped your upper arms.    “Would you stop for one moment and listen to me?!” he harshly gasped, eyes trained intently on your wide ones.    “I’m not going to just let you… leave. Just— fuck!”    He swooped in for a kiss, however, with none of the passionate ardor his other’s had. This was gentle, almost casual in nature, but you could feel his desperation in every swipe of his tongue.    “Y/N- Princess, I… I realized how wrong I was after… after you left. I thought I wouldn’t care, that you were some chick that lasted a bit longer than the others, but to my fucking surprise, I couldn’t get you out of my goddamn head. I literally can’t stop thinking about you!”    “Okay, Yuta, but—”    “I spoke to Taeyong,” he interrupted rudely.    “You did what now?!” you nearly screeched, head spinning in this emotional rollercoaster.    “Yeah, I fucking did. And you know what he did? He asked me what I would give up for you.”    “...W-what did you answer?”    “Everything.”    You stared at him in surprise.    “The parties, the drugs, the girls. Even my own fucked up self just so I could… so I could wake up beside you every morning and… and stay with you.” The words stumbled so awkwardly from his mouth, careening sideways like drunkards at a bar that you could see him visibly unsettled. So unused and so unable to express.    However, you didn’t know what to do. Your heart was so set on this decision, so when your assumption that Yuta would just accept it and move on was shredded to pieces, you didn't know how to respond.    “N-no, that can’t—”   “Jesus fucking Christ, why can’t you see I’m fucking in love with you?” he hissed and grasped your cheeks, pulling you to him.    You stood there shock still, tears climbing to the edges of your vision and blurred like your train of thought.    “I- I don’t know, anymore Yuta. I can’t deal with this,” you tearfully choked out. But before he could speak or say something, you tore yourself away from him and strode off with your head in your hands.    For the first time in his life, Yuta was left high and dry.    His heart in his throat.    Heaven hurled to his feet.

(A/N: probs didn’t live up to the hype lol but im proud of it. hope y’all enjoyed it and my fantasy became yours.)

(A/N:Also, I do have a fucking “read more” function on this okay? Don’ t @ me)

[lighterandpaper]

Awake

Her smell was totally new to me, yet somehow the most familiar thing in the world. We were sleeping on a mat on the floor, and I felt like I had never gotten such a good night’s sleep. I blinked at the soft light coming through the paper window. I was afraid to turn over and see who was next to me. I heard the strange woman stir and stand wordlessly. A little while later, I heard the sound of pouring. I finally sat up and saw her there, squatting with a teapot, steaming green tea in two cups. She looked up and smiled. My stomach burned, and I half coughed, half yelped. She laughed.

“Surprised I woke you,” she said. She walked over and set a cup of tea on the floor next to my bed. “I usually can listen to a whole podcast before you get up.”

I sat up straighter and readied myself. I had done this so many times, but I never knew how they would react. I was numb to what would either be total disbelief or anger. Very occasionally, they humored me. Somehow, I felt nervous to tell her.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I said. I didn’t even bother to read the expression I knew that statement would elicit. “Every time I go to sleep, I wake up in a new place as someone new. When I go to sleep, I will disappear and your…husband?” I looked at my own body for a clue about their relationship. No ring. “Or whatever – he will come back and I’ll be gone.”

She blinked and her head tilted. Again, my stomach twisted. “Ira, is this a joke? I’m not getting this one yet.” She touched my hand. I pulled it away, feeling like it was a violation.

“Most people don’t believe me. If you want me to go for the day, I will. Ira will come back tomorrow. Just tell me where to go.”

She sat on the bed and took a while to answer, blowing her tea. The steam was bright white in a beam of sunlight. She squinted at me, apparently waiting to understand a game. She finally shrugged. “I’ll play along. Tell me about some other lives you’ve lived.”

I was taken aback for a moment. Her expression was an exaggeration of nonchalance. “Ok. Once, a few people back, I woke up as a truck driver.”

She looked bored as if she thought Ira was doing a bit and he was not impressing her with his imagination. “That’s it?”

“Well, he had been driving when he fell asleep. I was in him just long enough to drive off the side of the road to my death.”

“Ok, that’s pretty good,” she said. “Tell me another one.”

I nodded. I took the tea and began to blow as well to gather my thoughts. “What is your name?” I asked. My heart rate rose so high that I was genuinely concerned. Did this Ira guy have a heart murmur or something?

She smiled and appeared to get lost in thought for a few seconds. “I’m Kai. You’re my American boyfriend Ira. We are living in the mountains of Japan for a year. Come look.” She stood and I followed her to the window. Outside was a hillside composed of even steps – rice, I realized – that culminated in an untouched peak. Birds sang, rain pattered, and the only visible human touch was the gentle farming on the slopes. My skin tightened with pleasure at the sight. Kai was watching me closely.

“I didn’t know you could act,” she whispered.

My eyes shot to her unconsciously and then away again quickly. After a pause, she touched my arm. “Ok, I wanna keep playing. What’s your name?” she asked.

“I can’t remember my first one if that’s what you mean.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“As far back as I can remember. Maybe forever.”

She considered this. “And you’ll be gone as soon as you fall asleep?”

I nodded.

“How long have you ever stayed up?”

“A few days. I doze off eventually. That’s all it takes.”

“Tell me about your other lives,” she said. She was watching me very closely, eyes unblinking. I rubbed my throbbing chest. I told her about being a woman in an abusive relationship and how I tried to use my time to tell someone and get her help, but that I was afraid that I might have made it worse and that I never stop thinking about that. And the time in 2003 that I woke up as Leonardo DiCaprio and spent the day doing crazy amounts of drugs on a yacht. I told her that I was worried I killed him, so I checked the news in the next person and was relieved that I didn’t. I told her that almost no one ever believes me. I only tell people if I wake up in a clearly intimate situation and I don’t want to take advantage of the partner.

“You’re oddly moral for a bodiless entity,” she said, still as if she were testing Ira. But maybe a little less now.

“I feel like a person,” I said, hearing a tone of defensiveness in my own voice. “I feel like I am a little of each of the people I live in. I think that if I had a body, it would be a little of each.”

“That would be the most average human body in existence, probably,” she said.

I shrugged. “I am pretty average in some ways.”  

“You don’t seem average.”

“Neither do you,” I said.

She looked at the floor finally. They shared a silence. “It’s probably just because you’re in my boyfriend’s body,” she said.

“What is?”

She looked up. “Oh, I guess half of that thought was in my head. Not to be too forward, but you’re the expert here. Is it cheating on Ira if we have sex?” 

I expected the question, but I still felt my stomach flip. “Uh, well I don’t really know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Have you ever done it before?”

I looked away. “Yeah, I mean it’s bound to happen sometimes. Like I said, I try not to take advantage.”

She didn’t seem to hear me. “Ira, this game is working.”

I didn’t answer. She kissed me, and my concern went away. 

The rest of the day was spent drinking tea on the porch and talking. We went quiet when an old Japanese couple walked by. Kai smiled broadly at them and offered them tea. They declined with a kind gesture. When they disappeared around the corner, Kai turned quickly to catch me staring at her, as if she knew.

She asked me what felt like a thousand questions about the lives I had lived. We sat closer and closer to one another. Eventually, she reached up and grabbed my face. “I wish I knew your name,” she said, looking hard into my eyes as if it might be written in them. Weirdly, I could bear to just sit there and look back. I had never felt so comfortable.

Kai took off work the next few days. “We’re going to keep you awake as long as we can.” I was already tired from the one day and I doubted I could last days. I smiled anyway. We talked and laughed and drank green tea until we were vibrating. I actually hoped this guy didn’t have a heart murmur. I didn’t ask. 

We watched the sun rise and set over the beautiful hills both times. The elderly neighbors came over and offered us some cooked rice. Kai accepted graciously. They seemed to understand that we didn’t want to leave each other for even a second because they brought us two meals of rice a day after that. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” I said, looking out over the sky.

“Me either,” she said. She gripped my hand tighter. “Is it a bad life?”

I considered. “It’s the only one I’ve known. What’s it like to stay in one body?”

She shrugged. “It’s the only thing I ever was in.”

“I can’t imagine living a whole life in just one body. There is so much to see out there. And so many ways to see it.”

“Believe it or not, I thought about that before I met you.”

“I believe it,” I said.

I lasted longer than I ever did before. After the sixth day, we entered a state of constant delirium. We mostly just looked at each other. On the eleventh day, my eyes couldn’t stay open anymore.

“Don’t go,” she murmured, laying on my chest.

“I’m here,” I said.  

She sat up and dragged me upright. “You’ll fall asleep,” she said drunkenly.

I nodded, digging in an eye.

“I love you,” she said. She laughed as if it was just meant to be a shock to my system. As if it were just the craziest thing she could think of to keep me awake. But her fading smile told me that it was real. Her eyes gazed into mine, and I knew what it meant to be human.

It was a soothing thing. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was looking at white sheets, my body in a new position. I felt hot tears. I closed my eyes again, still tired, and dozed. I woke up on a beach, a book on my nose. I was an old woman. The tears were still on my face. “I love you, too,” I said to myself. I closed my eyes and I fell asleep again. This time I slept for what must have been half a day.

When I awoke, I was in New York City. I was a stockbroker or something. I think the guy lived alone in his giant apartment. I went to the airport and got on a plane to Japan. I used the guy’s phone to google the name of the little village where she was. When I found the village, it was around noon. I went looking for the little house we had shared. I had never seen it from the outside. Eventually, I saw the elderly couple and knew I had the right place. I looked up and to my right and saw her there, looking out the window. 

“Kai!” I called. She looked down. “It’s me.” I realized for the first time what I was wearing. Business formal. My patent leather shoes were muddy. How old was I anyway? Despite that, her eyes widened with recognition. For the first time in my entire, endless life, I was recognized.

[tk-writer]

A Ticklish Situation. - a DR2 tickle fic

*WARNING: Contains Danganronpa 2 spoilers. Read at your own risk.*

~~~

Mahiru woke up that morning with a pit in her stomach.

After the previous days’ events, it wasn’t a surprise. The sight of Byakuya’s bloodied corpse was still fresh in everyone’s minds. Along with Teruteru’s nightmarish execution at the hands (paws?) of Monokuma.

Mahiru shuddered at the thought and quickly tried to put it out of her mind. She looked at the clock next to her bungalow bed. It was 5:30 am.

So much for getting a good night’s rest, she thought to herself.

Another image popped in her mind: Nagito in the old lodge. The previous day, he had been knocked out and tied up by Kazuichi and Nekomaru after attempting to sabotage the first-class trial. Some of the students had been assigned to check on him and provide him with meals. After all, they weren’t trying to kill him, just make sure that he didn’t mess with anyone else and cause other murders to happen.

Today was Mahiru’s turn. She was supposed to bring him breakfast, and presumably feed him, since his hands were tied.

She figured she might as well get it done early before everyone else woke up. This might help her avoid the shame and embarrassment that comes with a girl feeding a boy. She was nervous at the idea of being alone with Nagito, but knowing he was unable to move help to ease her nerves. In fact, the idea kind of aroused her in a way…

~~~

Mahiru approached the old lodge with a tray of rice and fruit. Seeing the decrepit building sent chills down her spine. She remembered the fresh blood on the floor, the darkness of the room after the power outage, the screams upon the realization of what happened…

Enough! She gave herself a mental slap in the face. If I keep thinking about it, it’s just going to make it worse…

She entered the lodge and found Nagito sleeping peacefully. How he could rest in such an uncomfortable predicament was beyond her.

Nagito was quite vulnerable in his current position. His hands were chained behind his back with no give whatsoever. His legs were tied with rope from ankles to knees, making standing up on his own impossible. He was pretty much immobile, with little ability to wiggle. Whoever had put him in this restrictive bondage had done so very well. Mahiru had another strange feeling of arousal rising within her.

He should really be more on edge… after all, he’s pretty defenseless right now.

She felt bad waking him up, but she figured he would be hungry anyway. She wasn’t sure if anyone had brought him dinner after last night. Trying to avoid awkwardness, she patted his head.

“Hey. Nagito. Breakfast.”

No response. He was out like a light. She gently shook his shoulders.

“Hellooooooo?? Wake up sleepyhead! It’s time to eat!”

Nagito’s eyes slowly opened, groggily at first but they brightened when they realized who had woken him.

“Ah, the Ultimate Photographer… what a pleasure it is to wake up to such an exquisite sight.”

Mahiru felt her face get hot. She wasn’t expecting that sort of response.

“Ah… don’t say weird stuff! I just brought you some breakfast, so you wouldn’t starve to death. We don’t want another murder after all…”

Nagito gave her a sleepy smile. Mahiru swore there was some mischief hidden within.

“Well of course, I wouldn’t want my talented classmates to fall into despair. That is, unless that would inspire hope within all of you. I just want to see you all succeed. I care more about you than I do myself, you know.”

“Ugh, enough of that already! I just came ‘cuz I felt bad that you’re… here all alone and can’t just eat whenever you want. So hurry up and eat!”

Mahiru turned her face away and picked up a bit of rice with some chopsticks, trying to hide her blushing pink cheeks to no avail. She shoved it in his face and waited for him to open his mouth.

But nothing happened. Mahiru opened her eyes and look at the strange boy. He still had the same mischievous grin on his face.

“Aw man… Sorry Mahiru, I hate to come across as picky, but I actually hate eating rice for breakfast…”

“Wh-what??”

Mahiru shot a look of astonishment at the white-haired boy. His face looked serene, as if he didn’t realize the position he was in. He gave her a cheeky smile.

“What do you mean you don’t like rice?? I was nice enough to bring you breakfast and now you’re telling me you don’t like it??”

“I’m sorry Mahiru, but I simple have no appetite for rice in the morning. Some toast sounds pretty good, though…”

Mahiru slammed down the chopsticks, to Nagito’s surprise. His eyes widened in response to her dramatic reaction.

“Listen, you! I made you breakfast out of the goodness of my heart and came all the way here just as a favor to you! So you better eat this, or else!!”

Nagito smirked. “Or else… what? You’ll leave me here to starve?”

Mahiru was taken aback. Was she even capable of that? She scoffed, trying to play it off.

“Or else I’ll make you.”

“O-o-h? And how will the Ultimate Photographer make me eat? Will you pretend that the chopsticks are an airplane, and fly it into my mouth like a baby?”

Mahiru clenched her teeth. She was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable the longer this conversation continued. Being alone with a weirdo boy was already painful enough, let alone feeding him like she was his mother or something. She just wanted to do it and be done with it, so at least her conscience would be clear. But how? Nagito was refusing to eat. There must have been something she could do… think, Mahiru, think…

Suddenly, a funny thought popped into her head.

A thought that triggered more arousal.

She looked at Nagito’s tied arms and legs.

A warm feeling grew somewhere deep inside her.

Mahiru’s smile widened.

“I have another idea, actually.”

Then she poked Nagito’s side. She wasn’t sure if she’d get a reaction because people are all different, and you never really know with these kind of things, but the result was instantaneous. Nagito let out a surprised yelp and jerked away at her touch.

“Oh-ho-ho… a little sensitive, are we?”

Nagito’s expression changed from peaceful to fearful almost immediately. It was as if he didn’t realize how vulnerable he was until this moment.

“Oh-h-h okay Mahiru, I get it, I’ll eat the rice, just-“

“Hold on, you’re not giving in that easily, are you? You were so stubborn before! I wonder… is it because you’re super ticklish, Nagito?”

Nagito’s body tensed at the word “ticklish”. Mahiru knew she had hit the jackpot. That arousal she felt earlier was only getting stronger… her usually friendly smiled morphed into a devious grin.

“For being the Ultimate Lucky Student, you sure are in an unlucky position... What happens if I do this?”

Mahiru poked her index fingers on either side of Nagito at random and was delighted to hear even more loud yelps from him. For the first time that she had seen, he was struggling intensely against his bonds. This must really have been torture for him.

“AH-HA-HA-HA! NOOO! AH-HA STOP!”

Mahiru gave him some respite to catch his breath. He heaved and continued to giggle slightly, which made Mahiru chuckle to herself. This could actually be a lot of fun…

“Alright big shot… you ready to eat?”

Nagito nodded vigorously, “Yeah I’ll eat! Just please, don’t do that again. I really can’t take it…”

He sounded quite desperate. Up to this point, he always spoke with such an aloof and calm tone of voice and came across as someone who was very put together (despite his delirious rantings). However, this Nagito was completely different.

“Oh, really? Why not? It’s just a little tickling! It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Yes, it’s really bad! I’m extremely ticklish, I can’t stand the feeling for too long…”

“Is that so… mind if I test that?”

Mahiru didn’t wait for a response. She spidered her fingers all over Nagito’s chest and stomach, searching for the areas that gave her the best reactions. She started at his sides, then moved up towards the ribs and gently dug into the spaces between them. All the while, Nagito squirmed like a worm, his attempts to escape her claws futile.

“AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! STOP IT! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA I CAN’T TAKE IT PLEEEEEASE!”

She ignored his pleas and deftly moved to his sides, wiggling them from hips to underarms and everywhere in between. Nagito desperately tried to flip over and shake her hands off him, but with the way he was tied it was utterly impossible.

He didn’t think it could get worse until Mahiru sat on top and started straddling him. Now, he had a lot less room to move and had no choice but to face her directly. Mahiru stared down, with a slightly evil smile, plotting her next move. Her heart fluttered at the sight of Nagito beneath her: frightened, meek, and utterly submissive.

“Tell me… where else are you ticklish?”

“N-Nowhere! That’s it! Please stop! No more!”

“Hmm, I don’t believe you. What about here?”

Mahiru dug her hands into his underarms and Nagito howled. This was obviously a very sensitive spot. What made it worse was the way he was tied, with his forearms stuck at his sides, so Mahiru sneaking her hands between them and his chest meant that they were trapped there and unable to shake off. Nagito acted as if he was being jolted by electricity. His shoulders thrust forward as if doing ab crunches, and he bounced up and down much to Mahiru’s amusement. The combination of her sporadic finger movements and her long, delicate nails were just too much to handle. Plus, the fact that he could barely move now with her on top of him made it even worse.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! AH-HA! AH-HA-HA-HA-HA! I CA-AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-NT! NOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-HA-HA!”

Nagito’s volume and intensity increased with each passing minute. Finally, Mahiru lessened her attack to gentle strokes on his belly. She lifted his shirt, exposing the warm, baby soft skin and the slight muscle definition in his abs. The cool air against the unprotected area gave him tiny goosebumps all over. Mahiru started drawing slow, little circles around his belly button and side to side from navel to ribs. Seeing his stomach tense and hearing his tittered giggles brought her even more joy. For Nagito, this still tickled like hell, but it reduced him to mere giggles rather than full out screaming.

“Now, now… just relax…”

Nagito couldn’t even try to form a response. He was still recovering from her underarm attack, and the gentle strokes on his stomach were still unbearable. However, after a few minutes he let his guard down and his hitched breathing began returning to normal. This was his fatal mistake.

Out of nowhere, he felt a visceral tickle deep within the muscles of his stomach. He screamed higher in pitch than he had the entire time. Mahiru was digging her thumbs into two agonizing spots on either side of his belly, right above his hip bones. The sensation was pure torment compared to everything else before. Nagito’s struggles began anew as he flinched back and forth in a futile attempt to escape.

“AH! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! MA-HA-HIRU! STOP PLEASE! I BEG OF YOU-AH NOT THERE! NOT THERE! NOOOOOOOO-AAAAAAAAAH!”

Mahiru knew she was pushing his limits, so she let up on her torture and gave the white-haired boy another break. She took a good look at him. His face was flushed bright red, probably both from embarrassment and lack of air. Sweat caused his silvery hair to stick to his forehead. His chest heaved up and down, covered in damp perspiration

Mahiru couldn’t help but stare. From her angle, Nagito looked quite docile. The skin on his chest was smooth as silk and pale as the moon. There was some evidence of muscles in his abs, although not enough to call it a six pack. She had never been this close to a boy, especially with so much of his skin exposed. She felt herself grow warmer, the earlier arousal reaching an all-time high…

In an instant, Mahiru snapped back to reality and threw herself off Nagito. She looked at him one last time, locking eyes with him as he gave her one last pleading look with his eyes. She gasped, realizing how adult the situation had become, and without another word grabbed the tray and ran out of the lodge.

Jeez, what the hell got into me?? She wondered as she rushed back to the restaurant. That was totally out of character…

It wasn’t until she arrived at the restaurant that she realized she never actually fed Nagito, the entire purpose of her trip. Damn it!

Luckily, Hajime was sitting alone at one of the tables. Perfect, I’ll just have him do it…

[ikesenlemonadestandstories]

Modern AU - Messy Bun, Ready For Fun

What is the up peoples? I hope everyone has been having a decent week. Here for your viewing pleasure is the next installment of my Modern AU. Thanks for stopping by my random corner of the internet! Enjoy :)

*Got a question about POV earlier so I thought I would attempt to assist in the reading experience. For this AU I’ve been exclusively starting from ‘his’ POV, it rotates back and forth between that same guys and you for the entirety of the  installment. (Everything in his POV is first person (I/we) while you are in second person (you).) I hope this helps some!!! As always YN= your name NN=nickname. 

Feel free to send any questions you may have my way! The box is always open and (if you couldn’t tell) I enjoy conversation. :) Story under the cut for organizational purposes and because I talked to much up here this time!

Giving a holler to @little-mini-me-world please enjoy the read!

(YUKIMURA)

It was the end of August and we had been in the future for just over three weeks. Thanks to the rainy season we were caught in an aggressive downpour that had taken up the past eight days. Today was our first dry afternoon so (YN) had been making trips to the store on her bike. She seemed to be stocking up for something, but I couldn’t be sure. The click of the door and the rustle of grocery bags let us know Sasuke and (YN) were back.

Originally Sasuke hadn’t wanted to leave Shingen, Kenshin, and myself alone with the Oda forces with only Mai to mediate, but the last time (YN) and Masamune went shopping alone a few weeks ago the food they came back with didn’t fit in the refrigerator…

“Hey dummy...watch what you’re doing. If you drop it all on the floor you’ll have to go back again. Though I’m not really sure you needed to go in the first place. There’s still plenty of food.”

She smiled as I handed her the bag of rice that had been falling from her arms.

“Thanks for the help Yuki! We’re stocking up for the storm, I’ve got one more trip and we should finally be finished.”

She had picked up calling me Yuki from Shingen and Sasuke and no amount of complaining seemed to get her to stop. All I could do was grimace and move on since Hideyoshi had started talking to her.

“You keep mentioning a storm but the weather outside is fine enough. It’s gray and sticky but that alone doesn’t warrant weather dangerous enough to consider stockpiling food.”

As much as I hated to admit it he was right, it was downright gross outside, and we had taken to swimming in the pool during that day since it wasn’t thundering. Over the past few weeks Sasuke had been taking us to a few of the major points of interest in Kamakura, but it was usually too muggy outside to get more than one sight-seeing opportunity done at a time.

Walking to the TV she turned it on and clicked through a couple of stations. There was a man standing in front of a map with a giant white swirling mass moving for land. Silence, then she laughed at us.

“You guys probably haven’t seen what Japan actually looks like on a map, but there she is.”

She was pointing at the landmass on the television. Is that really it? It’s smaller than I imagined it would be.

My train of thought was broken by her continued explanation.

“This is the weather channel...Sasuke have you not showed them this yet?”

He turned to her after putting the carrots in the fridge.

“No, I didn’t think it was necessary since I was checking the weather myself.”

She looked dumbfounded I guess it didn’t occur to her we wouldn’t have been shown this already. I decided to speak up. Maybe she’d explain it then.

“If you leave your mouth open like that you’ll catch bugs...What does this have to do with stocking up on food?”

Snapping her mouth shut, her forehead crinkled as she turned, looking at me with doe eyes.

“Oh, well, like I said earlier, this is the weather channel. They use all kinds of science and luck to predict what’s going to happen outside.”

“Luck?” Mitsuhide verbalized our confusion to which Mai laughed. Apparently something about that was funny?

“Ah well they have all sorts of...equipment...to get moving pictures of the weather. They use math, science, and models to infer what it’s going to do...but since the algorithms are just helping them get predictions it usually takes a bit of luck to get it correct.”

She was pointing at the screen again.

“This moving photo of sorts is called radar. They use it to tell us what there calculations have forecast. It’s simultaneously more and less accurate than a rain dance or intuition. Hells why is this so hard to explain.”

I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. Her face was cute trying to figure out how to describe yet another future thing to us. It looked like it did the night she tried to rationalize light bulbs and electricity.

“We believe you weirdo, don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

“Yuki! That is not how you talk to a lady!”

“Oh yea? It’s better than how you talk to ladies Shingen.”

…

The usual bickering between Yukimura and Shingen had picked up right in the middle of your crap explanation of the weather channel. Giving up, you meandered back over to the kitchen to help Sasuke put food away, when he leaned over.

“That’s precisely why I didn’t show them the weather channel.”

“Oh? You were afraid of Yuki and Shingen arguing? It had nothing to do with you not wanting to explain it after the light bulb fiasco?”

You could tell by the look on his face he was formulating a rebuttal and you needed to shut that down fast, otherwise you would never be able to make one last trip to the store. Yelling from your place in the kitchen.

“All you boys need to know is that the multicolored swirling blob of doom is a big ass storm, and it’s headed our way. We definitely aren’t going outside for at least two days so we may as well have enough food.”

Sasuke expelled air from his nose loud enough that you could tell that your comment had garnered a laugh and successfully ended the discussion.

“That is the least eloquent way you could have put that...multicolored blob? Doom? Really?”

“Really. You should be thanking me, I could have used the word kaleidoscopic but didn’t see that ending any better differently.”

“Ah, yes, how gracious of you....”

“Well aren’t you sassy today.”  With a slight eye roll he walked away from you to finish explaining the new can of worms you had opened.

Since this final trip to the store was for snacky foods you had decided to go by yourself. That way ‘if you couldn’t fit it in your backpack you shouldn’t be getting it’...a good control mechanism really. It was going to be interesting. It was ‘only’ a category one. If you consider 125 km/hour winds a good use of the word ‘only. This wasn’t your first rodeo and it would be unfair to assume they had never experienced storms like this in the Sengoku...honestly they had probably experienced or seen worse just based on how much building code has changed since then. The beach house you were in was fully equipped for both typhoons and earthquakes so it was a no brainer that you’d stay there, but out of consideration for everyone’s safety, nobody was going to be able to sleep in the loft...so night time arrangements were going to get interesting.

It wasn’t until a store worker approached and started speaking in broken English that you realised you probably looked like a confused tourist trying to figure out which chips were the safest to eat. Bowing in apology you grabbed the last of your groceries, paid, and exited the store, making a mental list of all of the prep you were going to have to do before Sunday when the storm was supposed to make landfall.

…

We had been busy helping (YN) get things ready for when the storm was supposed to hit. Stacking all the chairs outside and putting them in the storage room near the back of the house, along with all of the other pool equipment and patio furniture. You could see other houses starting to put up shutters on the windows around town, while ours and a few others didn’t seem to have them.

“Hey! Should I be concerned we only put wood on one of the windows?”

“Oh, not really. When my parents built the house they put in hurricane glass and storm doors everywhere. The only thing I have to cover is this window in the loft...”

“Ok...but what does a hurricane have to do with a typhoon?”

She laughed and Sasuke cut in.

“You’ll have to forgive her. In the country she’s from they call typhoons ‘hurricanes.’ So she was saying the house has already been fortified for the storm.”

“Fair. Sasuke tell me if I’m wrong, but does what she just said mean that everything is safe except where we’re sleeping?”

“Correct.”

“That’s not reassuring at all…”

(YN) jumped down from the ladder she was on, landing just a ways off from us. She jogged over.

“To be fair, you didn’t ask him to reassure you. Just answer your questions”

Man, these two are exasperating. It’s like they’re trying to make my life more difficult. (YN) had somehow managed to make Sasuke emote, apparently he found what she just said funny. I’m convinced she’s using some sort of futuristic witchcraft on him.

“Fine, then can I get some reassurance?”

Both turning to me in unison.

“Probably not.”

The next morning had started off beautifully, the sky was a bright and clear blue, but as the hours passed it grew progressively cloudy, tinting everything a dull slate gray. The air was so thick I was pretty sure I could cut it with a knife, and the calm ocean breeze I was enjoying this morning had progressed into more of a vengeful gust. The only real positive was that when (YN) came back from practice in the evening her hair was hysterical. As she passed down the hall Masamune roared with laughter at the site of her and I couldn’t hold my comment in anymore.

“What happened to you? Your hair is ridiculous...ever heard of a comb?”

She deadpanned. Crap.

“Couldn’t help it...the wind demanded a sacrifice and who am I to deny it?”

What the hell? How am I even supposed to reply to that. I was starting to get flustered, and it didn’t help that Mitsuhide and Masamune were basically rolling on the floor at her response. I tried to hide my frustration with a huff.

“Weirdo…”

All she did was smile.

“Yea, well this weirdo is going to take a shower. Have you guys moved your futons yet?”

The new sleeping arrangement wasn’t ideal but at least it was only for a day or so. Hideyoshi would be moving into the room with Nobunaga and Mai, using the futon in there, I was switching into the space Hideyoshi had been utilizing in the large tatami room, while Sasuke, Shingen and Kenshin were sleeping in (YN)’s room. Shingen would put his futon on the other side of the couch, while Sasuke and Kenshin were going to try to share the pull out bed. Try, being the optimal word. Definitely happy I’m not in there to deal with that.

Dinner had been quick and for how the trees seemed to be bending outside it was eerily quiet. I was amazed you couldn’t hear the wind whistling like I was used to in the structures from our time. Everyone was moving about at their own pace but the lights flickered, shutting off briefly before buzzing to life again, giving up on the night the group of us made for the bedrooms. Guess we would just sleep through this thing.

…

The storm was sticking around much longer than predicted and everyone was starting to get a little stir crazy. It had been about four days since anyone had left the house, even you couldn’t get out to make your practices. Fortunately you had enough equipment to workout from home so you weren’t missing too much.

You had just stepped out of the shower. Clean, dressed, and hair brushed all the way through, opening the door into the hallway you noticed them right away. While it was normal for a few of the warlords to be seen standing in the hall either waiting to shower, or just conversing with one another; you never expected to see the entire group of them crowded around your doorway shouting. Standing at the back of the pack, a worried Mai explained that Kenshin and Shingen had gotten in a spat about beds, Yukimura and Sasuke, in an attempt to moderate, had been pulled into it. The company parted and you walked into your room to see Shingen wielding one of your belts like a whip, Kenshin was standing on the pull out couch swinging around a desk lamp, Yukimura was just standing there yelling at Kenshin waving a couch pillow around, and Sasuke had made makeshift projectiles out of your collection of bobby-pins and hair ties and was slinging them at his comrades.

Marching yourself right into the fray you simultaneously grabbed your belt and the pillow from Shingen’s and Yukimura’s hands, twisting them from their grip, as you stepped onto the bed to look Kenshin square in the face.

“Put. It. Down. Now.”

He blinked, the whole room still around you. Perturbed, Kenshin put the lamp down as you started scolding them.

“What in seven hells did you boys think you were doing? Actually no...dumb question, I don’t want to know…”

They tried to get a word in.

“But…”

“No, no buts...I don’t want to know what you thought any of that would accomplish...I just want to know what possessed you to start swinging around my belongings like a bunch of crazed imbeciles?”

Yukimura shot a sympathetic yet mildly annoyed glance your way.

“They were arguing over sleeping arrangements.”

“Sleeping arrangements? This is over sleeping arrangement? Jesus…”

You were so peeved you could feel yourself slipping back into your native language, realizing two things at once you stopped and took a deep breath.

“Kenshin, bed. Shingen, futon. Sasuke...you have two options, share with me or put your futon next to my bed...either way it’s a tight fit. Everyone else, disperse.”

You slid the door shut and grabbed your headphones climbing into bed making sure to leave room for Sasuke if he decided to join you. Maybe you’d make everyone train with you in the living space tomorrow...get rid of some that energy…

Not to much later the mattress shifted under new weight, pulling you from the light sleep you had been getting. Opening your eyes you turned to see Sasuke making his way into the space you had left for him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“ ‘s okay.” To tired to formulate complete sentences. You scooted over giving him more access to your pillow and took your headphones off to sleep on your side easier.

“This reminds me of our first weekend in college.”

You smiled at his comment. Your very first weekend a group of you had gone out to a welcome party and you may have gone a lot overboard with the Jungle Juice. Sasuke, gratefully, assisted you back to what he thought was your room in his drunken state. Which ended up being his room, only to walk into his room mates arguing over their bunks. Minus the flying furniture and inebriation, it played out almost identically. You had thrown out orders to each guy assigning them beds and declared you would be sharing with Sasuke.

“I still wonder to this day how I was able to get away with that.”

“It’s because you’re you (NN).”

He shared his gentlest smile before you fell into peaceful oblivion.

…

I woke up the next morning to a steady tapping. Seeing I wasn’t the only one awake I asked the group in the room.

“Does anyone else hear that?”

Everyone but Mitsunari, who was nose deep in a book (YN) had brought him the other day, looked at me and nodded.

“Now that you mention it, there is an impressively constant tapping, should we go ask around and see what the others think?”

Masamune had posed the question to the group as he made his way out the door. As it turned out Nobunaga, Mai, and Hideyoshi had woken to the soft tapping as well.  When we got closer to the steps you could hear it get louder but now the sound was followed by a soft thump. At the exact moment Kenshin flung the door open right beside the group.

“What is that woman doing up there?”

“You mean (YN)?” I asked

“What other woman would I be talking about? Yes her. She and Sasuke were up early this morning then they went upstairs together. Not to long after this infernal tapping started.”

Now I was curious. Seeing as the rest of the group shared my sentiment we walked upstairs. Mitsuhide chimed in from the back.

“That’s quite the rhythm, I hope we’re not interrupting anything”

What could we possibly be interrupting…? As if reading my thoughts he continued.

“I would hate to walk in on something inappropriate.”

Inappropriate. What could they be doing that would beeeeh….holy hell. We need to stop! Why are we going in there? What if they’re….

Breaking my thoughts completely a breathless and breathtaking (YN) walked over smiling. This was not looking good...she was in the shortest, tightest pants I had ever seen, her midsection completely barred, no sleeves...I’m not even sure you could consider the top she had on a shirt...her hair was tangled in a bun on top of her head and she was dripping with sweat.

Shit! At least she doesn’t look mad...I was trying to sneak away when she spoke up again.

“You guys all come up to join in on our morning fun?”

“JOIN!” I couldn’t help it I just screamed completely flustered.

Shingen clutched my shoulder and laughed surmising what was going through my head. Before I could run he was volunteering us to join in.

“Of course we would princess.”

…

“Ok so we’re going to have to move in circuits.. you can group off however you want...you’re eventually going to do everything so it doesn’t matter where you start.”

You accidentally woke everyone up with your jump rope this morning, but you were sure somebody had said something to frey Yukimura’s nerves, the poor guy had been unable to do anything other than blush or snap at you since you walked over. On top of that, Shingen had voluntold everyone to work out, so you were reworking Sasuke and your morning routine to accommodate.

You demonstrated all of the exercises they were going to do before heading over to finish your pair work with Sasuke. Today it was quick cardio so you were boxing. No head shots and nothing below the belt, just enough to get your heart rate up and engage your reflexes. While you were doing that, the group circuit work would move as follows:

Group 1: Abs

30 Russian twists

15 v-ups

20 windshield wipers

1 min plank

Group 2: Arms

20 push ups

15 pull ups (using the dangerous door frame apparatus)

1 min cherry pickers

Group 3: legs

50 squat jumps

25 hip thrusts

45 sec kettle-bell swings

With each person doing every exercise three times before moving onto the next grouping. It would take about 45 minutes to complete then they would move onto cardio. Which was 5 minutes of jump rope then they split off into pairs for boxing...same rules applied. The only oddity being Sasuke and yourself would jump back into the boxing so Mai didn’t have to try to fight one of the warlords. Then maybe you’d have a tournament?

“Are you sure you’re a group of battle hardened Samurai? Those are the saddest squat jumps I have ever seen…”

Yukimura and Ieyasu mad sour faces at my comment. Though it wasn’t just those two struggling...maybe it had to do with the compound movements? ….four weeks without battle shouldn’t be enough time to completely fall into oblivion like this, plus Sasuke had taken them to a dojo a hand full of times just to keep them moving. At least they’ll all sleep well tonight.

“Finished!!” Mai exclaimed. She was beaming.

“What? You cheated! Lass, she clearly cheated!” Masamune howled

“Eh, I doubt it.” Whispering so only Mai could hear me. “We talked, and you’re going to be paired with Sasuke. He’ll teach you the basics and I’ll get to fight one of the boys. It’s a win-win.”

“Sure! Sounds good” she giggled and skipped over to Sasuke to start jumping rope.

“Why’re you making such a weird face? I don’t think I like that look.” Yukimura was still clearly frazzled as he continued to avoid eye contact.

Everyone tried their best with the jump rope. Some, specifically Mitsuhide, Nobunaga, and Hideyoshi were naturals. Others like Ieyasu, Shingen, and Mitsunari got the hang of it after a few tries. While Masamune, Yukimura, and Kenshin struggle bussed it the entire five minutes.

Next was the fun part. You let everyone pick their own partners Mitsuhide & Hideyoshi, Mitsunari & Ieyasu, Kenshin & Shingen, Masamune & Nobunaga, leaving Yukimura & you.

“What? Absolutely not, I’m not fighting crazy over there? Sasuke why aren’t you with me?”

“You said it yourself, she crazy.” He looked your way and a mischief flickering in his eyes. “We couldn’t possibly pair Mai with her, and it wouldn’t help you train if Mai was with you. So this is the only logical solution. Now even the princess can get some fighting in.”

Yukimura let out an exasperated sigh “Fine but don’t think I’ll go easy on you…”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Bring it Yuki.”

Round one was taken by Mitsuhide, Ieyasu, Nobunaga, Kenshin, Sasuke, and yourself. So the new pairings were Mitsuhide & Nobunaga, Kenshin & Sasuke, and Ieyasu and you.

Round two was full of surprises with the winners being Mitsuhide, Kenshin, and You. Pitting Kenshin & Mitsuhide and Masamune, who had won the losers bracket, with you.

Eventually you lost to Kenshin who swept ranks. It was much harder to fight the God of War outside of bedroom scuffles or crowded market streets, but it had been a fun afternoon nonetheless. You’d have a few bruises here and there from some stray excited punches but everyone had held back brilliantly and there were no injuries to report on any front. Turning to the now silent group.

“So who wants lunch?”

[sunderlorn]

Got tagged in this big long Describe Yr OC Meme by @chameleonspell because they love to make me suffer as they have suffered, toil as they have toiled. I am more merciful, which is why I am tagging no-one. (Also cos chameleonspell tagged most of everyone I’d’ve tagged anyway.)

GENERAL

Name: Simra Hishkari. Alias(es): Sim. Harmless. Flintfingers. “Hey, greyling…” Lonya, to his mum, but not for a while thank fuck. Gender: Cis male. Age: That depends where you’re reading, doesn’t it? Uhhh. He’s 11 in chapter one of part one, poking his nose around Senvalis’ shop and bothering the poor mer for paper. And now in part three, he’s recently endured his twenty-fourth birthday. Place of birth: Chiming Row, The Rigs, The Grey Quarter of Windhelm, Eastmarch, Skyrim. Spoken languages: Native Level Grey Quarter Dunmeri Patois. Fluent Marchspeak. A flexible range of Tamrielics, from the sort of versatile trade-tonguey Imperial Tamrielic you’ll hear at the docks of any major city, to something like the closest thing Skyrim has to a unifying language: an archaic version of Tamrielic with enough in common with all Skyrim’s dialects that it’s at least mutually intelligible for most people. Fluent House Dunmeris, with a few dialectic oddities picked up and understood. Relatively fluent Velothis. Some Riftspeak. Can curse a bit in Jel. Sexual orientation: Insert a withering stare and a question as to why it’s your fucking business. Practically speaking, bisexual. As in, he’s been attracted to men, women, and in the words of the warrior-poet Fred Durst, people who just don’t give a fuck. He doesn’t really have the terminology to parse that out in his own words though. Probably thinks of sexuality more in terms of activity than identity. Occupation: Murderhobo. Uhhh. I mean…freelancer. Currently, anyway. That is to say, sellsword, bounty-hunter, scavenger. Formerly? Semi-pro urchin. Carrier of heavy things on the Windhelm docks. Soldier-of-fortune. Prayer-scriv. Storyteller and sort-of-kind-of-sheriff at one point. Basically like a literal  accountant at another point too. Moral support to more qualified goatherds. Fireman — like, literally, a man who makes fires happen. Quartermaster’s assistant. Caravan guard. Itinerant herder and spokesperson of certain itinerant wisewomen. Bootleg performer of certain Temple rites and duties.

(This is long, so more under the cut.)

APPEARANCE

Eye colour: A reddish shade of amber or an ambery shade of red. Hair colour: Cinder-white. Height: About 5’10” (178 cm or s0). Scars: Oh god I literally have a fucking like reference sheet to keep track of all these. His Velothi harrowmarks: a hornlike curl out from the corner of his left eye, and a tapering line underscored for half its length with a series of dots, curving from the right edge of his mouth up towards his ear. A deep stiff scar through the left side of his lips, diagonal, from near his nostril to the beginning of his chin. A shallow horizontal scar across the side of his throat. A ragged starburst of scar tissue, in the muscle between neck and shoulder, just above his right collarbone and again at the back of his neck, from taking an arrow and having it pushed out. A flat diagonal stab-wound, on the left side of his ribs. A torn right earlobe. A straight raised scar up the back of his ribcage, on the left. A series of silver lines on the outermost three fingers of his right hand, where the joints meet the knuckles, and lightning-scar-looking traces following from those fingers over the front and back of his hand. And a plethora of tiny nicks and burns, mostly concentrated on his forearms and hands. Does a twice-broken nose count? Overweight: Nope. Underweight: At several points in his life, yeah.

FAVOURITE

Colour: Sea colours and shades of bronze. In clothes? Leather tones, slate greys, off-whites, neutral gloomy blues, details and decals in reds, silvers, copper, brass. Doesn’t tend to wear pure blacks or whites, or any particularly saturated colour — they spoil too easy. Hair colour: Statistics suggest red, though he’d be quick to insist it’s just coincidence, not, like, a fucking Thing or anything. Eye colour: Not red. Light-coloured eyes are weird and novel. Music genre: Weirdly he doesn’t enjoy music with lyrics all that much. (In canon, anyway — he’d feel differently in a modern AU or whatever.) Finds it distracting. They can be interesting, of course, but it’s not something that makes him happy hearing it. He likes stringed instruments with an emphasis on drones or echoes and silence. Things like the Tamrielic equivalent of qanun, koto, morin khuur, etc. Side note, but in modern AUs he’s definitely the sort of person who’s physically incapable of doing anything as mundane as laundry or tidying without putting a podcast on first. Movie genre: This is AU stuff, but yeah, he might talk a big game about being into Deep Penetrating Drama and so on, but he’d most often find himself watching the feature length equivalent of all you can eat hi-octane junk food buffets. Fighty action movies, particularly with an emphasis on melee combat. Finds revenge narratives particularly rewarding. Only genres he really considers himself a buff on though are samurai cinema and westerns. He’ll yammer at length about Anti-Westerns too if you get him started. (Don’t.) TV show: Hates the idea of having to watch anything live at a particular time. Fuck letting something as petty as TV schedule and section his life. Will gladly on-demand binge on historical drama, gritty travel documentaries, and twisty-turny political and intriguey thrillers. Doesn’t like cooking shows. Doesn’t want personality with his foodporn. He’d rather wait for the book to come out. Food: The Platonic ideal of Simra food is basically like soft starchy silky carbs with something sharp and heavily spiced on top. Rice porridge and preshta-jan, maybe with a raw egg stirred in while it’s hot. Fresh soft panbreads used to mop up redspiced mutton. Meat still feels like too much of a luxury to have often though, and he has a lot of feelings about vegetables. Pickled carrots, cucumbers, turnips, greens, green tomatoes, soft or crisp, spiced or just salty. Yams roasted in embers, smashed open, drizzled with spiced honey. Dried fruit is a particular pleasure as well, with a special place in his heart for persimmons and figs. Drink: Black tea of any sort – Nordic pine-smoked, Dunmeri fermented, light or dark, toasted or not – taken with sugar or honey. Alcohol of any sort felt like a luxury to be taken whenever luck offers it, back when he was a little younger. He’s got preferences these days, though whether he sticks to them is debatable and down to circumstance. He likes red and dark beers, biscuity flavours in the former, bittersweet in the latter. Hasn’t had either in a good few years though, and mazte compares oddly, to him — too starchy and sour. He once drank some Colovian grape brandy before he realised it was expensive enough that he really should have just sold it, and liked that well enough. He’s had actual grape wine once or twice and liked the idea of being the sort of person who liked it. He doesn’t especially like sujamma except in some freak cases – almondy and subtle vanilla-y wood flavours in that one bottle that one time – but he’ll drink it anyway because at least of all the quietly awful things Morrowind might offer you to drink, you have to drink less of it to know you’ve drunk it. He can’t remember if he liked mezga better or whether he was just less fussy back then. Book: Ideally he would have a larger foundation for reference than he does, but he doesn’t. Still, his basis for comparison has grown a little since he first learnt to read and first got covetous of books, so he does at least have some preferences. He’ll still hoard up and devour literally any book he can, good or bad, because books are expensive and serious business – even the cheap ones – but there are some where he’ll fall into impressed absorbed silence and others where he’ll complain the entire time. He has a thing for treatises on use of one sort of blade or another, not because he really enjoys reading them, or really because they’re very useful. Mostly they’re awfully written and opaque to the point of being very unhelpful. But that puts a sense of the arcane around them, doesn’t it? If something’s hard to read, it must be hiding something worth knowing. Simra reads, trawls, lives in hope that one day that assumption will prove right, but really the issue is that if you never check you’ll never know. Back in Suran he read a lot of pre-Red Year devotional poetry from back during the time of the Tribunal. That and poetry the old Temple couldn’t or didn’t censor and so decided was devotional even if it wasn’t. A lot of that was just wankery – tongue twisters for the brain, either thematically or in terms of its showy prosody – but you’d occasionally get the odd scrap of lyric that was just effortlessly well-turned. There was a third era Dunmeri poetess called Anthiss for instance, the printing of whose work the Temple officially banned which only stoked its popularity. It was only after she died – mysteriously, it’s worth noting – that the Temple lifted the ban and claimed all her work had been religious allegory all along, revealing a conflicted but truly faithful sole. Simra’s pretty sure that, no, she was just writing about her girlfriend the entire god damn time. Between that and tracts on philosophy, interpretation of scripture, hagiography…he enjoyed reading it all but in retrospect couldn’t say he liked all of it. At the heart of what he really enjoys unreservedly in books is escapism. Travel narratives – little holidays for the brain – they’re what put a glint in his eyes and a lightness in his heart without really having to try much.

HAVE THEY

Passed university: Nope, nor has he had any formal education of any kind, yet. Given my headcanons about the state of the Mage’s Guild, for instance, in the 4th Era, and other Imperial institutes of higher learning there aren’t quite as many opportunities for that sort of thing as there used to be. Not in the parts of the world Simra’s kept to so far, anyway. Had sex: Currently, not in a while.   Had sex in public: Define public… The tonghouse of the Dyer’s End Few wasn’t a premises as rich in privacy as it could’ve been, but I’m inclined to say no. Gotten pregnant: Please no. Kissed a boy: Yes. Kissed a girl: Yes. Gotten tattoos: Do scarifications count? If so, yes, facial ones. Gotten piercings: Six in his left ear. Mer have more cartilage than humans. One through the lobe of his right ear too, but that doesn’t really count as a piercing anymore — just a tear. Had a broken heart: Don’t ask. Been in love: Something like that. Stayed up for more than 24 hours: Here’s where he laughs in your face and says “twenty-four?” and kisses his teeth for two minutes.

ARE THEY

A virgin: Covered this. A cuddler: There’ve been times. Sometimes being close to someone’s all you want to fill your head with, your time with, your world with, and all you can do is do that. Not many times though. They’re more anomalies than anything else. Prolonged touching, or lengthy physical intimacy — he’s pretty averse. A kisser: Mouth-on-mouthy kissing makes him nervous. Half his lips don’t really work right and he gets very conscious of it. Makes him feel ugly, clumsy, exposed. Scared easily: Terrified, yes. He doesn’t exactly keep a level head on him all that easily. Jealous easily: Statistics would suggest yes. Worth noting thought that this is less in terms of seeing everyone as someone his lover might leave him for and so being possessive and shitty and more like he feels left out easily, left behind easily, and if he sees someone he cares about sharing some sort of positive experience with someone else, he’ll feel a sense of abandonment and sadness about it. It’s not an angry or suspicious feeling so much as a melancholy self-effacing one. Trustworthy: In what sense, exactly? Depends who you are, what you’ve done to deserve Simra’s trust or respect, what the circumstances in both your lives and their mutual conjunctions are, what there is to be gained from breaking your trust, or what there is to be lost by keeping it or sticking with you. Depends how strong Simra is at this point in his life. Uhhhh…this number of variables probably suggest that, Simra is not inherently a trustworthy person by nature. But that doesn’t mean he’s never loyal, or faithful, or worth putting your trust in. Dominant: Uhhhhh. Submissive: Fuckin uhhhhhh. In love: Right now? Fuck off. Single: And ready to mingle. (God can you even imagine.)

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: Not with anything sharp. Thought of suicide: Yes. Attempted suicide: Comments on my fic suggest that a lot of what he does, accidentally or by choose, basically constitute attempts to die. Thing is though, Simra’s pretty much more terrified of dying than of anything else. Any attempts at straightforward suicide would be impulsive cries for help or lashings-out against feeling particularly helpless. The goal wouldn’t be dying. Wanted to kill someone: Wanting to sounds way more personal than he really wants to have to deal with. Appreciating the reasons for having had to do so? Fine. (Yes, yes, yes, but funny how the people he’s really wanted to kill are for the most part still alive.) Ride a horse: He regrets to inform you that, yes, he has ride a horse. Have/had a job: We’ve covered this. Have any fears: Ghosts and bones, yes. Death, or more accurately, ceasing to be alive and existent. Being maimed; no longer being whole. Blindness, deafness, muteness. He has a pretty primal flight-or-fight response to the idea of being caught out in any sort of lie. Oh, and he’s not fond of dogs.

FAMILY

Sibling(s): Yes, Soraya. Does she still count? Parents: Sambidal Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Mabudani nas Zainab, his babu, Windhelm dockworker and former adventurer. Ishar Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Nem nas Zainab, his ammu, Grey Quarter spellwright, seller of medicines, and former adventurer. Children: No. Pets: No. A cat might be good, but he’d get terrified of it deciding to abandon him, and would take it very personally if it was ever gone for very long.