#this man is the reason i’m slowly loosing my sanity

[wonusite]

comfort sex with wonwoo :(

my heart cannot handle this fr

when wonu finds you clutching your pillow at the edge of the bed, he immediately goes to you, wrapping and arm around you and pulling you flush against his chest. he nuzzles into neck, softly asking you what’s wrong. it’s so easy to tell him about what’s bothering you, and it’s even easier to let him distract you.

his cock is stretching you out, and it’s the perfect distraction from your problems. his strokes are slow and deep, deliciously hitting your sweet spot every time.

“you know i love you, right?” wonwoo’s deep voice rasps in your ear. “no matter what happens you’ll always have me. the love of my life.”

“wonwoo!” you moan as you lift your hips to meet his thrusts. “love you so much. so so much.”

you grab the back of his neck and pull him down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. ur legs wrap around his waist as he keeps fucking into you, making sure to hug you close to him as he does.

[electronicwitchcollection]

🖤🌸holy shit it had been a long time- I TOOK A BREAK FROM TUMBLR BUT IM BACK NOW WITH MORE BRAINROT. I wanted to ask u. What do you think of Gin being a lightweight? And Shunsui and Jushiro drinking with him, shocked ? 😂

Hello my friend! I’m glad you’re back!

As always you bring such fun topics to talk about 🖤

So I absolutely believe Gin cannot handle his alcohol, for a few reasons!

The first being, he never got the typical childhood. He went to the academy as a young boy, and excelled through it quickly. He never had any of those teenage parties where they experimented with alcohol and their limits. He didn’t go through school with peers his own age, therefore didn’t have any “friends” his age to go through those experiences with when he reached that age. He never grew a tolerance for it, and never learned his limits.

The people he spent the most time with while transitioning to a child to an adult would’ve been Aizen and Tousen. Both of which aren’t big drinkers themselves. Aizen would maybe indulge in an expensive glass of wine with dinner every so often, but that is all. Tousen I can’t see Finding any enjoyment in drinking, and chooses to abstain.

I would also like to factor in Gin’s physique. He’s so skinny, I’m convinced he hasn’t seen a good hot meal for quite some time. And we all Know the downfall of drinking on an empty stomach 🙃

The biggest and most important factor, is Gin had chosen from an early age that he would be the one to bring Aizen down, working as a secret double agent to ensure Aizen fails in his quest to ascend the heavens. Gin is smart and calculated, he knows full well that “loose lips sinks ships” and would take precautions to ensure Aizen never finds out about his plan to take him down.

He can’t afford to have his inhibitions lowered, must always keep up the facade to ensure he reaches his goals.

However

He was woefully unprepared for how persistent Kyoraku is 😂

We all know just how desperate that man is to have a drinking buddy who can keep up with him. Sure, he has Jushiro who will happily keep him company as he slowly drinks himself to the edge of sanity.. but it can get tiring being the only one drinking while your friend smiles on patiently. Not to mention the times Jushiro is too unwell or simply to busy to join him.

I think he has had a good few drinking partners over the years… Yourichi, Shinji, Isshin. Unfortunately they’ve all left him to drink alone once more. Kenpachi is good in a pinch, the man can hold his liquor ! but trying to get any decent conversation out of him… you’d have better luck trying to get water not to be wet. 😂

I believe Kyoraku would corner Gin one day, and before he knew what was happening he was sat opposite the two older captains wondering how the hell this happened. Without thinking of any believable reason why he had to go, Gin would try and wait Kyoraku out. The man had a reputation. Surly he’d be slumped over falling asleep soon, where he could easily leave him to the practiced hands of Jushiro, who had more patience than any one man should.

He failed to recognise two things. The first being, Kyoraku can drink an obscure amount of alcohol before he got into that state. The second being Gins near non existent tolerance would be no match for the high percentage alcohol Kyoraku favoured.

The first drink went down fine, a little fuzzy around the edges, but manageable. He could still walk home perfectly capable of hiding his true intentions. He could engage in conversation while keeping all of his secrets deeply guarded.

The second was a little more worrisome. His real laugh came out unexpectedly at one of Kyorakus filthy jokes. Muscles relaxed and the room suddenly feeling a little bit warm. But he was fine, right? A little tipsy, but still in somewhat control of his actions. The room tilted if he moved to fast and he couldn’t quite get the smile off his face

It’s the third that tips him over. His normally pale complexion is flushed red, one eye is tightly closed while the other tries to focus hard enough to stop the world from spinning around him. His words are slurred and heavy, sounding fine to his own ears yet almost indistinguishable to everyone else. When the hiccups start, so did the giggling.

Kyoraku and Ukitake would share a disbelieving look at the absolute state this man had gotten in after only three drinks… even Ukitake could handle more than that..

Kyoraku would pout at the disappointing loss of yet another drinking buddy prospect. Though he did quite enjoy watching Gin sway and stumble his way into nearly every wall, tree and person they passed on the way to his home as Ukitake frantically tried to steer him in the right way.

[gumnut-logic]

Dear Mr Tracy (Part 3)

Sweetapple | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

@flyboytracy​​, @amistrio​​ and @onereyofstarlight​​​  you asked for it, so you get to suffer more :D

Many thanks to @gaviiadastra​ for the read through and help with my Tunisian crochet as well :D

All I can say about this one is ‘poor Alex’ :D I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Gordon had to admit it to himself, he was worried.

Sure, there was plenty to be worried about, what with Dad finally home, but so sick over the past few months, and then slowly getting back on his feet.

The whole family had been in a mess of worry for a long time now.

But as Dad’s condition improved, things should be getting better.

They weren’t.

They all had their moments, of course. A simple thing like encountering Dad in the hallway unexpectedly could really throw even Gordon. They had all cried at some time or another. Alan wasn’t alone in that department.

Not that Scott or John would admit it.

John had been down from Five for the longest time. It was as if he was almost scared that Dad might disappear while he was away.

Scott was relief embodied, walking around with stars in his eyes, except for those worrying moments where Dad came close to not being there. Gordon had been worried that if they lost Dad now, they would lose Scott, too.

Which led to Virgil.

Virgil who had been hovering around Scott as if the man was about to break for almost the last year. Now Dad was home and so fragile, Virgil had found another family member to obsess over.

Bar a rescue, Virgil barely let Dad out of his sight.

While Dad had been so sick, this time Gordon had an outside pov of his big brother’s train wreck, which had happened when Gordon had been the one in the bed.

Virgil was clinging.

At the time, Gordon had been grateful for his brother and all his help.

Until he wasn’t.

There was a thin line between which brother needed what. Gordon had needed space. Virgil had needed reassurance.

That his brother wasn’t going to die on him.

It had taken some kind but firm words and Scott to pull him away.

Gordon could see the same thing happening with Dad.

Virgil needed a distraction.

And Gordon intended to provide it.

-o-o-o-

Alex stumbled into the space outside of Tia’s office and dropped everything.

Well, not everything. His computer was still clutched to his side, but his neat folder of test results was on the floor in six different places.

“Shit.”

Why was it that he was always running late? He set alarms, for crying out loud, but for some reason, just one more minute until he was in minus minutes was a thing…and then this scenario happened.

Today was the day. Siliwrap had tested beautifully in standard atmospheric conditions. Today was its first underwater test and…okay, Alex was as nervous as all hell.

Erica was down with a lurgy and the lack of her sanity was enough to throw him out and let his crazy loose.

“Are you okay, son?”

Alex startled. He hadn’t even noticed the elderly gentleman in the room.

Grey eyes were peering at him from the couch outside Tia’s office. Silver hair, silver suit, he was obviously a business man. But an elaborately carved and fancy cane was propped up against the wall and a drawn look to the man spoke of illness.

Tia’s dad? Alex had heard he hadn’t been well.

“Um, yeah, stay there. I’m okay. Just one of those days.” He put the computer down gently and scampered about the space gathering flimsies off the floor, and shoving them back into the folder haphazardly enough to hurt his organised heart.

Those grey eyes were watching him.

“You missed one.” And it was being handed to him, a slight frown on the man’s face as he stared at the diagram on the flimsy. “You must be Alex Sweetapple.”

Alex stared up at him. He had risen from the couch and was now standing tall, cane in hand.

Alex was on his knees looking up…

And Scott Tracy exited the office, Tia in tow. Both froze staring at Alex.

Alex simply died.

But he had a mission he had to complete today, so he swallowed it down, and shoving the last flimsy into the folder, he grabbed his computer and staggered to his feet.

“Alex, are you okay?” Mr Tracy was peering at him in concern.

“Yes! Uh, yes, sir. I’m good.” He clung to his computer like it was a shield.

Tia arched an eyebrow and smiled just a little at him. He hoped it was reassuringly.

It was enough to remind Alex that he was a professional and that today was an important day, and goddamn it, he wasn’t going to make an ass of himself and ruin it!

He forced himself to straighten. “Mr Tracy, what brings you out to Māhia?”

Scott Tracy smiled just a little. “Today is the day, Alex. Isn’t it?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “You’re here for the tests?”

Mr Tracy shrugged in his very expensive suit. “Sure, why not. Dad was interested in what the facility has been up to and your project is in the lead.”

“Dad?” The word slipped from his lips involuntarily and he looked at the elderly man…who was only fifty-nine and had spent eight years lost in space and omigod, Jeff Tracy!

The flimsies all fell to the floor again.

Grey eyes sparkled.

“Alex, perhaps I should carry those.” Tia was gathering up his folder of results.

Oh god.

“Take a deep breath, son.” Jeff Tracy was smiling kindly at him.

Scott Tracy was picking up flimsies with Tia.

Alex was just dead. You know, in the ground, rotting.

Fortunately, Tia caught his computer before it could join him.

“Um…”

Jeff Tracy took a short breath. “Virgil tells me you have a unique solution that could help International Rescue.”

Virgil…Tracy. “Uh, yes, sir.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, Mr Jeff Tracy turned him around with a simple gesture and walked him towards the door. “He gave me a good outline; however, I am interested in how you are planning to fasten your Siliwrap to any material and provide an airtight seal.”

Alex blinked. He could answer that.

And he started talking, explaining the bond at a molecular level and the forces involved.

Those grey eyes were obviously interested and as they walked through the complex, Alex let his shoulders relax into the explanation. This he could do. This was what he was made for.

By the time they stepped out onto the dock, Alex was much more himself.

Except for the occasional fanboy realisation that was shoved down into the deep, dark hole of not-dealing-with-it-now.

The boat was a decent size and rigged with all the scientific equipment he could possibly ever want. She was officially called Determined II – Alex had no idea what happened to Determined I – but the Māhia team affectionately called her ‘Thunderbird Bucket’…because they could.

She lived up to both of her names, regardless. Tilly was her captain. A woman who looked like she could haul nets without breaking a sweat. Alex had found her kind and jovial to work with on this project.

Bucket was only to take them out into the bay. The first test was shallow water only. If it proved viable, deep water was the next step. There was no way Alex was going to let this project loose upon humanity without thorough testing.

“Good methodology. I couldn’t agree more.” Mr Jeff Tracy’s voice was rough but firm in its approval.

Alex swallowed. “All the computer modelling agrees that it will work, but real-world testing is liable to throw up unexpected variables.”

“Exactly.”

And they were on the boat, leaving the dock behind them. The sea was gentle today, the sun shining…

Alex had forgotten his sunscreen. Blond hair and pale skin were not a great combo out on the water.

He would worry about that later.

Mr Tracy asked Mr Jeff Tracy to take a seat on the deck. Something passed between them, but the older man did as his son asked.

Alex was asked to sit next to him.

The voyage out to the testing site was only a short one. They had lowered a dummy habitat sphere into the bay and decompressed it violently to simulate an accident, the day before.

Siliwrap was going to prove itself today.

It had to.

Tia was talking him up to both Mister Tracys, saying how great he was at his job.

Yes, today could just get itself over with so Alex could go back to his lab and die a quiet death.

He made an attempt to excuse himself and the Tracys let him disappear into the floating lab below, giving him a chance to breathe normally and relax as much as he could into the project.

The scanning equipment picked up the habitat and the massive hole in its side.

It also picked up something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

He stared at the screen. A shape ever so familiar from newscasts and the model he had on his mantlepiece back home.

Thunderbird Four was hovering just outside the test range.

What the hell?

He hit the intraship comms. “Tilly, Thunderbird Four is off our port bow.”

“Aye, Mr Sweetapple. International Rescue advised me they would be attending. Didn’t you know?”

The shape dazzled him on the screen.

And Alex let his head fall into his hands.

-o-o-o-

 Next

[everyandany]

Noise: Unsatisfied Perplexity

...I’m at a loss here.

Initially, the moment the credits of the movie rolled, I sat in front of my computer wanting nothing more than to unload everything I had witnessed, so I didn’t have to carry this thing any longer than it was worth. It honestly felt like a burden, a far cry from my most basic expectations.

But, of course, I got curious. What if I was wrong? What if I was the only one seeing this in such a dark light? I could be missing something. I’m not an expert, after all.

So, I got looking and now... I’m confused as to what to make of the film.

Noise, a Belgian 2023 Netflix film, directed by Steffen Geypen, starring  Ward Kerremans and  Sallie Harmsen (among others), is a film that seems to have projected its perplexity onto the audience. From the very brief search I conducted, I found reviews of this film that did not, at all, help me form an objective opinion about it.

To give you an idea of the dilemma, I’ll give you a few examples of what I found. 

Decider makes a lot of positive comments on the film, refraining from giving it too much value, but still suggesting that it’s a good film that you should “STREAM IT”. Admittedly, there are a few downsides mentioned, but they are brushed off like a fly off a pastry.

Heaven of Horror paints the film a bit more positively, yet thankfully still makes sure to point out that it had its flaws. The statement, “ The small cast –  along with the key supporting characters – makes the story work in a very organic way. It’s believable and comes across as a small slice of a few people’s lives. “ is a bit too positive in my opinion, after watching the film, that is. Another encouragement to watch the movie. 

Leisure Byte also commented positively on the movie, having only good things to say about it, while keeping the review spoiler-free.  By this point, I was beginning to think I actually had missed something. If it was such a good work, even though not one of the greats, then it didn’t deserve the harsh judgement I was about to give it.

Then came Rotten Tomatoes. Giving the film a 20% rating... Which isn’t the worse I’ve seen out there, of course, but that doesn’t make it a good film either. It’s quite a distance from the base (50%).

And then there was Midgard Times, who had a few positive comments to share but gave most emphasis on the significant negatives of the movie.

It’s safe to say, I found myself agreeing more with Midgard Times than anyone else. Despite not having the same palpable emotions I had before reading those reviews, I still found Midgard Times expressing the key factors of my own displeasure from the film.

The movie is about a man slowly losing his sanity, pressured by past trauma, his current stressful life of raising a baby and his work as a 24/7 popular influencer. It is pretty clear. The problem is, this clarity never truly appears to the audience till the last 5 minutes of the film. The rest 85 minutes are spent in confusion and mild annoyance. Those were the emotions painting mine and my family’s faces 30 minutes before midnight, when the credits began to roll. Not that our expressions were much different during the film either.

The issue with this film is that it mixes too many things together and hopes that by the end of it, everything will make sense. Takes one too many loose ends and tries to tie them up in a complicated and intriguing way, only to end up with a ball of different colored yarns, unfit for making a cohesive sweater. The true story, a man’s descend into madness, is lost to us because there are so many other things thrown into the mix that we lose sight of the main event. The protagonist, throughout the film, becomes obsessed with solving the dark mystery surrounding his father’s old factory and exposing its “shocking secrets”. It is the main reason for his mental struggle, along with his intolerance to sound. So much emphasis is given on this investigation, that we are made to believe this is the main plot and not the guy going mad. But, it’s actually the other way around, and when the end finally comes and we are left to our thoughts and disappointment, the investigation hasn’t even been completed! Mathias, the protagonist, has been discovering new evidence about the factory’s dark secret in very random points of the movie, confusing the audience even more because we are never shown how he reached to that conclusion. So, the investigation is pretty much left unfinished, not that it made any sense to begin with.

The “shocking secrets” the factory was supposed to be holding in its rotting walls are never truly revealed either. The main idea was introduced to us from the start, that being an article saying that some factory workers died of sickness due to some dangerous chemicals. That was no secret, it was written for the public to read all along. And by the end of the film, nothing on that front has changed. Mathias claimed that there were more victims (how he figured that out is left out, as if it wasn’t an important enough detail), but we receive no confirmation about that in the film. Most likely, there never were any shocking secrets. Maybe that was the point of the film, that everything revolving the factory mystery was in Mathias’ head. I hear that and I would have appreciated the clever idea, if the movie hadn’t leaned on this mystery so much that it put Mathias’ insanity in second rate.

Aside from that, even if we were to focus on the protagonist’s mind alone, we’re left with uncertainty as to the origin of the things he’s seeing. The film has many “haunted house” elements that create a paranormal vibe, sending the audience into a treasure hunt to find the supernatural entity behind this. Visions of dead people visible only to the protagonist, coupled with the mystery of the factory, create the illusion that there might be something sinister in the old establishment, or the house itself. Except there’s none of that, it’s all part of Mathias’ mind going insane. The amount of misguidance in this attempt to make the film “scarier” and portray insanity more “vividly” is so great that you are left in an equally great pond of disappointment by the end of the film. The ghost you’ve been looking for 90 minutes was never there to begin with.

Some could argue that you shouldn’t be chasing ghosts, because this is a psychological thriller film. Well, my argument here is simple: It never feels like a psychological horror film in the first place. I am a person who immensely enjoyed 2016 Don’t Breathe and Hush, but also loves the classic slasher film such as the Scream franchise or Jaws. I can distinguish types of horror films and adjust my expectations accordingly. This one though...it feels more like a psychological drama, with a splash of mystery that doesn’t really work. During the movie, what we are continuously reminded of is the deteriorating relationship between a couple and how one’s mental illness destroys him from the inside. How is that not drama? The horror element is present, though in a very bland and uneventful way. But still, it’s there. There are some very generic jump scares that don’t work when you’ve had your fair share of thrillers, and there is the occasional built-up where your heart rate actually manages to rise a little due to the insinuation that Mathias might kill his own kid, but these aren’t enough to paint a work as thriller. Let alone a psychological one which, for me, takes more effort and skill in order to work the way it should. The noises we hear, from the protagonist’s perspective, combined with Kerremans’ amazing performance, set up the atmosphere for a good jump scare or an adrenaline rush, but the necessary amount of time is never given so that the built-up can do its work effectively. 

The other issue that strikes you once all is said and done is questions. Many of them left unanswered, because apparently it was too bothersome to answer them. Was there ever anything to be revealed about the factory’s case? No one knows. Why were the people of the neighbourhood so distant and cold to Harmsen’s character? Was it because of the suicide case, or the dead factory workers, even though that happened a long time ago? I have no idea. Did the couple manage to salvage their relationship after Mathias started treatment for his mental illness, or was it all solved after a few pills? Beats me. Did Mathias actually find a dead person in the hole he dug, based on the hair he pulled out of it? We’ll never know. And the list goes on, I’m afraid.

I’m not a person who wants to talk shit about everything. I try to always look at both sides of the coin and form a just opinion about it, as much as that is possible. This applies here as well. The movie had some great performances, like I mentioned above, beautiful cinematography and very good visuals. One of the few scenes I liked the most was Ward Kerremans’ performance when he recalls a particularly painful memory. That whole sequence was one of the few reasons I was able to finish the film and I congratulate the actor for delivering so artfully. 

I tried to keep this review as spoiler-free as possible, in case anyone wants to give it a shot. After all, I might be seeing this in a very different light than others. Personally, I would recommend it if you want to pass the time. Just don’t have many expectations and don’t take into account the tag “psychological thriller”. 

I’ll leave you to your own devices, though. 

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

not okay, m | jjk, myg

full title: I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, ft. jungkook

summary: Jeon Jungkook fucked up. He talked shit about emo girls. Min Yoongi decides he's going to make him take back what he said, make him beg and plead and cry to be touched by the sexiest woman he knows. Never mind that you were a goth in high school and not an emo.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship (Yoongi/you); definitely a scheme to seduce a clueless JK; threesome smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics, m-masturbation + daydreaming, edging / orgasm denial, inappropriate (but wanted) touching in public, a lot of begging, hair-pulling, scratching / marking, thigh-riding, handjob, choking, ball squeezing, restraints, cowgirl, nipple play, handcuff and anal vibrator usage, doggy, little bit of m-receiving oral, finger sucking); tbh Jungkook is a mess, is forced to make messes, and likes it; fluff; shifts from all three POVs; black-haired, sub!JK x noona, dom!reader x blue-haired, dom!Yoongi

yes, there are My Chemical Romance references, I'm aware MCR don't like being considered emo, we know labels =/= how someone truly is; yes, it's PTD (emo for a hot second) JK and Yoongi

--

"Is that what you think?"

Jeon Jungkook flicked the long black bangs over his left eye, laughing. "Yeah, these are just extensions. I thought it would be funny. I don't actually think this kind of style looks good on me."

A sharp click of the tongue. "No, the other part. About women."

Jungkook blinked, bewildered. Then he slowly remembered, recalling his words. "Oh... I just meant I wouldn't be attracted to a girl with a more emo, edgy style."

The deep voice was sharp and accusatory. "You said it was cringey."

"Ah... well... a little?"

Those pointed, cat-like eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Uh... hyung?"

Min Yoongi frowned and stood up.

"We will see about that, Jungkook."

Jungkook watched him go, even more confused than before.

"Why did that sound like a threat...?"

-

Because it was.

The next time they went out to eat together, Min Yoongi brought his girlfriend with him. She didn't often tag along. When his friends asked Yoongi about it, he just laughed.

"It's because you guys are too fucking loud."

The few times she did come with him, she was relatively quiet. She had an unapproachable air about her, intimidating in the way that a single eye shift and locked-on attention could cause heart palpitations. Everything about her image seemed far too sleek and refined for everyday life. Her gestures, her walk, her style. Minimalist outfits, mostly white and black. It was obvious that she had a nice body, but none of her clothes implied that she was advertising it, at least when she was hanging out with her boyfriend's friends.

There was one exception.

She always smelled delicious.

Noticeable, addictive, gourmand, always making you turn your head just to smell it again. A hint of ginger to startle, followed by the warmth of marshmallow and the earthly scent of green tea. It blended with her skin, turning warmer and muskier as the evening went on, making you wish that you could smell the bedsheets that laid against that sweet-smelling body later that night.

Very troubling for Yoongi's friends for his girlfriend to smell like pure sex and then gaze at them with such intensity when spoken to, startlingly similar to Yoongi himself.

"Hello, Jungkook. Surprising that you're the only one here."

Jeon Jungkook was so stunned that his brain seemed to cease all functions. He was completely frozen, eyes and mouth wide open, not believing the sight in front of him.

Yoongi?

His hyung was dressed normally. Black cardigan, white shirt, black jeans. His hair was light blue now, a cool-toned, steel azure. The color made his fair skin glow and his dark brown eyes stand out.

His girlfriend?

Her hair was loose and wild, partially covering the left side of her face. Dark eye makeup and dark crimson lips. Large, loose black shirt hanging off one shoulder, with a black leather choker and silver chain that clipped to the button placket of her shirt with a clasp. Her bra strap was obvious, meant to be seen, the delicate lace pattern molding around the top of the cup that was barely visible. The shirt was long enough to cover her ass, belted at the waist with a black leather belt adorned by a silver moon-shaped buckle. Sheer black stockings with seemingly intentional rips and sleek black velvet heels.

"Yoongi said you think emo girls are cringey," she chuckled, looking down at him, smirk on her plump, defined lips.

Jungkook sputtered, feeling his face burn. "N-No, noona, that's not what I meant, I–" He was attempting to restore brain function, but he was rapidly losing blood up top and it was gushing down below.

This had to be the hardest part of living.

"I had to remind him that I was a goth in high school, not an emo. They're slightly different."

She bent at the waist and adjusted the chair before sitting down next to him, giving Jungkook half a second to view her perky tits encased in black lace, her chest smelling so fucking good that he nearly passed out. He jerked his head away, glancing at Yoongi in sheer panic.

The older man gave him a completely blank expression.

Their previous conversation echoed in Jungkook’s head. We will see about that.

"The rest of them aren't coming today. I'm treating Jungkook," Yoongi was explaining.

His girlfriend tilted her head. "I thought you said Hoseok was coming."

"He was, but then something came up."

"Hmm..." She raised an eyebrow at Yoongi. He straightened his cardigan, noticing her discerning gaze, and raised one back.

It was only then that Jungkook realized they weren't sitting next to each other, but on either side of him, boxing him against the wall. Now Jungkook could smell Yoongi too, wearing a spicy, woodsy cologne that mixed with his skin to become warmer and more comforting, except right now it was scaring the shit out of him because he didn't understand why they weren't sitting next to each other.

"Ah..."

He simply pointed to the empty chair in front of him, unable to finish his sentence.

Yoongi looked over to see what he was pointing at. "Hm?"

"You're right, I should move it so the server has easier access to our table."

And she dragged the chair to the side.

"Very considerate of you, Jungkook."

She smiled at him and he swore the proximity was causing his sanity to crumble to dust. He saw her tuck her black purse behind her perky, round ass. It had a small pin on it of a devil reading a book titled, Guide to Eternal Torture.

A cutesy yet ominous image.

At this point, Jungkook realized he was staring at her ass and the raised hem of the shirtdress, revealing the fact that the stockings were thigh-highs. The black garter straps were straining against her juicy thighs as she adjusted her long legs under the table.

Fuck.

He bolted out of his seat, mumbling and stumbling past her, the alluring scent of her perfume enticing him as he squeezed past.

"B-Bathroom, be right back!"

-

You watched Jungkook run off, clamping his hands below his stomach, raising your eyebrows as he and his tight black jeans sprinted to the bathroom.

"Hm."

You turned back to your boyfriend who was looking at the menu like it was the most intriguing piece of art he had ever laid his eyes on. You stuck your tongue in your cheek and breathed out, waiting for him to continue. Yoongi didn't look up. You didn’t really expect him to. You waited out of politeness.

"How long am I torturing him for?" you finally asked.

"Until he takes back what he said about you," your boyfriend responded dryly.

You laughed, shaking your head. "I don't think it was directed at me specifically. Does he even know that this is what I usually dress like? Or why you always tell me to dress simpler when I come with you to eat with all of them?"

Those dark brown eyes flickered up.

Yoongi's perfect lips curved into a small smirk.

You rolled your eyes. "Of course, he doesn't."

He lowered the menu, raising his chin defiantly as he spoke. "My reason is still valid. You saw how Jungkook acted. He a mess around you."

"I don't ooze sex, Yoongi. You're exaggerating."

He cocked a brow. "I beg to differ. I would wager he's jacking off in the bathroom right now."

He drummed the table with his fingertips, challenging you to bet on it. You waved a hand, dismissing the challenge. Wasn't like you could miss that tent. You circumvented back to the matter at hand.

"Did Jungkook actually say that? About emo girls being cringey?"

Yoongi shrugged. "Something like that."

You frowned. "Really? With his eyebrow piercing and tattoos? And his black hoodie and jeans?"

Your boyfriend went back to the menu. "Projecting, I think you called it?"

-

Yes, Jungkook washed his hands before throwing himself into a stall and touching his dick.

He wasn't gross.

Would be really great if his dick had calmed down on his own, but her perfume lingered on Jungkook's hoodie sleeve, just the faintest trace on his left arm, and he pressed it against his nose, inhaling.

Fuck, why does she smell so good?

His right hand was undoing his pants, his eyes and fingers closing in, focusing on his throbbing erection fighting his underwear. Maybe if he just touched it on the outside, it would be fine...

Her face popped into his head, complete with the little quirk of her eyebrow.

Nope.

Jungkook shoved his hand into his boxer briefs and pushed them down, teeth biting his hoodie sleeve so he could smell her perfume as he stroked his cock, feeling somewhat dirty about it, but mostly violently horny. It wasn't like he could stop his brain. He couldn't go out there with a massive boner either, so he had to do what he had to do. It was only a few thoughts anyway, thinking about her thighs under the table and wondering how they would feel wrapped around him, wondering if she would let him rip those stockings off and bite those delicious legs, wondering if he could undo that belt and unwrap that body and press his nose against that sweet-smelling skin and taste it with his tongue, planting kisses over those beautiful breasts with her hand around his cock instead of his own, pumping him to her unforgiving pace, forcing him to moan into her skin, abusing his stiff length with her tight grip and expansive strokes, his hands gripping her soft thighs and his whines saturating the air, pleading, begging her to let him cum.

Would she edge me?

His hand abruptly stopped.

Jungkook used every ounce of willpower to avoid whimpering into his own sleeve.

His whole body was achingly tense, screaming at him to finish, but he refused, shoving his whole face into the thick fabric and breathing hard, clenching his jaw and his twitching cock, imagining her pretty face with a smug, sadistic smirk, those dark lips teasingly telling him he could finish inside her.

-

"What are you doing?"

The pale hand dance in the air, beckoning the waitress over.

"Ordering."

You tilted your head. "Jungkook isn't back yet. You should wait for him."

Yoongi shrugged. "I know what he likes." His gaze flickered to you. "Meat."

You narrowed your eyes. Yoongi gazed back, unfazed. You knew that look. You knew how to read between the lines. To everyone else, Yoongi was a 3D puzzle with a million pieces, but to you, he might as well have been a children's picture book.

The side of his lips quirked upward, so faint you would have missed it if you weren’t looking for it.

He did have very nice pictures in his book. You'll give him that.

You ticked your right eyebrow so subtly that no one caught it but him. He, too, knew that to look for. His smirk grew, pleased at your wordless communication.

You were dating a real troublemaker.

You smirked back as the waitress arrived at your table, apologizing for keeping you waiting. One look from both Yoongi and you, and she nearly dropped her notepad, fumbling with the pen, cheeks flushing pink.

Trouble did tend to find trouble.

-

Jungkook had determined he hadn't done anything wrong. He didn't actually orgasm in the bathroom stall thinking about Yoongi's girlfriend while smelling her remaining perfume on his clothes as the said couple sat in the restaurant, awaiting his return.

Well.

Now that he mentally described it like that, it did sound kind of fucked.

Crap.

He saw a blob of black in his peripheral vision and looked up to see Yoongi's girlfriend stride past him, fragrant-smelling hair drifting behind her, his head turning automatically to follow the sight, entranced by the movement of her hips and hair, only to find her glancing back at him, foxy smile dancing on those dark lips.

He swore she mouthed his name.

Maybe even said it?

Jungkook blinked and she was no longer looking in his direction, heading to the women’s bathroom and rolling up her sleeves, clearly going to wash her hands.

He was seeing things.

Yes.

Just horny and delusional.

"I ordered the beef plate for you. If you don't like it, we can order something else."

Jungkook looked down at the streaming, sizzling platter of seared beef and vegetables, feeling his stomach growl as he sat down.

"No, hyung, this is great. Thank you."

"Hm, that's good. You can start eating, I'm going to wash my hands."

Yoongi began to stand up, brushing off his pants. Jungkook jerked his head up, seeing the older male push his chair back, light blue hair falling over his forehead.

"Um, h-hyung?"

"Mmm?"

Those dark brown orbs flickered to him.

"Er..."

Yoongi tilted his head.

"Erm... why is noona here? I thought you said… you were just treating me to a meal...?"

Yoongi tilted his head the other way, slowly, unreadable expression in those cat-like eyes.

"I am. I'm paying today."

He raised his head and smiled. Jungkook tore his eyes away from Yoongi to see her weaving through the crowd to make her way back to the table, silver chain hanging from her black choker glittering in the overhead restaurant lights, exposed shoulder and collarbone a stark contrast to her all-black outfit, body shape so exquisite that it wasn't only Yoongi and Jungkook watching her walk. Many pairs of eyes followed her wake, some shy, some unabashed and brazen.

"Besides, she is a treat, isn't she?" Yoongi purred.

She had made eye contact with Jungkook and her lips curved into a small, amused smile.

Any response he had to Yoongi’s words died in his throat.

"Too bad you think that style is cringey, otherwise you might have had a shot, Jungkook."

-

You sat back down as Yoongi waltzed off, gesturing to his hands, leaving you with the Korean equivalent of Steve Rogers from 1943 to 2011, complete with what you presumed to be a very nice ass if the rest of Jeon Jungkook was anything to go by. Ah, well, you trusted genetics. Surely nature would have blessed Jungkook with a good booty. You looked over to him. He wasn’t moving.

Wasn’t even blinking.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face and Jungkook started, jumping in his seat, his wide brown orbs shakily shifting to you. You made eye contact and he quickly looked away, swallowing hard.

Come on, surely, it's not that serious.

Jungkook ran a hand through his short black hair and snuck a glance at you. Or, more specifically, your chest. Ah. Was that it?

"Something wrong?" you asked, picking up your chopsticks.

"N... No...?"

You had to smile. Jungkook didn't even sound like he believed himself. You pointed to your collarbone.

"Too much?"

His brown orbs shot up. Silence. You locked eyes with him, keeping him in place. You witnessed his inner struggle now, trying to decide between what he thought was the right answer and what his instincts were telling him.

"Aren't you... uncomfortable, noona?"

You chuckled, picking up a piece from your pork belly dish and blowing off the steam. "Me? Of course not. People stare at me all the time. Might as well dress how I want." You dabbed the extra oil off on the side of the plate and brought it to your lips. Your eyes flickered to the younger man. He was still watching you, his own lips parted, wispy black strands over his forehead, accenting his dark brows and the silver bar piercing on the right side. Poor guy. Jungkook really picked the wrong man to project to, the one whose girlfriend never grew out of her goth phase.

You brought the meat close to your mouth.

Let your tongue snake out for a millisecond between your open lips.

His eyeballs nearly fell out of his head.

This is too easy.

You placed the hot meat into your tongue and closed your lips around it, chewing slowly, maintaining eye contact.

Not speaking.

Yoongi was surely overreacting to something Jungkook probably didn't think too much about before saying it, but that was fine with you because Yoongi told you to cause some trouble. You liked causing trouble. That's how you got Yoongi. Trouble attracted trouble. Still, he had something planned. You could tell. Maybe even guess.

You smiled at Jungkook and he gulped so loudly you could hear it over the sizzling meat.

-

Otherwise you might have had a shot, Jungkook.

What did that mean?

Jungkook was having a mild panic attack throughout the entire meal, even when Yoongi suggested they get beers. His girlfriend was driving, so only he and his hyung drank as they ate. They barely talked. Jungkook’s brain was too busy trying to break down the meaning of the mysterious phrase, replaying Yoongi’s words over and over.

You might have had a shot.

A shot at what?

What, exactly?!

Jungkook snuck a glance at Yoongi’s girlfriend and she was looking back, cocking an eyebrow when they made eye contact. He flinched and peeked at Yoongi's expression. His hyung was chewing his beef slowly, staring into space.

Have had a shot.

Maybe Jungkook needed to do shots to be a normal human being at this point.

"You're pretty quiet today, Jungkook."

His dick twitched in his pants.

Jungkook threw one thigh over the other and mashed his dick between them.

"Ah... sorry..." he mumbled, fixated on his beer glass.

Yoongi rapped his forearm with the end of his chopsticks. "Look at people when you talk to them."

Jungkook swallowed and looked up at her. "S-Sorry, noona."

She tipped her head and frowned slightly. "Is there something wrong? Did I say something to make you upset?" She looked apologetic. "I'm sorry if my presence is ruining your time with your hyung."

He jerked his head to said hyung. Yoongi prodded at something in between his teeth with the end of his chopstick and gave Jungkook a confused look, as if to say, what are you looking at me for?

"Um... no," Jungkook finally said, shaking his head and turning back to her. "No, noona. I'm glad you're here. It's really nice to see you."

"You're barely looking at her."

His ears burned at Yoongi's dry remark.

She perked up, pointing to her collarbones. "Is this bothering you? It's too much, isn't it?" she chuckled, jingling the chain on the choker and making his dick jolt between his clasped, jean-covered thighs. "You really don't like this style, huh?"

Jungkook darted his eyes to Yoongi, who pointedly stared back, giving him zero context clues except for reminding him of what he said before the meal.

A shot.

“Uh, that isn’t it, noona. Ah, actually…”

Jungkook chewed on his lip nervously, focusing on her instead of Yoongi. She turned her body, giving her full attention to him. He couldn’t tell if that was better or worse. The guilt ate away at him. Minutes passed by. So many, in fact, that it was getting awkward. His neck was on fire, his ears were red-hot, he was pretty sure his cheeks were flushed, and not from alcohol, yet he still he couldn’t say shit to those dark eyes and crimson lips, trapped by the gaze of the woman in black, feeling like he just booked himself a room in the Hotel Bella Muerte.

“Are you okay, Jungkook?” she asked, shadows of an amused open-mouthed smirk on those lips.

Was he?

“Er, yeah… I’m okay,” he croaked, coughing to clear his throat.

Yoongi snorted.

Jungkook shook his head quickly, letting out a small growl of frustration. “Actually, no, noona, I’m not okay.” He rubbed his forehead and exhaled hard, biting his lip as he faced her questioning expression. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the style you’re wearing is cringey, because it’s not. It’s really not. You look amazing. You always have, but you look extra cool and sexy today and I feel really bad saying something like that because I should have thought about how other people could look and pull off that style, but I didn’t, I was only thinking about how stupid I looked when I was fifteen and I assumed–”

Her hand shot out and she pressed two fingers to his lips, silencing him.

“Shh,” she hummed, fully smirking now. “You assumed and thus you got yourself in trouble, didn’t you?”

She’s touching me!

Jungkook jerked his eyes to Yoongi, who was nibbling on his last piece of steak and ignoring Jungkook’s panic. He added a bit of the sauce and popped the meat in his mouth, chewing slowly. It was like she and Jungkook weren’t talking at all or, rather, Yoongi wasn’t concerning himself with it.

Her fingers slid down, pressing into Jungkook’s lower lip.

He very nearly made a noise, quickly darting his gaze back to Yoongi’s girlfriend.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

Why was she saying his name like that? Like… like she was sexing it with her tongue or something? Oh, shit, he was going crazy. He had to be. It was all in his head. She must be saying his name normally. Had to be. Yoongi’s girlfriend? Flirting with him? No, no, absolutely not. And certainly not in front of Yoongi. Even if his hyung was pretending to be deaf, he was definitely not deaf. Yoongi was the kind of guy who would smack a stranger looking at his woman funny.

This?

It was all in his head.

Her fingertips slid to the side of his lips, tracing the shape.

R… Right?

“You think I look extra cool and sexy today?” she mused, licking her lips.

Jungkook could smell her perfume off her wrist. Sweet, musky, seductive. His thighs were so tightly clasped together that Jungkook was pretty sure his dick was pointing straight down with how erect it was at the moment.

“Ah… w-well… a b-bit…?”

Clink!

Jungkook yelped as cold water flew into his lap, immediately spreading his legs as the glass tumbled onto the tabletop. Yoongi swiftly stopped it, sighing exaggeratedly.

“Ah, my bad, that was quite clumsy of me…”

“Shit, Jungkook, are you okay?”

Her fingertips left his lip and he could finally breathe, only to squeak sharply as hands planted firmly onto his thighs and crotch, bunched-up napkins dabbing the excess water away, quickly soaking it up with the paper.

“You should be more careful Yoongi, sheesh…”

“Sorry, Jungkook, here, take these.”

Jungkook vaguely registered Yoongi saying her name apologetically as well, but at the moment he was not okay, very not okay, he promised this was the most not okay he had ever been in his entire life as Yoongi’s girlfriend mopped up water from his inner thighs and crotch, molding her hands around his dick, yes, his actual straining hard-on was being touched by her hands and it was getting harder by the fucking second, her hurriedly wiping the water off, acting like this was completely normal and not like his cock was trying to rip out of his pants.

“Ack, noona, w-wait…!”

He tried to sit up and Yoongi’s hand came down on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Good idea, get under his ass just in case.”

Jungkook nearly blacked out as her napkin-covered hands slid under him and cupped the inside of his legs and bottom half of his ass, patting around. Her palms cupped his balls for a hot second.

He was fucked.

Utterly fucked.

Jungkook whimpered in his throat.

Her hands immediately stopped.

She looked up at him, very serious. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Jungkook shook his head from side to side so quickly that his vision blurred. “Yes.”

She shared a glance with Yoongi. The older man sighed and stood up, squeezing his shoulder as he leaned down to Jungkook’s ear.

“You want her to keep touching you or not?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, jerking his head to Yoongi. Those dark brown orbs looked back at him, demanding the truth.

“I didn’t spill that water for nothing.”

It was only then that it dawned onto Jungkook.

This was a set up. He was being set up. His hyung had set him up.

This whole fucking thing was a set up.

We will see about that, Jungkook.

She was cleaning his seat off and gently tapped his thigh. “It’s dry now. I think you’re okay.”

Jungkook decided that he really did not care about being set up. He did not give a single shit that he fell for it wholly and completely like a gullible idiot. He whipped his head back to Yoongi’s girlfriend, who was sighing ruefully, giving Yoongi the side-eye, muttering under her breath so only they could hear.

“What do you think he’s gonna do, Yoongi, ask to fuck me?” she hissed, placing the wad of wet napkins onto the table.

Too bad you think that style is cringey, otherwise you might have had a shot.

Jungkook’s hand shot out and squeezed her thigh.

“Can I fuck you, noona?” he breathed, chest tight.

He dug his nails into the sheer stocking, ripping new holes.

“If hyung lets me?”

-

"Yoongi, what are you thinking?"

Your boyfriend smiled. Very nonchalant. Nearly innocent. You knew better. This was Min Yoongi after all. His cardigan was off now. His broad shoulders in the white t-shirt were very distracting. Actually, so were his arms, now toned and more defined. Yoongi had recently taken an interest in working out.

His smile turned into a smirk. "What?"

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. You noticed movement under you and smacked Jeon Jungkook's hand down so he was no longer picking at the peach fuzz in his face. He gasped in surprise, but you ignored him, completely focused on your rather troublesome boyfriend.

"You can't be serious."

You felt fingers brushing against the hem of your shirtdress, playing with the edge of the fabric. Yoongi was kneeling behind Jungkook, who was sitting on your bed, and the younger man was now messing with your outfit as you and Yoongi continued your conversation about him.

Your boyfriend leaned down and placed his hands on Jungkook's jaw, laying down his deft fingers one by one, lifting that chiseled chin up, those wide brown eyes now looking at your face, paired with the amused, cat-like ones.

"I am serious," Yoongi murmured. "You should teach him a lesson."

You pursed your lips. "He already apologized. That's enough."

Yoongi tilted his head, clicking his tongue.

"No, it's not."

Your eyes flickered down and you raised an eyebrow at Jungkook's interruption. "What was that?"

He gulped under your stern gaze. "Um..."

Yoongi smiled pleasantly, removing his hands from Jungkook's face. "See? He wants it."

"He's your friend, Yoongi. We're going to have to see him in person later. You want him to be horny every second he's around me?"

Yoongi placed his palm on the crown of Jungkook's head, drumming his fingers slowly. Light blue strands curled around his dark brows and eyes, playful smirk on his shapely pink lips. His deep voice was a low, alluring drawl.

"He already is."

Jungkook nodded very fast to agree. He was trying to hide the keen excitement in his eyes by not speaking, but his eager expression was giving him away as Yoongi slowly chipped away at common sense. You grabbed Jungkook's chin and squeezed, holding him in place. His breathing hitched in your hand, small whimper of your name leaving his lips.

"Don't look at me like that," you scolded.

"Like what?" Jungkook asked with shaking eyes and a small pout.

You kept switching from Jungkook's to Yoongi's eyes because if you looked too long into those pleading brown orbs, you might actually crack. You spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Like you're desperate for it."

A low, dangerous chuckle.

Your gaze fixated on Yoongi. He was about to do something.

His long fingers worked into that short black hair and yanked back, making Jungkook gasp and shiver as he was pulled from your hand, your name falling from his lips in a breathy moan as his eyes continued to watch you, waiting, needing, begging.

"P... Please, noona..."

Yoongi's grip tightened in those black locks, Jungkook whimpering at the roughness, his own hands clutching your shirtdress, tugging at it.

"I'm telling you to do it," Yoongi purred, smokey and dark, staring into your eyes.

Jungkook was pulling your shirt now, pulling you to him, getting you to straddle his lap, you glaring at Yoongi's smirking face the entire time, annoyed that he put you in this position, and yet you knew something of this nature was coming the second he pulled you aside earlier today and asked you to dress the way you normally did because he was going to take you out to eat with Jungkook and Hoseok. Jung Hoseok already knew about your eccentric fashion sense and, while it did spook him a little the first time, he often sent you links of clothes that reminded him of you. You didn't think much of Jungkook being there. He was the youngest and Yoongi often treated him to a nice meal, although usually without you.

"Unbutton the top more."

Yoongi had adjusted the exposed shoulder himself and handed you the leather choker.

"Wear this one."

You had given him a skeptical look. "You suiting me up for some kind of mission?"

Yoongi had smiled mysteriously.

"We're going to make Jungkookie's life a living hell and he's going to like it."

Apparently, Yoongi's mission was to tempt and torture Jungkook until he was mildly insane and then subsequently draw out the younger man’s ravenous desperation so that Jungkook was now clawing at your thighs and whimpering under you, trying to get you to fuck him, shuddering every time he attempted to raise his hands and Yoongi punished him by yanking at his hair in warning.

"She hasn't said yes yet. No higher until she says yes," Yoongi snapped, not taking his eyes off you and your body.

"B-But..."

You slapped a hand down on Jungkook's mouth and squeezed harshly, digging your nails into his cheekbones.

"Shh. I'm thinking."

You closed your eyes.

Breathed out.

-

"You know the only hope for me is you, right?"

"That's a little dramatic, Yoongi."

Those dark brown, cat-like eyes glittered, full of mischief.

"You always play along with my ideas."

"They're all very good. You are a genius."

You loved the way Yoongi smiled at you, endearing and sweet with a hint of cunning cleverness. He liked to invent new ways to keep your life interesting. Being with Min Yoongi was never boring.

"I doubt you'll be able to shock me though. I've seen it all." You, too, enjoyed challenging him and being challenged. That was part of the fun.

That's why you carried on with his black parade.

Yoongi chuckled. "Mmm, famous last words."

-

“Don’t let him move.”

His veins were on fire, chest shuddering as his head was pulled back, back, his spine arching to an almost uncomfortable position, but he didn’t care, only feeling pleasure as she leaned down, hovering over his body, her hand on his mouth, gasps trapped on his tongue while her own extended from those dark lips, down, down, her other hand grabbing a fistful of his hoodie and yanking down the neckline.

The tip of her tongue touched the space right between his collarbones.

She removed her hand.

Jeon Jungkook moaned, hot and wanton, sinfully right in front of Min Yoongi’s face as Yoongi’s girlfriend licked up his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple and scraping her teeth against it, before sliding up to his chin, stopping right before his lips.

Exactly where the mole under his lower lip was, tip of the wet muscle unmoving.

Those sharp eyes shrouded in black eyeshadow and dark eyeliner looked down on him.

“Please, n-noona…”

He didn’t care if he was being pathetic, tearing at her stockings with his fingernails, unashamedly imploring for more.

She didn’t speak. Yoongi spoke for her.

“Please what?” his hyung murmured, massaging his scalp slowly.

His cock was so hard that it physically hurt being trapped in his jeans like this. Any sanity he had left was being obliterated into pure, unadulterated lust. Jungkook didn’t care anymore about right or wrong. Whatever they let him have, he would take. He would beg and plead and cry if he had to. Whatever it took.

He whimpered, his thighs tensing with need.

“P-Please fuck me…”

I want it.

I need it.

I crave it.

She raised her tongue and flickered it over his lips. He moaned, shaking, his hands dropping from her thighs, reaching between his own legs and rubbing his painful erection through the zipper of his jeans, nearly sobbing as Yoongi’s fingers tightened, nails raking at his scalp.

“I can’t t-take it anymore… please… whatever you want to do, just do it, please, please touch me, I can’t s-stand it, I’m so h-hard…”

She pressed her knee down onto the back of his hands and Jungkook whimpered, so aroused that even that felt good, simply knowing she was applying the pressure, his balls suffocating a little against the center seam because of how thick and stiff he had become.

“Are you a little bit of a masochist, Jungkook?” she whispered, licking his lower lip gently.

Instead of answering right away, he pulled his hands out from under her knee and pressed it down onto his aching cock, his eyes rolling back and moaning deeply, forcefully raising his hips up, slightly pulling on his own hair in the process.

“Hyung, noona, please…”

The friction was almost painful, but the leaking pre-cum had soaked into his underwear, the slickness rubbing against the head, the added pressure of her knee slightly crushing his erection being his own self-inflicted pain that only added to the pleasure.

Jungkook gazed at her with half-lidded eyes, shuddering.

“Destroy me more.”

-

Min Yoongi liked to watch his woman work.

She was the best, she knew she was the best, and she only got better the longer she was with him. Of course, he loved her working him most. But Yoongi also enjoyed keeping things interesting. Being an assistant to the master was just as fun. And besides, they had a much more equal power dynamic and that’s what they liked.

But Jeon Jungkook.

He pulled Jungkook’s hoodie off, taking the shirt underneath with it, bare chest exposed to sharp black nails that immediately sent Jungkook into a spiraling mess of moans, falling back as those dark lips attacked the tanned skin, leaving marks all over that muscular body. Yoongi placed a hand under that sharp chin and pressed the younger male’s head to his chest.

He liked this too, this power.

Yoongi pressed his fingertips into Jungkook’s chin and raked his nails over that quivering throat.

He didn’t expect anyone to understand how or why he operated the way he did. He only needed one person to understand and she was currently yanking off Jungkook’s jeans and black boxer briefs with vicious vigor, throwing them aside before climbing off his lap.

Yoongi placed his hand over Jungkook’s eyes and wordlessly took his sight.

He liked the sounds Jungkook made. Needy, desperate, and strikingly beautiful. He had a wonderful quality to his voice, pouring all of his emotion into it. Nice cock too. Very hard, very red, a good length and girth. Yoongi chuckled, amused at the younger man’s eagerness. He lowered his head, whispering into that ear with three quivering silver hoops.

“So cringey, isn’t it?” he taunted.

Jungkook whined in his hands, trembling tone saturated with apology. “I’m sorry, hyung, I’m so sorry, I take it back, I didn’t mean it, p-please believe me...”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw his woman remove her panties and step out of them. Stockings and garter belt stayed on though. She had style. He smirked, humming softly to mask her movement.

“You don’t have to say sorry to me.”

He removed his hand and she dropped her bare pussy onto Jungkook’s naked thigh.

-

Wet, hot, and sweet.

“Oooh, fuck…”

He lifted his head, eyes hazy and unfocused, greeted by the sight of Yoongi’s girlfriend straddling his thigh and rubbing her pussy all over him, the scent of her perfume mixing with the scent of her sex, thick and delicious and intoxicating, her soaked opening flexing against his hard muscle, driving him insane, disappointed that she was still mostly dressed.

“Noona…”

Jungkook reached for the belt at her waist, expecting Yoongi to stop him, but he didn’t, letting Jungkook unbuckle it, his hands shaking badly from the pleasure of her pussy touching his naked skin. The gentle slap of her thigh against his balls and cock not enough. He wanted to be touched, but those scrutinizing eyes indicated that she would touch him when she wanted and no sooner. It was making him lose his mind, but he loved it, moaning her name deep from his chest as he struggled to undo the small buttons, flinching and shuddering with her movements.

“I’m sorry, noona…” he gasped, staring into those sultry dark eyes.

She reached up and touched his lips, tracing the shape with her nail, sending shivers all over his body.

“You gonna watch your mouth from now on, Jungkook?” she murmured, trapping him with her gaze, turning the shivers into brimming electricity.

“Y-Yes, noona…”

He undid the last button and she swiftly removed her hand from his mouth and smacked his away, shrugging out of the shirtdress and tossing it to the floor before reaching down to her ass. She opened her mouth and her tongue snaked out, shiny with saliva, using her hands to spread her ass and pussy, squelching down on his hard, tense muscle.

“A-Ah, so good…”

And now he could feel more, the inner lips of her pussy now rubbing on his skin with her clit, slick and slippery, muscles of her opening constricting and relaxing on his thigh, an indescribable feeling, sensual and dirty and raw, the control so precise that her smug expression and upper body remained relaxed, hips still moving at the same rough pace.

Yoongi’s fingers tangled in his hair again, husky voice at his ear.

“Put the fingers of your right hand in her mouth.”

Jungkook obeyed as if spellbound, raising his hand and dipping his fingers into that waiting mouth, her warm tongue wrapping around them and coating them with her saliva, pink muscle gliding between his joints and dancing around his tattoos, spit dribbling down his palm and dropping in fat plops onto his crotch, his body flinching at the contact, unashamedly whimpering his want, Yoongi’s dark chuckle filling his ear.

It must have looked so dirty.

So wrong.

“Take them out.”

Jungkook removed his fingers with a sniffle, the coil in his core so tight he thought he was going to explode.

“Touch yourself.”

His cheeks burned at the thought of his own hand wrapping around his cock in front of two people, adrenaline and thrill burning his veins.

“B… But, hyung…”

“You touched yourself in the bathroom at the restaurant earlier, didn’t you?” that deep purr accused, pulling at his hair, prickling pain shocking his scalp.

“I…” His hand lowered. “I h-had to… noona is just so…” Staring into those heavily shadowed eyes, tongue licking those dark-stained lips, his saliva-coated fingers wrapping around his aching, taut cock, so close to sobbing at the relief of being touched that his voice cracked a little. “So sexy… and she smells s-so goooooood…”

Eyelids fluttering, Yoongi rapping his shoulder, telling him to look at her, telling him to appreciate that hair cascading over her left eye, those breasts cupped perfectly in that black lace bra, that garter and stockings barely encasing those juicy legs and her pussy sliding up and down his thigh, her hands spreading her ass wide so he could feel it as he punishingly and roughly pumped his cock, trembling all over, struggling to get his words out, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he explained but, for some reason, he wanted to explain and became even more aroused by it, relishing in knowing that she was listening intently to his confession.

“You always smell so, so good, noona… I t-touched myself w-while smelling your perfume on my clothes… T-Thinking about you and my hands all over your perfect body and your hands t-touching me…”

Fucking his hand harder, tighter, faster, slipping down, down, knowing what he was going to say next, driving himself to that point, the coil inside causing every muscle to tense, staring right into her eyes, knowing his pupils were blown-out and unfocused.

“T-Touching me like I am right now, abusing my c-cock and… s-stopping right before I c-cum…”

So close, so close, so close, please, please, please…

Her hand shot out and gripped his wrist painfully, forcing him to let go of his cock.

Jungkook cried out in vain, jerking his head forward and bringing tears to his eyes from the pain of Yoongi’s unmoving grip, tugging at his own hair, the sudden denial causing his cock to twitch and slap against her thigh, smearing pre-cum and saliva onto her soft skin, knowing that he wanted it, sinfully satisfied in how perfectly frustrated she made him, reading his signals and torturing him just right.

A merciful, skilled devil in disguise.

The hand left his hair.

Her hips slowed, sitting onto his thigh, an almost unbearable weight that he welcomed.

“Jungkook.”

His head lolled, scalp stinging, staring into her eyes and loving the way she said his name, like her tongue was wrapping around it and caressing it, each syllable drenched with curated possessiveness that was meant just for him.

Yoongi’s fingers snaked around his neck, four fingers fitting under his left ear, thumb pressing onto the pulse just under his right ear.

“You want to finish inside me?” she exhaled, hot and heavy and addictive.

The grip on his neck tightened, pressing on the blood vessels leading to his head.

One of her hands was still on his wrist. The other reached in between his thighs, past his stiff, purple-red cock. Fingers wrapped elegantly around his balls, joints locking, keeping him in a vise-like grip of pure power without adding any unnecessary pressure.

“Y… Yes, please…” he gasped weakly.

The grip of his wrist vanished. He was getting lightheaded, fighting to keep his eyes on her, and her free hand was now finally encircling his cock, finger by finger, making him wait, squeezing his balls a little harder, fuck, her touch, a distinctly different hand and different power, gently stroking his throbbing length as Yoongi choked him and she pulsed her grip around his balls, his breath leaving in shallow gasps and not only from the thinning circulation, but the flashes of pain and the constant pleasure of her hands and her wet pussy flush against his thigh.

“What if I make you cum like this?” she murmured, leaning in, Yoongi pressing in between his shoulder blades and pushing him to her beautiful face, dark and sultry and captivating, her lips now close to his.

“O… Okay…”

It took all of his willpower to hold himself up with his hands.

“You can do whatever you want to me, noona,” Jungkook whispered thinly. “I mean it.”

Yoongi pet his sweaty hair, pushing it away from his forehead, squeezing his neck tighter.

Jungkook choked out her name, desire so potent that he saw something in her eyes flicker. She liked it. She liked him and what she was doing to him and his reaction to it. It gave Jungkook a special kind of high, the kind of arousal that transcended past the sex.

Jungkook couldn’t get out anymore.

He knew he would crave this feeling, the feeling of power in powerlessness.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Jungkook’s first kiss with Yoongi’s girlfriend was her forcefully jacking him off as she squeezed his balls and Yoongi choked him, his tongue sloppy and lips quivering, her sucking on it and making him moan with his tongue trapped in her dark lips, his hips twitching and shooting thick strings of cum all over her thigh, his thigh, and the sheets, suddenly slingshot into oxygen when Yoongi let go, adding to the high, his eyes rolling back, shivers racking his body, pleasure so intense that he felt nothing else, absolutely nothing but her touch, her hand leaving his balls and wrapping around his waist, pulling him to her body, her kiss stealing his breath, her cum-covered hand sliding up and down his abused cock.

Jungkook inhaled.

Her perfume invaded his nose, marshmallow sweetness, warmth of green tea, spark of ginger, and he was drunk, drunk on submission, sex, and their power over him.

-

Yoongi loved everything she did.

The way she looked at him.

The way her body moved.

The way she leaned over and kissed him as he pinned Jungkook’s wrists over his head while she was riding the younger man’s cock with a bruising, intense pace, her tongue curling around his, moaning softly into his mouth, lover to lover. With every moment, Yoongi fell more and more in love, addicted to orchestrating the perfect scenarios for his woman to completely ruin someone else.

She broke the kiss.

What a brilliant, satisfied, killer smile.

“O-oh, fuck, so good, fuck, your pussy is s-so good…”

Yoongi sat back and watched her hands slide over Jungkook’s chest, gripping his shoulders and fucking him hard, watching her pretty pussy clench around that cock that was begging for that tightness and that torture, the younger man rolling his hips up with every descent, destroying himself further.

The squelch and slap of skin to skin was audible, loud, and so, so sexy.

Her fingertip flicked the bottom of Jungkook’s chin, smirk on those plush lips now smeared with dark lipstick. There was something erotic about the mess though, her wild hair bouncing with every thrust, faint dark smudges now on his lips and Jungkook’s panting mouth.

“Aren’t you the perfect little fucktoy?” she teased.

There was a tension in her jaw, indicating that she was clenching around the younger man’s cock.

“A-Ah, just f-for you, noona…”

She frowned playfully, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. “Hmm, I don’t know, sweet boys always have sweet tongues and you’ve already proven yours sometimes says misleading things…”

Jungkook whimpered. “P-Please, I s-said I was sorry… I m-mean it…”

Yoongi liked this begging, this desperate tremble vibrating from that silvery voice.

“I would n-never do something l-like this…”

Jungkook had such a handsome face, even with his cheeks flushed red and his composure falling apart.

“Unless it was y-you… and Yoongi-hyung, oooh, God…”

He raised his eyebrows, making eye contact with her.

She smirked back, dangerous and perfect.

-

“I-I can’t...”

“Yes, you can, Jungkook,” you murmured, arms around his neck, his arms shaking as he held himself up, moaning as you stroked his back, Yoongi behind you, still fully dressed, kneading your breasts, your nipples poking out between his long fingers and giving Jungkook the visual of your cleavage and the hard nubs poking straight out at him.

He groaned, hazy brown orbs returning to your face.

“Please, wanna make you cum with my cock so b-bad…”

You began to rock your hips again, the brief intermission stalling his orgasm over, and now he was moaning again, squirming at the oversensitivity and strained by the denial, your pulsing pussy keeping him hard until you built the pace up again, pushing him to the edge once more.

“Look at you,” you murmured, caressing his neck and back, fingers splayed over his hot skin. “You dream about this, Jungkook? Dream about hyung letting you be noona’s fuck slave?”

His teeth sunk into his lower lip, whining in his chest.

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Shh…”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, smacking your ass down onto his thighs, tightening around his cock. Jungkook moaned into your face helplessly, shuddering at your sensual gesture contrasted by your fierce thrusts.

“I wanted you too,” you whispered hotly, breathing in his clean scent. “You always looked so innocent. Made me want to mess you up every time I saw that handsome, nervous face of yours.”

Your grip tensed around his head, lower half really giving it to him now, bouncing on his cock, letting his thickness and his hardness fill you up over and over again, Yoongi pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers, following your rhythm.

“It’s not going to be enough for him, you know,” Yoongi chuckled darkly behind you. “He’s going to come crawling back, begging for more.”

Jungkook bit his lip again, looking from you to Yoongi, already guilty.

You leaned forehead, placing a light kiss on that mole below his lower lip.

“I love it when you beg for me, Jungkook,” you purred.

You could feel it, arousal flaring at your own words, already close and getting closer, pussy pulsating around that satisfying girth.

“Are you going to be patient?” you teased, tugging at his hair, savoring the strained moans from Jungkook’s throat. “Are you going to wait on your knees and watch Yoongi fuck me until he’s satisfied and then come to take his place and show me that you can be good for me too?”

You felt Jungkook’s cock twitch inside you, already enthralled with the idea.

“Y-Yes, noona, p-please…”

Fuck.

You dug your nails into his scalp and moaned deeply, staring into those glazed-over brown orbs, drugged on his lust for you.

“You’re so obedient, fuck, makes me want to cum on this pretty cock of yours and reward you.”

Yoongi pinched your nipples and tugged on them.

The spark collided through you, gasping as your orgasm seized your senses and took over, your eyes rolling back as the powerful jolts made your walls spasm, tension so high that it felt as if your nerves were vibrating, Jungkook’s name tumbling from your lips with a hiss that turned into a groan in unison with his, his overstimulated cock jerking and twitching from the brutal massage of your orgasm, the condom swelling inside you from spurts of his own.

The scent of sex was so strong that even Yoongi moaned, squeezing your breasts roughly.

“F-Fuck…”

You inhaled sharply, feeling Yoongi’s arms wrap around you, nuzzling your neck.

“Don’t I have such good ideas?”

You grinned, seeing Jungkook’s euphoric expression before he pitched forward and leaned his forehead against your other shoulder, panting for breath. His exhale was warm, drifting over your racing heart and heating your heated skin.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you chuckled, stroking his soft blue hair and Jungkook’s sweaty black hair. “You’re a genius.”

-

"Jungkook-ah!"

"Sorry, Jimin-ssi, I can't–" He clenched his jaw, stifling the noise threatening to escape from his throat. "I can't hang out today. I have a deadline for work."

"Aw, that's okay Jungkookie. Do you want hyung to bring you some dinner? I can stop by!"

"I already ate, ah, just now. Thanks anyway."

"Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. Don't forget your hyungs! You work too much."

Jeon Jungkook made an affirmative grumble. "Talk to you later."

An elegant finger reached over and hung up the call. The same hand lifted his phone from his ear and placed it back on the nightstand. Jungkook wasn't able to hold the phone himself.

He was handcuffed to the headboard.

"A-Ah, noona, fuck!"

Now that he was off the phone, she turned the toy back on, making him yelp and squirm. He whimpered, thighs shaking as his prostrate was assaulted with harsh vibrations, the connected silicone ring choking his cock and balls, flush against the base of both.

He moaned her name helplessly, looking down to see her laying between his legs, jerking forward with every smack of Min Yoongi's hips. His hard, dark red cock was sticking straight up right in front of her face. She heated it with her calm exhale, smiling at his shuddering whine.

"P-Please, touch me, o-o-oh, fuuuuuuuck..."

Yoongi smacked her ass with his open palm, making Jungkook moan at the sight of her ass bouncing from his hyung's dick.

"F-Fuck, please, noona, hyung, please, I wanna c-cum so b-bad..."

She increased the vibration setting and patted his thigh, returning to casually fucking Yoongi as he lost his mind from the jarring, rough pleasure, flexing his core and ass to make his cock jerk and swing in the air, unable to touch himself because of the handcuffs.

He loved it.

Jungkook loved every second of the torture crafted just for him.

-

"What a good boy for his noona."

Jungkook could only moan and whimper in response.

"Mm? Are you a good boy for her? Lying to Jimin so you can spend more time with my lovely woman?"

The younger man whimpered, biting his lip.

“H-Hyung…”

Yoongi smirked as Jungkook’s eyes rolled back, mouth open, gasping wail falling from his mouth as her tongue circled the head of his cock, lapping gently at the sensitive skin. The handcuffs rattled, Jungkook’s hands gripping the chain, tattoos standing out on his arm from his tense muscles. Yoongi watched her hands side up those toned thighs, up shaking hips, up to that slim waist, then drag back down, nails pricking at that skin, creating indents and red lines, visible, wet, glistening tongue toying with the throbbing cock in front of her.

He felt his own twitch inside her. Her muscles clenched around him tightly in response.

She lifted her head, gripping Jungkook’s hips and forcing him down on the bed, him whining and pleading for her to do more, but all three of them knew the way this was going to go and the one in the handcuffs wasn’t calling the shots.

“You keep coming back, Jungkook, and it’s gonna ruin sex for you.”

Her hand slid up his abused cock and balls, playing with them and rubbing the overstimulated skin as Yoongi increased his pace in power and speed, fingers spread out on her hips and sinking in, mirrored by the way she removed her hand from Jungkook’s length and grabbed his hips again, cocking her head, looking down at Jungkook.

“You keep flying high and you’re not going to want to come down.”

Jungkook’s black hair was all over his forehead, messy and sweaty, shudders leaving his swollen lips. The light caught the glint of the silver metal piercing on his trembling eyebrow.

She leaned down, hands crawling up his body, digging her nails in, scratching him up, and Yoongi hissed at the shifted angle, deeper now and more intense, her hair cascading down her shoulders, the sweet scent wafting up, sweet, warm, spicy, his favorite scents in the world melding together.

Sex.

Perfume.

And his woman, a curator of the little, beautiful death.

She chuckled, taunting and playful, placing her forearms on Jungkook’s chest, pushing back against Yoongi and using the other male’s body as leverage, poised in front of Jungkook’s fallen composure, one hand lifting and tracing his lips, enticing that pink tongue to sneak out, begging for a taste.

She shoved her fingers into his mouth, humming approvingly as Jungkook began to suck on them noisily, moaning around her fingers as the rhythm escalated, louder and louder, squeezing his length tighter so Yoongi had to thrust harder, growling in his chest, firmly gripping her ass, faster, rougher, her fingers sliding in further, the wet sounds of tongue and lips adding to the symphony.

Her words the crescendo.

“The jetset life is gonna kill you, Jungkook.”

The fire flared to an unbearable tension and Yoongi hissed her name, clenching his jaw and scratching her back hard, causing her to let out a long, drawn-out moan, clenching around his entire length and he came, cock jerking against her punishing walls, shooting his orgasm into the condom, his fingers sliding down her back, groaning satisfyingly when she matched him, her cum gushing out and sticking to his crotch and thighs, sweet purr of his name drifting out of her lips, her fingers slipping from Jungkook’s mouth, shiny with saliva and wiping it all over his chin.

“O-o-oh, fuuuuuuuck, please…”

And she didn’t forget, not even in her ecstasy, her hand wrapping around Jungkook’s neck, choking him strongly, driving him to the edge.

-

It took seconds.

Your lips curved into a smirk, Jungkook’s shaking, half-lidded brown orbs saturated with lust, vibrations and visuals and now the loss of blood leaving him breathless, lightheaded, and at your mercy.

Open mouth, gasping out your name.

Then he threw his head back, airlessly screaming, handcuffs rattling, muscles standing out all over his body from the searing tension, tattoos glistening with sweat, eyes rolling back, hips jolting up and shooting cum all over your stomach and his, orgasm so intense that he arched his back and jammed his cock between your bodies, your hand releasing him, Jungkook sobbing at the relief of his aching length still flinching and twitching, the hot head of his cock throbbing against your skin, still dribbling out hot cum in between your bodies, thick and slick.

You slithered on top of him, smearing it everywhere.

“Oh, God, n… noona…”

-

“Asleep already?”

You petted Jungkook’s head, smoothing his hair. “He had an eventful night.”

Yoongi chuckled. “He asked for it.”

Jungkook scooted closer to your heat, burying his nose in your chest, inhaling deeply.

Yoongi kissed the top of your head affectionately and you reached for his hand, running your fingertips over his knuckles. He placed it on your bare hip, tracing his marks on you.

“So, next time…”

“You’re already planning next time, huh?” You turned your head to look at those mischievous, cat-like eyes shrouded by strands of wispy light blue.

Yoongi ticked a brow. “Do you think he’s going to stop? I made him wait a whole month from the first time to this time and he gave me puppy eyes every chance he got.”

You shook your head with a smile, turning back to run your fingers through Jungkook’s black hair. “I wonder how you survived.”

“I looked away.”

You snickered and lifted Yoongi’s hand, pressing his fingertips to your lips.

“I would make him look away from me,” you murmured, low and dangerous.

“Hmm, then I’ll let you decide when next time will be.”

“Not counting tomorrow morning, right?”

“Of course.”

You felt Jungkook’s lips press onto your skin, a soft kiss inviting you and Yoongi to destroy him more.

--

masterpost

[shurisneakers]

harmless (iv)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, guns, mention of war, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: good evening i’ve never been to any of the places i mention in this series so dont come @ me

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He spends the weekend doing nothing. It’s supposed to be relaxing. He finds it nauseatingly boring.

“No mini mission this week?” Steve asks him from across the couch. 

They’re supposed to be catching up on Star Wars but two prequels in and Bucky could feel himself lose his sanity. Anyone could present him with a random assortment of alphabets, call it a Star Wars species and he would have no reason not to believe them.

It’s not like he doesn’t like space. It’s just that he’s had enough of it and everything and everyone who came from it for the foreseeable future.

“No. Someone else is taking care of it.”

“Didn’t you volunteer for this?”

“I pulled myself out of the case.”

“I thought you were having fun.” 

Bucky’s head slowly turns to look at him. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Looked like you were.”

Well, he wasn’t. He likes it here at home, glued to the TV. Popcorn beside him, sweatpants on. Refreshing, calming, slow, mundane, and Jesus Christ, so fucking boring-

His spiralling is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator to the common floor. No one was allowed up there unless it was extremely urgent. Guests were barely allowed into the Tower as it was. 

It reveals the receptionist from downstairs, Marie. She’s always a little reserved, a little shy. But Bucky had seen her chew and spit out trespassers or anyone who dared to get on her nerve. He adores her.

“Hey, Marie,” Steve says while Bucky sends her a friendly wave in greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a hostage situation downtown,” she informs them. 

“Okay...” Steve drawls, waiting for a reason why this was an Avengers level threat.

“They’ve asked for Mr. Barnes by name.” She makes a mention towards him.

Bucky sits up straight. Bits of popcorn fall off his chest. 

“What?”

“They said, and I quote-” she looks down at her notepad. “‘Tell that grumpy motherfucker that I’m waiting for him and that he’s not getting out of this so easily because we have come too far.’ End quote. They’ve also told me to include a kissing emoji. And a skull.”

Steve and he look at each other.

“Well?” Steve prods. 

Bucky sighs and gets up to go get ready.

The entrance of Chuck E. Cheese is more crowded than he’d ever seen. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen people in the store before. If there were, they probably only came up till his waist. 

There are a few journalists, a few policemen standing together outside. Whispers of confusion and curiosity reigned free. 

Bucky gently pushes his way to the front. He gets a nod from a police officer who opens the door for him after a quick briefing. 

The place is darker than it usually would be. A trademark, it seemed. The blinds are drawn shut and most of the light is coming through whatever sneaks in through the crack. 

“Hey, Barnes.” Your voice is muffled by a mask that looks suspiciously like it was made out of classroom craft supplies.

There’s a person in a loose chokehold in your hand with a gun pressed against his head. Once again it looks straight out of a cartoon, purple with round disks lining its barrel. 

“What’s all this now?” He gestures around monotonously. 

“A hostage situation. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Got that part down, genius,” he bites back. “But why?”

“Fucker kept harassing me when I was walkin’ down the street.” 

The guy’s helpless gaze met Bucky. 

“Catcalling me, stalking me.” You tighten the grip you have on him. “Call me darlin’ one more time, you son of a bitch. I dare you.”

He wasn’t impressed with his pleading eyes. He kinda felt like he deserved it. 

“Why’d you do it here?” The bright colours were starting to give him a heading. “And where are the staff?”

“It’s symbolic, Bucky,” you emphasise, “He deserves to be among other rat bastards.”

Of course.

“The staff?” he asks again. 

“Gave them thirty bucks and told them to leave. I’m not a monster.”

“Right.” He doesn’t bother refuting you. “Why’d you call me here?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “Thought it’d be fun. You having fun yet?”

You shake the guy you’re holding. He gives a small whimper. 

Bucky doesn’t want to stop you. He had chugged enough Respect Juice in his lifetime to know that this guy probably deserved a threat or two.

Hell, he’d even help but you were more than capable of handling this on your own.

“Listen,” he sighed. “As much as I’m sure he deserves it, this is technically illegal and I’m required to stop you.”

“Sorry sarge, I thought you weren’t interested in playing this stupid game with me,” you mock, voice dropping to imitate him.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t entirely true. One Saturday with Jar Jar Binks had convinced him otherwise.

“Okay, so before you leave, do me a favour and call Hawkeye. I hear he looks mighty fine when he’s annoyed.”

His face involuntarily scrunched up. You were going to replace him with Clint? Clint?

He probably took it more as an insult than he should have.

“I’m not doing that.” Bless his foul mouthed friend, but he was a little shit who was too sarcastic for his own good. At least twice a week he’d say something stupid to Bucky and then take out his hearing aids when he tried to argue back. 

“You’re leavin’ me with no options here,” you groaned, using your thumb to flip a switch. The gun looks like it powered up, lights along the side turning red.

If he let you have this, it’d be a bad look for the Avengers.

New York man dies in Chuck E. Cheese lone hostage situation, unable to be saved by same superhero who tried to fight Thanos with a machine gun.

“Tell ya what,” he says instead, “If you kill him, there won’t even be a slight chance that you’ll see me again.”

Your grip on the gun falters.

“If I let him go...”

“I might consider coming back next week.” He’s trying to spin it, make it look like he’s the one with the upper hand here. “But you gotta let him go.”

You search his face for any signs of dishonesty.

“Let him go or you’ll never see me again.” It sounds too much like Clint’s arguments with his dog who brought a live squirrel into the house. 

“Fine,” you relent, a glint in your eye. “but say goodbye to this fuckface.”

Before Bucky can open his mouth to shout in protest, you pull the trigger. The man clenches his eyes shut, face red.

He expects blood to be splatter across his face.

Nothing happens.

A barrage of bubbles floats into the room.

“I meant it literally,” you say, pushing him off you. “Say goodbye. He’s leaving.”

The man stumbles to the ground and Bucky doesn’t make any attempt to catch him. He scrambles to his knees, picking himself up and scurrying out the door to a hoard of reporters.

The door shuts behind him with the chime of a bell.

“You’re annoying,” Bucky states, giving a small sigh.

“I’m well aware of that.” You pull off the mask, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Where is the agent assigned to your case?” 

“Dunno. Last I saw he was crying on the driveway of my lair. I just figured he’d pick himself up later so I left him there.”

Bucky’s nose twitches. 

“You weren’t actually going to kill him, were you.” He shrugs with his shoulder towards the door. It wasn’t a question, more a statement. He knew you wouldn’t. 

“I could have.”

“But you weren’t going to,” he repeats. 

“No,” you admit. “I wasn’t. But I’m glad to see you showed up.”

“You held someone hostage as leverage.”

“No, no. I held someone hostage and then asked to see you. They were completely unrelated.”

“You’re evil.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you point out. “Would you like a trampoline next time? Maybe a pogo stick, you clown?”

He has a very real gun in his holster. His very real metal death arm aches to use it. 

“No one else agreed to come,” he deflects. 

“We both know that’s a lie. You were going to come back anyway.” You stuff the bubble gun back into the bag. “I’m deliciously irresistible.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.” You give him a smirk and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, you win this round, sarge.”

He doesn’t say anything. He watches you remove your heist gear, revealing normal civilian clothes underneath.

You walk casually to the kitchen, intending to leave through the back door.

“But I can’t say I lost either.” You send him a wink before swiftly pushing open the door and leaving him behind.

He only watches you leave.

It doesn’t hit him until a few seconds later that he let a criminal out of his hands when there were several policemen and journalists outside.

He entertains the idea of chasing you down and handing you over. 

It takes him only a few seconds to decide that if they wanted you, they’d have to try themselves.

Next part 

[messwriting]

THE SMUT PILE SECRET SANTA

Golden Eyes

Demon!Kuroo Tetsurou x Female Reader  

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

Note: HOE HOE HOE INDEED! HAHAHAHA 

This is my secret santa gift for my dear elf Alisha -- @rivendell101​! I do hope you enjoy, I just tried to channel all of Kuroo’s wicked energy into this and sprinkled it with our beloved monsterfucking. Sorry for all the questions, I just wanted to surprise you but also include only things you’d like. ;-; Hope you enjoy and MERRY SMUTMAS <3

Big thanks and lots of kisses to my dear Tay @deathcab4daddy who read this, betaed, and said it wasn't the train wreck I thought it was 😂🥺😘💕

Warnings: This is loosely inspired by the manhwa DEAR DOOR, by Pluto, from which the art above is also from (Satan is fucking hot)! Monsterfucking - Demon. Use of tongue and tail in a very uh naughty way. Magic makes you horny at some point (tho i don’t think is dub-con?), but just to be sure Magic Manipulation. Assplay with tongue and finger penetration. Denials, oh so many denials. Sprinkle of spanking. Soft pain play. Overstim. Oral sex. Rough sex. CHOKING. BITING. MARKING. Demon uhhhh lure? aijaisajisj He’s seducing you with his devilish powers. CORRUPTION. RELIGIOUS BLASPHEMY (sorry jesus).

Word count: ~7.4k. I can’t write anything short, why?!

“So… you’re a demon?” You ask, weirdly not completely panicking over the fact that this brick wall of a man showed up out of nowhere in the middle of your living room as if this were just another Sunday night. The stranger smiles your way with a lopsided grin and the shivers that run through your body seem to support his affirmation.

“Did the horns give it away?” The dark-haired demon asks, with a smile that could make him the single male model of some sin’s propaganda. Your eyes flick to his tail, long and thick, moving calmly in waves behind him, and come up to the unbelievably wide black wings sprouting from his back and threatening to blow a hole in your ceiling. 

“Sure,” You say while your eyes come back to his face, taking a second look at the long, twisted black horns sprouting from his high forehead and mixing with his thick raven hair. “Let’s say it’s the horns.”

He snickers but his golden stare is very much sharp on you. Even before it pinned you in place you had found that your legs had begrudgingly refused to move in front of the massive presence in your living room. 

“You’re an interesting little thing, aren’t you?” He muses out loud, his arms crossing in front of his body while one hand cradles his own face while he looks down at you. The gold irises glint in the dark like a beacon, the small crystal-like black pupil like that of a wild animal. “Normally people would have been screaming by now. Or passing out. Maybe running.” He doesn’t move from where he stands, but his sentient tail floats over to you, lightly caressing the side of your face as a child stroking their pet; it moves under your chin, over your jaw and cheekbone, pats your hair back, and comes to circle your throat. 

It doesn’t squeeze -- but the threat is pretty much clear.

“I don’t think my legs can move.” You tell him in a breathless voice, panic eating away at the corners of your sanity the more you stare at the insanity in front of you. A monstrosity of man with a tail and wings to crown it swaying in your living room as if it’s all okay, as if this is real life. You shudder in place, a whole-body wave of dread that moves along your body and makes you tremble as all the hair on your being stands in place. He grins down at you, wicked and pretty, a cheshire air of mischief in the way his golden irises glint in the dark background of his eyes and mingle with the dim lit room to go with the roll of white pearls of sharp-looking teeth in his mouth.

“Am I dreaming?” Your thoughts escape from your lips in a breath as his tail grounds you to reality, burning hot and heavy around your neck. It contrasts awkwardly with the image in front of you, which your brain keeps trying to deny as true, but the weight of his tail pulls you from the edge of disbelief and pins you in place, your limbs turning cold as you feel unable to move. “Or am I going insane, somehow?”

“Do you think your brain is failing you, little one?”

“Well, seems like the logical reason why there’s a winged man in my living room. With horns and-- a tail.” Your voice stops and you gulp right before your eyes snap once again to his devilish black and golden eyes. “Wait. Are you a demon? Is… a demon in my living room?” The more you speak the least sense it makes. The thing in front of you seems to be very amused by the twinges of panic and disbelief coloring your voice and expression. “Why?”

He smirks and his wings do a fluttering thing before they curve inside his back, two massive black things even when they’re closed. “Must be your lucky day.”

You snort even through your scared haze. “Not exactly what one thinks when considering demons.”

“Ah, bad rep.” Kuroo says and he floats as if he’s sitting on a chair, his legs crossing as he supports an elbow on his thigh and his face on his hand. It’s both parts unnerving and enthralling, and you’re struck with the fact of how big he is once again. “God’s marketing team is hella good. We get the rep for everything going on now-- the crops died? Oh, the devil. Psycho kid? Demoniac. Fucked up government? Send from hell. Sex? Devilish.” He sighs, his pretty lips jutting in a pout as his beautiful face falls into a tired mask. “It’s tiresome to be the poster-boys to all things wicked.”

“Well, seems like you do the part just fine.” You hide yourself through some small sarcasm, as you grumble the remark.

“Hah.” His sharp teeth flash in the dark at the barked laugh, a gasped sound as if he truly found your remark funny. “We get used to it,” He nods your way and then shrugs, a never-leaving smirk on his lips. “And I like the style.”

“Sure,” you say, despite the clear unconvinced tone of your voice as your eyebrows shut up slowly, eating the distance from your hairline until you blink and tiptoe around your next words, “not to be rude, Mr. Demon--”

“Call me Kuroo.” He cuts you off charmingly, as one would in flirting; a playful arch in his brows as his smile spreads just that bit more over his face. You just now realize the appeasing traces of it, the sharp angle of his jaw, the high of his square cheekbones, and the elegant line of his nose; then your eyes fly over the protruding circles of his horns, and your eyes go round almost involuntarily. 

“Okay…” It breaches your lips along with a puff of breath. You blink a few times before continuing, still doubting your own eyes as they thread over the massive monster in front of you. You wonder if he’d look better if he’s bent to your height, but then again that wouldn’t do much about those broad shoulders, engulfing your wall where he stands. “Not to be rude, Mr. Kuroo, but…” you steady yourself with a deep breath before continuing, your hand flying to press against your eyes before you can reopen then and see the exact same thing from before -- a demon in your house. “What the fuck you’re doing here, exactly?” 

He smiles, pleased with your cussing, apparently. Then his eyes turn focused, predatory,  and they’re locked on you.

“I’ve come to offer a deal, little one.”

“A deal?” You parrot, lost in the pull of those golden eyes.

“Yes,” Kuroo smirks, lips splitting unnaturally over sharp canines. He keeps floating in his position, face supported on a big, clawed, hand. “And a quite good one, too.” 

“You… You’re at my home, to offer me a deal, right after the small rant on Devil’s bad marketing.” You list the things, doubt thick in your voice.

Kuroo smiles, but it looks wrong. “Yes, dear.” 

“Okay,” You risk, though it comes out as a question. Kuroo seems pleased, though. “Go ahead, I guess?”

“I need something from you.”

“Oh shit, is this the soul thing?” Your eyes widened again, hands coming to stand protectively in front of you even as you doubt you could do much to fend him off if he wanted to do you harm. “I’ve seen Supernatural, I’m not selling my fucking soul okay?!”

“Chill, kitten, I don’t really mind your soul.” He’s rather nonchalant, golden eyes completing a circle along his eyeballs before they fall once again on you while Kuroo comes out from his floating position to pace calmly over to you. Then, his sharp teeth split his face wickedly in two, an alluring characteristic in the way his lips form an overconfident grin as he bends over you in your place on the couch. “It’s your body I’m interested in.”

“My… body?” 

“Have you ever heard of hell portals?” His face engulfs your line of vision as his tail angles your head back to look up at him, a clawed finger gliding over your jawline at that.

“No? Should I? Who do you think I am to know about hell doors?” It happens again, your thoughts slipping through your lips at the same rate as you think them, the sarcastic tone of your mind also dripping out much as if that had been your intention all along. 

He seems rather happy at that, too.You wonder if he’s prying the truth from you somehow. “Well, you’re one.”

“What?” You ask, stupidly, as his face gets further from you and he straightens back into his full height.

“A door, to hell.” Kuroo finishes, cheerfully. It looks, once again, wrong on his face, as if it's more of a threat than a joke. 

 The seconds pass by as falling rocks over metal, loud and rattling, a restless moment in which you keep staring at the monster --demon-- face and even as his horns stay in place and his curved wings twitch, it stills feels wholly detached from reality; an insane, out of this plane moment in which you doubt your whole being - your eyes and your ears and your brain and your skin, where the weight and warmth of his tail still surrounds your neck.

“Now I know I’m losing my mind.” You murmur to yourself as you can’t make peace between reality and, well, this reality. 

“Ah, you humans are such disbelievers. I’m here in front of you, saying you’re a portal, and you still doubt your own eyes as if they’re the origin of your offense.” Kuroo mocks you, crossing his arms in front of his body and for a second your eyes linger on the blackness of his clawed hands, the weird way they’re shaped as if something is enveloping them, elongating claws on the point of his fingers with the color of a moonless night. Still, the acidic tone in his voice makes you perk up with infuriating annoyance, and it seeps from you at the same rate as it fills you. 

“Well, sorry if it’s hard for me to believe I’m a fucking hell portal.” You sass him, fiery eyes closing on gold. It’s even more annoying that he smiles through your taunt. “Ten minutes ago I didn’t even believed in hell.”

“You can keep doubting if you want. Aren’t you doing so even when you see me here? All I need is passage and then you’ll be free to doubt once again,” his eyes glow brighter as he closes in on yours in a way that has you swaying in place, a vexatious air around him that’s unmistakable; but then again he is a demon, so maybe that’s just the norm. “That is… if you want.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his voice, and your own trembles when you ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That this can be a one-time thing -- or not.” 

You blink, a bit lost. 

“What’s this, exactly?” Your brain pulses in pain at the quantity of information it has to make sense and still try to understand. It’s too much and soon you’re pressing your hands on your face in frustration, “Dude, you’re not making sense.”

“It’s easy.” Kuroo says and suddenly you’re yanked up by thin air, floating in front of his fingers at his will as he twirls your body in the air as if you’re some sick kind of roulette. “Inside you, there’s a portal. I’ll activate it, and go to hell. In exchange, I’ll give you something.” As he speaks, clawed hands slowly and maliciously thread over the valley of your breasts and then down your middle, his golden eyes like a lighthouse to your wandering attention. “Something I know you desire, but you may not even know so. May not even accept yourself.” As his fingers approach the appex of your sex, you’re rounded in the air abruptly and set right on your feet in front of him, safe and sound and dizzy, feeling like prey to those eyes. “It may be this single time, or, if you accept my deal, it can be more.”

You breathe some big gulps of air before speaking in a wavering voice, “Something I wish? And you won’t tell me what that would be?”

“Essentially, you know. You just may be in… denial.” His eyes flash that golden glint once again, twirling molten pools of liquid sun on his face. Their constant, slow motion never-ending circles seeping inside your consciousness, making your mind blank, slowly flowing into a haze in which you feel lost but safe; warmth flowing from it over you as if you’re being dipped in melted honey, weighted down but comfortable, as moving against warm waves in a tropic beach. 

It tips from your mouth as you’re swimming in the molten pools of gold, pulled out from your body as the warm breath from your lungs, heated and pliant. “Okay.”

The spell crashes as his grin spreads through his face, the self-satisfied smirk of a cat who got its prey. Just as you’re burning in embarrassment and ready to cancel whatever that was you just said yes to, a sudden wave of warmth spreads from your face to your feet, your hair undulating at the force it hits you, and travelling so quickly you can feel the way your toes curve while a buzz crosses them, a pleasant but foreign thrill settling in your bones. You send him a nasty glare. 

“The fuck have you done to me?”

“Me? Nothing, kitten.” Kuroo tells you but everything from his expression, to his stance and the fucking satisfied smirk he sports tell you it’s a lie. Your glare turns worse. His lips are curved up in a telling manner but he concedes with a tilt of his head.  “I just lowered your inhibitions, relax.”

“Why would you do that?” The questions zap from your mouth just as you think it, and in a fleeting thought you wonder if that isn’t exactly what he meant. 

“I told you, I’m going to give you what you want.” Kuroo says as he stops in front of you, a sexy, powerful sway in the way he moves and towers over you that you can’t help but appreciate. “But I need you to accept your darker wishes,” It’s a murmur, raspy in his deep voice, and you breathe the words in as the indecent, luscious feeling swell inside your being and seems to find it’s home in your chest-- and drip from your sex. “And then embrace me.”

“I don’t want you.” You tell him, but it comes breathless, weak, and as Kuroo’s golden eyes pierce yours, you can feel as he pinpoints your lie. 

“Then let’s change that, shall we?” 

He wastes no time in maneuvering you into his arms, pulling you through thin air until his feral hands close around your middle and neck. Kuroo tilts your head back while grazing a single clawed finger over your pulse-point and up to your jawline, and then his breathing comes loud and misty against your bared skin. 

“Wait--” You plead as your breath comes in long puffs and when you wet your lips before continuing, a freakishly long, wet and hot tongue comes to lick a big stripe of your skin and you yelp loudly, “-- the fuck!” 

Kuroo, on the other hand, literally hums approvingly and brings his nose to glide over your skin, soft breathing as his hands pull you closer into his massive chest. You realize now, at the proximity,  just how big and broad he is, somehow between terrifying and uncanningly acceptable. 

His body runs hot, the temperature difference between yours quite clear when your skin feels so heated by his touch, clothes you found nice now feeling constricting the more of you that touches him. 

The planes of his chest are hard and toned, lean muscle and strength as he moves you up without effort, your feet dangling way above the ground and still no hint of struggle as he supports your weight. As you get closer, those yellow irises centered in black globes seem to pry inside your mind, big and all encompassing; it makes something coil in your chest, much like panic but tame as agitation.

“Wait--” You breathe out and look down, shocked at the distance you found yourself from the ground. Something crawls from your chest as a distressed groan, “I--” 

Kuroo tilts your head back and -- not without sending you a smirk -- delves down to close your lips together.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this -- you’re swept away by the kiss, amazed at how well your mouths work together, how perfectly plush and soft his thin lips feel on yours, how pleasing the motions of his tongue are against yours, how tasteful his movements are, and before long, you’re breaking the kiss but because you need to breathe, to pull some air inside yourself to battle the haze settling in your mind.  

It does nothing to aid you though.

Your body feels achingly flushed, avid, weirdly pliant and it is with mild surprise that you feel yourself drooling inside your panties. Something tells you to be indignant, to kick him, to bite and claw, but instead you’re sighing the weakest of noises, spiralling back to his expert lips, falling deeper inside the slow seduction that this demon offers.

Kuroo moves you calmly, his big, searing hot hands threading across your body and working goosebumps in it’s trail even as all he does is touch you over your clothes. Your hands, previously abandoned by the side of your body start to move up his body, spreading your small palms over his chest, and instead of pushing him off, you’re pulling him closer, opening your mouth wider, your legs hiking over his side as if you’re begging for the moment he’ll pick you up.

“Hmm, what a nice little thing you are.” Kuroo murmurs over your lips, taking in the wrecked expression you sport with just a kiss. “So honest, too.” His claws glide over your thigh, hiked on his side. It doesn’t hurt, but the feeling of something sharp sliding against your skin makes your heart rate pick up and your panties grow wetter.

“You’ll like this too, kitten, don’t worry.” His syrupy voice enchants you as he hooks a razor-sharp claw on the side of your shorts, threads up slowly and precise until the ripping sound breaks through your haze. When you look down, your hooded eyes turn wide, taking in the fact he just ripped your shorts and how easily they slide to the ground once they’re free from your hiked leg. The panties stay, but they’re not exactly much. 

“Hey!” You turn to look up at him, puffed cheeks in indignation, and one of his hands yanks your head back, angling your body in a arch as his other hand glides over your thigh to your lower belly, sharp thumb swiftly climbing up your body and with such, ripping your comfy t-shirt. The feeling of something scratching along your middle and the valley of your breasts make your breathing catch up on your lungs, too afraid it will press enough to hurt if you move. You never knew a menace could be this seductive.

Still, the anticipation coils inside you, pours from between your legs as your skin feels too small to hold all the feelings cursing to you, your breasts heavy and your lips falling open in a breath that Kuroo drinks from your lips, attentive and dedicated as his tongue comes out and slides over your lips.

His eyes glint in the dark, sharp and focused. 

“You know what? I think I’ll like you.”

 The air feels cold on your heated skin, especially when he holds you so close. Small trembles pass through your frame as you melt inside his kiss, falling deeper inside the pleasure he offers you and Kuroo barely started. Your nipples perk up without attention and when his rough palm rolls over them, their new-found sensitivity makes it impossible for you to not let out a sound. It’s something meek and surprised, but Kuroo seems proud of it and decided to pull more out of you. 

Magically, you’re yanked up, floating until your middle is at the height of his neck. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” Your head is millimeters from hitting the ceiling, your hands touching it as a way to protect yourself, you throw a nasty glare down at his face just for him to make a half-circle in the air and your upper body be launched behind. 

“No!” You’re laying on thin air -- your heart beating so fast your blood pulses in your head as you look over your shoulder and notices just how impossible is the situation going on, where you’re levitating a few meters from the ground. 

If he stops now, would you go down crashing? Would you die from such a fall? Questions swirl in your mind enough for you to forget whats going on - the way a sharp claw swiftly cuts the side of your panties - until something wet, firm and long prods on your dripping folds.

“What--” Your first action is to hitch your neck up so you can confirm that it is what you think it is, and, granted, Kuroo is slowly prying you open, his huge tongue threading on your most sensitive parts. As he laps a long stripe down your pussy, he looks up at you in flashing gold, seeming extremely pleased. 

Kuroo winks at you, depraved.

Your blood is rushing through your veins at such a haste that you feel dizzy, and your whole body is fervent as something very loud breaks through your lips as Kuroo’s tongue moves and presses on your slit, circles your clit, and moves in serpentine movements along your puffy cunt. 

You didn’t realize before how the texture of his tongue was a bit rugged but now you’re suffering the full extent of its benefits as he eats you out sloppily, enough that you’re dripping down on the carpet as his monstrously long and dexterous tongue plays with your cunt as if that’s his sole mission on earth. Kuroo hums against your clit, makes your whole body tremble with it, and at some point, he manages to press his tongue flat against your clit and still reach enough that it dips softly inside your entrance, slowly and deliciously prying the inner ring of your sex open, then broader.

You can’t help the noises falling from your lips and when one of his rough, clawed hands close around your breast, the pressure inside you peaks and you’re panicking at how close you are to your first orgasm, from his tongue alone, at an impossible long and sentient… demon tongue. 

But he retreats just as your mouth falls open, your throat constricted by the scream that instead becomes an indignated gasp. “Fuck--! I was--”

“Hmmm, I know.” Kuroo answers you, his hands coming to hold your thighs open as you tremble from the effort. His thumb pulls your cunt lips apart and his golden eyes glint, fierce and pleased at the same time. “Aren’t you an interesting plaything? Skyrocketing into pleasure head first when I was just getting a taste.” He licks his lips, his canines making an appearance as his ridiculous long tongue cleans his face and chin where your juices have leaked to. 

His grin should be illegal. “Delicious, by the way. But I’m not ready to end this so fast.”

“End this… fast?” You ask, still having difficulty in thinking straight when you’re floating up in the air with your legs spread open in front of his face, his thumbs spreading you open as if you’re his meal and he likes to play before eating.

“Maybe we should go somewhere more comfortable.” Kuroo muses out loud and before you can blink you’re falling, screaming in your surprise until you bounce on the comfortable cushion of your bed. The air is knocked out of you in a oof, but Kuroo just looks down at you happily, his smile still looking mischievous as if that’s his whole personality trait.

You know what, maybe it is.

“Warn a girl.” You tell him, and he winks your way, just as he pulls your naked body to the edge of the bed.

“Consider yourself warned: i’m about to eat you up.”

His massive hands engulf you and arch your body into his eager mouth, where his tongue lavish at your sex in a way that has you feeling as if they everywhere and at the same time. The muscle is thick and long, firm as it presses from your entrance to your clit, as it rounds your sensitive spot and slithers down through your pussy lips, slurping it with his lips as his wicked tongue never stops its prodding.

One of his hands circles your body, closes around your breast and tweeks your hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, painfully, deliciously, something obscene curling inside you at the way the feelings mix, the pain and the bliss and it doesn’t help that Kuroo moves his mouth to the sensitive and fragile skin of your inner thighs and build a whole trail of bite marks and throbbing hickeys. 

Something firm, large and hot slither up your body, circling a breast but finding it’s home at a circle around your neck -- his tail -- and the more vocal you become, the more it seems to close around your throat, your heart beating on your fingertips as they claw at anything of Kuroo’s you can reach, hazy and breathless at the way he discloses your wicked desires so plainly, the way his every move seems to discover layer after thick layer of temptations that you have hidden so deep with partners before.

“Such a pretty little thing you are,” Kuroo coos to you when he presses a thick finger past the tight ring of your cunt. “So honest and eager,” It moves, prods, another one joins and soon they’re scissoring against your walls, opening your tender flesh so he can sink himself in further. 

The mere thought has you moaning out loud -- unbelievable and yet, you feel how your arousal drips from your cunt to your thighs.

 “Ahhhh~” Kuroo exhales as his tongue laps a long stripe of your juices. “So pure.” He says against your pussy lips, kissing them and then letting his long tongue slide further until it prods between the cheeks of your ass, immediately falling into circular motions on the furl of muscle. You yelp but midway it becomes an embarrassing moan. “This just makes me wanna ruin you more.”

It’s too much -- he has to know it’s too much, and as Kuroo curves his fingers just right inside your sloppy cunt and his tongue breaches just the tiniest bit the resistance of your ass, your eyes are falling open in huge plates, a long moan of his name on your tongue as you’re so close to cumming you can practically taste the high already.

“No, not now.” Kuroo chastises you as he retreats his tongue and fingers from you, the arch of your body ready to snap curling in a tremble of a denied release.

“Too soon, kitten. I want to savor this.” His tone comes out between pleased and patronizing, and it makes your cunt clench, empty. 

You heave, unfocused eyes blinking the wicked golden away. “What--” A deep breath. “What do you want from me?”

“Wrong question, kitten.” Kuroo tells you just as his massive frame bends over you, the wicked eyes seducing you in once again -- not that they ever stopped. “Now that I got a taste,” He murmurs practically against your lips, and you lick where his breath hits, captivated, “I want all of you.”

 He lets you fall on the bed once again and maneuvers your body without difficulty until your ass is high in the air and your thighs are spread, his tail lighter around your throat, fondly slithering on your jaw. His knee presses on the mattress until it squeaks and his hands massage from your thighs to your ass, prying it open and kneading it with hard, powerful hands.

“Beautiful.” He praises you and you swear your pussy throbs and flutters hard enough to make a gushing noise. By the way Kuroo snickers, it may be true. 

His tongue is the first thing you feel right after his laboured breathing on your cunt. It pries you open, thick muscle sliding inside you, big and wet and dexterous and you’re moaning against the mattress in seconds. 

Kuroo seems pleased even though all he does is hum, his large hands press on your back and the other opens your cheeks wide for his assault. Something hot prods your asshole, and you’re surprised at how careful his fingers can be while maneuvering the wetness left by his tongue there. They move slowly but surely as he presses and retreats, opening you from two fronts and still seemingly not enough.

He decides to change, his tongue coming out of your sex and then sliding to your ass as his thumbs open your lips for him to watch as he dips two big fingers inside your cunt. The stretch, the massive pleasure of being assaulted by both ends make you clench and cream around his digits, once again climbing up the familiar euphoric road. 

This time, however, Kuroo stops you differently.

His hard, heavy hand falls on your ass cheeks forcefully in what must be his intention of being light. You yelp loudly and groan, somehow caught between winding down and flying right over the edge. 

“Oh, hoho~” Sounds from his voice and he descends his hand once again on your ass, heavy and startling. It sounds so loud and so lewd in the empty room, your whole being burns in place, trembling from the effort of holding yourself in all fours and the pure elation growing inside you, spreading from your fingertips to the depraved center of your being. 

As the sting settles in your senses, it winds down your orgasm but makes a renewed wave drip from your cunt and down your thigh. You’re surprised at how it excites you, the pain, but fuck it still stings. His hand falls on your ass a couple more times but then his hot palms knead the stinging flesh, an exquisite feeling spreading over you as it throbs and burns and you melt.

“Ugh! Fuck!” You groan, biting the mattress, unable to tell him to stop and too embarrassed to tell him to keep going.

“You really are a nice plaything, aren’t you?” Kuroo asks but it seems as if it's more for himself, his digits collecting your wetness as he dips once again inside your cunt, spreading his fingers apart and sliding a third inside just as his thumb circles your clit lightly and you howl, sensitive and wanton, too eager into tasting bliss.

This time, at least you’re half-conscious he’s not letting you cum. Kuroo stops, leaving you clenching for something, anything and gives you nothing. His immoral smirk seems to sound in the air, much as the way his tail leaves your throat to circle your hair and yank you back, stuffing your open mouth with the fingers that were just inside you. You lap obediently at them and he groans in your ear, teeth nibbling at your skin. It’s almost as if he’s tempted.

“We’re almost ready, kitten.” He tells you with a hoarse voice, all sin and flames, “Hold on.”

“Ready?” You question poorly with a mouth stuffed of fingers, but he understands and nods your way, his tongue licking the spit that starts dripping from the corner of your mouth at how broad his fingers open it. 

You don’t see if Kuroo undress or if he just magically gets naked behind you, the startling thing being the incredible feeling of his hot skin on yours, the dazzling feeling of his hard planes of muscle on your back, the sublime sight of his skin marked by faint scars; When you feel the scalding, throbbing thick member at the side of your thigh, however, you have to look back. 

“Oh my God,” You murmur at the sight of his cock. It’s proportional to his form, but that just means it’s ridiculously big, a veiny, swollen thing that seems looming as it stands close to you, and it clicks in your slow mind just what he meant by almost ready.

“Nope, I’m on the other team here.” Kuroo grins at you as he turns you with your back on the bed, spreads you on the cushion until your thighs hurt from the effort. His tail sways behind him as if to paint a scene, and you realize his wings are nowhere to be seen now, “Though I do think it’s some kind of poetic justice to have you screaming and blaspheming jesus while I fuck you silly.”

The higher part of your cheekbones alights with flames at the implication and you gasp back the words you planned on speaking when Kuroo’s hand pivots your lower back up to his mouth and closes his efforts on your neglected clit as his freak thick tongue enters you in one go.

You cannot explain the sensation of such a soft muscle invading your walls, or the way in which it seems to focus so expertly on your weak spots, but you’re too wound up not to fall head first into rapture. 

When he stops this time, you actually curse him, in the most wrecked sound that has ever left your lips.

“Ughhhhhhh--Fuck you!”

The bastard laughs, debauched, then deposits a kiss over your pussy as his golden eyes fix on you. “Now you’re ready.”

Kuroo adjusts until you’re both at the bed, pulling you up on his powerful thighs until his cock bounces over your navel and reaches way too high for you to actually be calm. But then he retreats his hips, bent over you so his lips can steal the air from your lungs just as his large hand palms at your breasts and his tail slither by your side. 

“Try not to cum too fast, kitten.”

“Easier said than done,” you grumble back against his lips and let yourself fall into the ruthless ecstasy of being spread open on his cock. His lips thread on the side of your jaw, under your neck, biting and sucking on your skin as his hands divide themselves between holding you up and pawing at every bit of you they can reach.

Everything feels so good, as if he knows your inner thoughts by hint alone -- your toes curl at each newfound area that receives his onslaught, you’re contorting at how good his mouth feels on your pulsepoint as he slowly starts to sink his cock inside you. It’s a weird feeling, to feel so full and yet still so eager, but you’re welcoming him at each torturous inch he manages to squeeze inside your tight walls. Your body trembles from the effort, Kuroo’s tongue slides from your neck to your nipple as his hand climbs up and settles around your throat, his fingers enveloping your neck.

Your heart picks up enough that you feel it beating on your ears as you search for his eyes and finally you’re pinned in place under the sharp gold and their twisted intent. 

“Scream for god if you want me to stop.” Is the warning he gives you before his fingers start constricting around your neck, your airways blocked as your chest starts to heave. And in between the small twinge of anxiousness and alarm, you realize just how much that entices you, how much it makes you burn and crave. Somehow you feel corrupted, falling into desires that threaten to peel you apart and leave you exposed.

Kuroo’s cock keeps slowly stretching your insides and his tongue twirls your nipple, your lungs burning for air and your eyes rolling inside your skull as you skyrocket into blissful free-fall. 

“Oh, hell yes.” You listen but don’t register as your body seems to be crushed under the massive pressure of your climax, burning and bright, sound ringing in your head that you come to find out it’s from your hoarse moan, your breathing laboured as Kuroo allows you to suck in air during your peak.

It dawns on you as you’re coming back to your body that theres a twinge of soft pain indicating Kuroo has bottomed out, his muscular thighs pressing flush against yours, the feeling incredible but fuck so much right now. 

As Kuroo nestles himself entirely inside of you, you feel as if your focus shifts, the task to not concentrate all of your attention on the massive hot cock spliting you in two is difficult. Your body feels tight, and not just from your fluttering walls that are constricting around him.

Kuroo sends you a big smile above your head, twinkling eyes in the dark. “Now, hold on.”

You do your best to do so, your arms latching onto him with all the strength you can muster as his hips retreat and then slam back inside you. You’re jolted at each push and pull, the sensual motions so depraved as the noises echo in the room, and you’re dragged into the ferocious pleasure that threatens to overwhelm you, and despite the fact you’ve cum just few moments before, as his tail slides between your bodies and circles and pats at your clit, you’re screaming and, quite unbelievably, cumming again.

“Now we’re very ready.” Kuroo says in a grunt above you, shameless grin as his eyes do their golden thing once again. He lets you stop trembling, peppering small kisses along your collarbone until you’re breathing normally again, but something tells you you’re just being fooled. 

“What?” You tiredly question, the feeling of dread confirming your suspicion.

“We have the whole night ahead of us, little one.” Kuroo nudges at the side of your face, bites softly at the junction of your jaw. “Or we could have more. All you need to do is say yes and i’ll mark you nice and easy here--” His teeth softly nibble on your pulsepoint, “and you’ll be mine.”

“Oh, god.” 

“Haha, wrong again.” His eyes pierce yours, swirling gold as molten honey dripping over your body and weighting your mind down. “Go ahead, tell me what you want.”

It tips out, softly and raw, and you have to close your eyes to hide your emotion. “To belong.”

“Oh, my little thing.” Kuroo softly murmurs on your ear, “Belong to me, then.”

You’re swaying despite lying down, something big and heavy coiling inside your chest as you blink, “I don’t want to belong to someone who isn’t mine.”

It’s a big truth to leave out -- the need for companionship, but a mutual one, a lasting one, a trusting one. You don’t want to be alone, but you also don’t want to have someone who doesn’t belong to you, too. 

Kuroo just smiles, golden eyes on yours, melting you from the fierceness alone. “Exactly,” he speaks against your lips, the taste of his breath on your tongue and you eagerly gulp it down, wickedly licking at his lips. “But i’ll be yours, too.”

In your hazed state, that’s all you need to hear, so you just shyly nod -- and Kuroo growls, angles your head to the side, and sears a marking bite on your neck -- deep, and painful. You mewl, body arching into his touch, and his tongue laps at the fresh wound, making it nice and numb.

“Now, let’s go to the main course.” Kuroo gives you no rest, retreating his hips and slamming back inside. “Don’t forget to breathe!” He teases between your moans. 

Once the fucking starts, it’s a frantic mess, and it goes on forever until the mere feeling of Kuroo’s cock leaving your heat is enough to make you whimper at the loss. The feeling of him inside your walls, a thing that mingles with your being, seares your memory until you cannot remember the feeling of not being split open on his thick cock. As you melt away from the overstimulation of having no rest while Kuroo contently and incessantly keeps pistoning inside you, your painful pleasure mixes until you’re climbing into something that feels weirdly uncanny, your mind -- or is it your body? -- twirls inside itself as if there’s something more than just sweet release ready to burst out. 

Kuroo has made you both teeter on the edge of pleasure and fall into it so many times you can’t differentiate the feelings that come now, this sensation of something being pulled out of you like the many orgasms he caused.

“Hmmm… Yes, my time is coming.” Kuroo groans, his hips movements turning sloppy, apparently displeased with his fucking being cut short while you very much suck a thankful breath at being able to rest. Kuroo’s teeth descend on your neck once again, his hot tongue over the pulsating mark of his bite and you feel him shudder and groan your name as he finally - finally - peaks, the feeling of hot spurts spreading inside you. 

As he cums, Kuroo brings a finger to rub over your abused clit softly and between your oversensitivity and the fact he angles his fat cockhead to softly pound over your sweet spot as he sails his own climax, there’s very little you can do but be ripped apart in bliss, once again, by him. This time is weird. Even as pleasure keeps swirling inside you and building up with the eerie sensation, you can do very little but hold on and wait until the waves crash and pass and you can blissfully surrender into the darkness of exhaustion. 

However, the freakish sensation twirling inside yourself builds and builds until you’re light-headed from the feeling and you just then realize how you’re shining, and how Kuroo has disappeared.

You don’t even have it in yourself to panic. Your body feels heavy and used, spent in the best way possible, but still completely unused to such a frantic session as every muscle in your being throbs, and your eyelids weigh the world as they fall closed and you’re engulfed by darkness.

-

[bonus scene]

 When you wake up in the morning, you are engulfed in a nice blanket, dressed in some mismatched set of pajamas, feeling as if you just had the best sleep of your life - and a weird vivid dream to go with it. You’re blinking up to your ceiling, stretching on your bed and satisfied with how the knots break in small noises as you sit up, when you feel just how sore you are, how your body is heavy despite satisfied, how your thighs burn and your sex throbs. 

Everything crashes up on your mind way too fast, and you’re suddenly torn between passing out and bolting up, but as you try to get up your body falters and a big, hard, hot hand plants itself over your middle and pulls you right back at the bed. 

Of course, you scream.

“Shh, kitten, there’s people trying to sleep here, y’know?”

“What--How--What are you doing here?” You shriek, looking at what is definitely the demon you thought you dreamed, but in a way more humanized version if the absence of his horns, claws and massive wings are anything to go by. The golden eyes are sharp as ever, but no black background to them, and you can infer by that much that his sinful tail probably isn't around too.

The grin he sends your way gives you war flashbacks that make your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

“Well, yesterday was quite nice.” He tells you and you can feel your whole face burn from his tone alone. “So I decided that hell can wait a bit more while I have more fun with you.” His eyes flash with a weird energy, and Kuroo brings his fingers to glide over his bite mark at your neck. The throbbing mark you had forgotten about until now. “After all, you’re mine now.”

“Oh, fuck.”

You’re doomed.

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing But The Best

Author Notes: once again I apologize for how long this took to update. Schedule is still hectic and will remain so for the following month or so. But fear not. I shall continue to update at least once a week. Once again reblogs and comments are appreciated!

XVI

Our ability to survive depends on our skill to change and adapt. Everything in life is about transformation.

The drastic changes in your life seemed like a never ending avalanche of heart break and tough decisions… once again, transformation.

Your own choices placed you exactly where you were at, there was no one else to blame but yourself.

Satoru chose to remain in New York for another two weeks during which he had invested himself into re-discovering you (in his mind you never stopped being his. In the sanctuary of his thoughts you are always referred to as his wife, his one and only Mrs. Y/N Gojo. The woman of his life and owner of his heart).

Satoru tried a gentle approach with you. Not wanting to push you too far not to leave you alone all together. Using all his knowledge of your personality and preferences he slowly inserted himself in your life once again.

At 5:30am sharp he would meet you at the entrance of your building wearing his training clothes, he wanted to show you he supported you and your career. He would go for a run with you around the park. This, of course evoked memories of when you both first started dating and Satoru would show up to workout with you or take you out to dinner after training.

You got to know he had been working harder to help Yuuji control the curse inside him but it was a hard endeavor. He didn’t have to specifically verbalize it for you to know it was a loosing battle and he felt responsible for it but he was trying his best to find a way to help the boy. You missed the kids, they were like family. So you made sure to ask Satoru to tell them you missed them.

But despite your ex-husband’s best efforts you still wanted to be alone. You needed some clarity, the opportunity to sort out your feelings. Gojo wasn’t particularly thrilled with you pushing him away but he promised to you and himself that he would change and would do an effort to respect your wishes so he gave you your space.

But Satoru wasn’t stupid, he knew you missed Suguru and felt guilty for choosing your own husband (ex-husband) over your best friend.

And that’s why you kept pushing him away. Saying you needed time to think.

His time was running out, he had to return to Japan. At least for now, he had unavoidable responsibilities with his students as well as the rest of his missions. He went to your apartment the night before his flight and explained to you why he had to return but he also promised to come back to New York as soon as possible.

“It’s alright Satoru, I understand… I’m gonna be just fine” you reassured the sorcerer who didn’t look convinced at all about leaving you alone. “Please, at least answer my calls and messages. I’m gonna be worried sick if you don’t” you nodded and then he hugged you tightly, inhaling your intoxicating aroma as if he wanted to commit it to memory. His lips soon found yours and before either of you knew it you were in your bed ripping off each other’s clothes so you could express with your bodies how much exactly you would miss one another.

He had taken you for granted once, he would never make that same mistake.

-

-1 Week Later-

It had been three weeks since you last saw Suguru, he wouldn’t answer your calls, texts nor your emails. You didn’t even know if he was still in New York for that matter. Not knowing was slowly killing you, consumed by guilt you knew you deserved this treatment.

And yet, you wanted to find him and explain… try to make it up to him somehow. He didn’t deserve the pain you had inflicted upon him.

-

From: Kitten 🐱

To: Sugu

I need to talk to you, please give me a chance to explain. I don’t want to lose you Suguru. I know it’s selfish on my behalf but I can’t let you walk away without explaining. Please Suguru.

I miss you.

-

Another message sent, he wouldn’t answer your texts. At least he didn’t block your phone number. (Not yet, supplied your tortured mind)

The whole reason why you held back from actually having sex with Suguru although you both had wanted that very much during the last 6 months was because you wanted to give Geto everything. Not only half of you. He deserved someone who would chose him completely. At least that’s what you knew was right.

You didn’t want to toy with his emotions. Then again Satoru’s sporadic presence in your life didn’t help at all. Everytime he showed up you were back to the beginning.

There was no other way to explain this other than saying…you could never resist him.

-

It was a Monday evening, you just got home after your training at the academy. Sitting on the couch eating some salad when the doorbell rang. You were not expecting anyone. And most importantly someone who didn’t need to be announced by the guard downstairs. There were only two people who could show up at your door in such fashion.

When you opened the door the first thing you saw was a broad torso covered in a very familiar black fitted t-shirt. Long black hair framing a handsome face and those beautiful amber pools looking at you. Without hesitation you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Suguru responded to your embrace by surrounding your firmly in his arms lifting you a few inches from the floor.

His sweet lavender and sage scent welcomed your senses once more. It wasn’t until he dried the tears from your cheeks that you realized you had been crying.

“Yo..you are here… Suguru! I am so sorry! I-“ he stopped you by placing his right index finger upon your lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I am here because I have to tell you something important. Come Kitten, let us sit” he took your hand and guided you to the couch where as soon as you both sat next to one another you threw yourself into his arms once more making the raven haired sorcerer chuckle “I missed you too Kitten” he whispers against your h/c tresses.

“Listen…. I was angry… I was mad at you because I thought you would choose me and instead chose Satoru. But these past weeks without you, I have been a wreck to say the least and then I realized… I have always known you loved Satoru from the beginning and that never bothered me before.” Sighing he made a small pause before continuing “Granted… I do resent him for hurting you but I never expected you to completely loose your feelings for him.“ you were about to explain to him that you were trying to sort those feelings out but he interrupted you with a little kiss on your lips “let me finish Kitten” a tender smile spread across his lips making you blush again.

“I realized that I don’t want to renounce to you, I don’t want to give you up. Because there simply is no other person who I want to be with. No one can replace you. And you don’t have to choose between Satoru and me…. At least on my behalf I am ok with sharing you with him. I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to put you in a position that only will hurt your heart.” Stroking your cheek softly Suguru leaned in and kissed your lips once more, just this time the exchange was sweeter and lasted longer. His tongue teased the entrance to your mouth before fully delving in to revel in your warmth and sweetness. Pulling back and looking into your eyes Geto assured you “I love you… and I want you to be happy. I am not going to make you choose because I don’t want to lose you Y/N”.

To say you were shocked to the core and touched beyond words was an understatement “Suguru… I don’t know what to say…” you start but Geto chuckled

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away.. I und—-“

You cut him by crushing your lips against his, kissing him throughly. Your legs straddled his waist immediately so you could feel his strong and warm body against yours. Was this man even real? I mean… Suguru Geto was a remarkable person but at this point you started questioning your own sanity. Did you make this man up in your imagination? Because you have never met someone sweeter, nor kinder nor more loving than him. And this was without counting all his very alluring physical attributes.

By the time you pulled back you were out of breath and so was he.

Now, the thing was… is this what you wanted? Did you want them both? Wasn’t it too greedy to have them both as lovers?

There was also the possibility Satoru would flat out reject the idea but… you didn’t want to choose between them. You…. Loved them both.

Before you could speak once more you ‘felt’ someone behind you stroking your back.

Almost jumping out of your skin you turned around to find Satoru in his usual jujutsu high uniform sans blindfold.

“You’re late…” Suguru comments as if he had been expecting his best friend to teleport right then.

“I know… Yaga was being a pain in the ass as per usual” added Satoru with a grin before taking a sit next to Suguru with the biggest shit eating grin you could imagine.

“So? Did she agree?” Questioned smirking and moving his hand to stroke your hair away from your neck while you still sat on Suguru’s lap.

“I am not sure… I think we broke her…” added Geto amusedly before chuckling and kissing your cheek.

“I know how to fix that!” Excitedly announced the white haired man. Cupping your face between his hands he pulled you in to kiss you deeply. His tongue voraciously licking the inside of your mouth and enticing you to kiss him back.

This was surreal…. Were you dreaming? You had to be dreaming or maybe you hit your head and now we’re in a coma. Yeah… you have to be hallucinating this.

When Satoru pulled back he laughed “Princess… don’t look so surprised… you must have known this would have happened sooner or later… Sug and I would never give you up and we know you wouldn’t pick one over the other either… and well, we didn’t want to give you the chance to pick neither…” they knew exactly how you were. Even before you knew it yourself. They just knew you would bolt and choose no one if that meant not hurting the other so they had to figure out a solution where all of you were happy.

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[chroniclesinlacuna]

Go Ask the Stars (pt 1)

pairing: mshenko | words: ~1.9k | rating: G read on ao3

Kaidan thinks about what he really wants. And makes a plan to get it.

The cafe’s busy - like always. Not quite crowded, but certainly active. There’s a table - no, wait, two - free, when Kaidan gets there and he’s quick to snag one by the balcony in the corner. He’s early - always early. But he’d been too nervous to do much else. He could’ve stayed on the Normandy, sure. But that came with the risk of running into Shepard and having to explain himself, or getting distracted with Tali about the latest omnitool she’d…acquired with Shepard’s help.

Or he could’ve wandered around the presidium for a little while longer, he supposed. But he’d already run into one elcor, distracted as he was, so that…just didn’t seem like a good option either.

But now, he was here. At the cafe. Waiting.

He didn’t really…know what he was worried about. He’d barely sent off the invitation, having been unable to figure out a casual way to drop it into a conversation, before Shepard had sent back that he thought it was a great idea.

Sure, Shepard didn’t know what the idea actually was but…even if this just ended up being lunch, Kaidan couldn’t really say he’d be upset - disappointed, briefly, maybe, but not upset. Genuinely, this couldn’t end badly. Only better.

So why was he so nervous?

(It was that better, wasn’t it?)

The minutes ticked by almost unbearably slowly, and though Kaidan did his best not to watch the time, the farther it got past their agreed time, the lower his stomach sank. Where was he?

Maybe there was a way for this to end badly.

It’s just as that thought it starting to gain weight in his mind that he feels…it’s hard to explain, and one he’s never quite been able to, except to their resident asari. There’s a friction in the air that wasn’t there a moment before - not unlike the flow of electrostatic energy that comes off a lightning strike, but…heavier. Staticy and ill-defined, but weighted back against his lungs. It’s not a feeling he expects at the Citadel. A shoot out, certainly - hell, an argument between Wrex and…anyone, even. But not here.

Sure enough, Shepard comes barreling around the corner not a moment later.

Kaidan would be mad - upset? worried? - except the man is glowing, just at the edges, where no one thinks to look without reason; he’d run the whole damn way here, loosing energy all the way. He seems to gain the sense of mind to slow down once he gets to the actual cafe, and Kaidan can see the moment Shepard finds him in the crowd - relaxed shoulders, a small smile, and a pick up in his step - and Kaidan…Kaidan can’t with this man.

“Chakwas or Liara?” He asks, as Shepard drops down beside him. That gets him a sheepish look - well, the closest he ever gets to sheepish anyway - and a glance towards the bar. “Ah, Liara.”

“I’m sorry, Kaidan. She stopped me right by the airlock.”

“Mm. Anything important?”

“Always.” Is the tired, but fond, response he gets. And Kaidan gets it - he really, really does. There’s very few…small things, these days. Very few moments that aren’t important, that don’t need immediate attention. “But, then she saw me look at my omnitool, asked if I had somewhere to be, and got this weird look on her face when I said you. Said we could figure it out later after that.”

Well. At least she didn’t blurt it out. Kaidan will have to remember to thank her for that next time they end up in the lounge drinking.

He reaches over to lightly squeeze his arm - there’s a moment there, where Shepard looks surprised, but it’s gone again before Kaidan can really think about it. “Well, glad you made it. I was really hoping we’d get a chance to do this - sanity check, you know?”

Shepard hums softly, crossing his arms on the table and giving him a lopsided smile - the first real one Kaidan’s seen in…in a little while. “Things have been a bit of a mess, huh?” And it’s such an…such an understatement, that it surprises a laugh out of Kaidan. It’s not a pretty laugh, but it’s light, in a way. And Shepard’s smile stays, like he knows exactly what he did.

“Yeah that’s…that’s one way to put it. Aren’t a whole lot of free moments left to just…sit, and be for a bit, with the people you’re with every day, huh?”

“Nah, but we found one. And I don’t intend to waste it. What’re you drinking?” Shepard asks, even as he looks back towards the bar, hand already halfway up like he knows the answer ahead of time. Hell, he probably does - Kaidan would be the first to admit his tastes haven’t changed much over the years.

“Shot of whiskey and Canadian lager - think they have it?” And it’s a pipe dream on the latter, a hope on the former.

“Batarian shard wine, if you’re lucky, and you know it.” Shepard replies, a laugh coloring his tone. Kaidan reaches over to shove him, laughing again.

“Yeah, yeah. A man can dream.”

Aethyta is definitely ignoring them, so Shepard seems to give up on trying to get her attention, shaking his head with a hum and settling back down in his chair. “He can, but delusional might be a step too far.”

It’s a joke - a completely unrelated joke at that - but Kaidan has to stop for a moment, to breathe around the weight in his stomach. It hadn’t disappeared, when Shepard had showed up. But he had been able to forget about it, if only for a moment. Shepard frowns when he notices the sudden switch, leaning forward to catch Kaidan’s eye.

“Hey, you okay?” He nods, quickly, even as he looks back out over the balcony. The nerves are back, and he can’t seem to shake them. He wants this - even if he doesn’t know what this is. Hasn’t let himself…imagine anything past this moment.

As Kaidan looks out at the balcony, he’s hit with a different feeling entirely - a sudden turn so sharp that that weight in his stomach turns to air, leaving him feeling hollow. So many people, wandering in and out of shops and storefronts - walking along the water and going about their day. From this angle, he can see a good stretch of the presidium and the…the ridiculousness of it all just hits him, then and there.

Here he is, sitting in a cafe of all places, working up the courage to ask the most important man in the galaxy right now something absolutely inane, and no one around him has…any damn clue. Including said man. No one around them is paying them a moment’s attention - all going about their day as if nothing is wrong. As if…nothing has happened.

What is he doing right now? Why is he doing it right now? They should just eat their lunch and get back to the Normandy - they had to head out in a couple hours anyway, the only reason they were even here was for a quick check of the systems and some minor repairs and then they were needed several relays out almost immediately, because what they were doing was important, and they were the only ones that could get there in time without leaving a break in someone else’s defenses and-

It’s not until Shepard gently - always gently, never carefully, not when Kaidan can’t stand it - grips his hand that he shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Right. Sanity check. I needed this.” His smile feels forced, but when Shepard just watches him, patiently, and not fooled in the slightest, he relaxes a little with a small laugh, feeling the weightlessness of before settle back down into some semblance of steady. “Sorry. Still a little restless I guess.” Shepard seems to accept that at least, leaning back in his chair - though, Kaidan notices with a traitorous tug behind his lungs, that he doesn’t let go of his hand.

He’d missed that, he realized, that easy grip. On his arm, his shoulder - a light push at a bad joke, a tug to get his attention, and the way he returned it without a second thought. They used to orbit each other, always an arm length away so that, when they fell, it seemed as natural as breathing to catch each other.

When had that stopped?

When he’d grabbed Shepard’s arm earlier…was that the first time he’d touched him since he’d been back? Had Shepard been holding himself back?

Kaidan’s getting really tired of these sinking feelings - it had been. Since he’d reinstated himself on the Normandy, they hadn’t touched. They’d been back in each other’s orbit, sure, and they’d wasted very little time reestablishing some kind of footing with each other but they hadn’t…it hadn’t been the same.

He carefully, so so carefully, tightens his grip on Shepard’s hand without a word. No matter how this goes, he doesn’t want to lose this again.

If Shepard notices, he makes no indication. “What’s going on Kaidan?” And that’s the kicker isn’t it? Kaidan has no damn clue. But, he asked for this - he vaguely planned it. And now that he’s here…

“Just…wanted to take a moment, with you. That’s all. Like I said, we haven’t really had too much time to just…be, despite the fact that we see each other every day. And no, the lounge doesn’t count.” He adds, when he sees Shepard open his mouth. He snorts when Shepard raises his free hand in defeat.

“You’re right, we haven’t. But…” He pauses, seeming to consider what he wants to say next. “You haven’t looked at the menu once. And there’s restless, and then there’s nervous.” His voice drops - warm, concerned, and soft, “And you’re nervous.”

Oh, right. Kaidan happened to be in love with a chronically observant blunt instrument.

“...First off, I have too. And second…” He sighs, before steeling himself as best he can. He asked for this - wanted this. The galaxy, the Citadel, the Reapers…all of them could take a back seat, for once, goddammit. There was no way he was backing out now, nerves or no. “We’ve been friends a long time, Casey. And…it’s been a long time since I looked at what I wanted. The end of the world is definitely the worst damn time to try to figure it out, but it definitely helps you put things in perspective. Like how I haven’t been with anyone, even looked at anyone in years. Like how maybe I’m not just…choosy, or patient, but maybe…maybe what I want is something deeper with someone I already…care about. Does that make sense?”

He didn’t mean that to be a ramble. Hell, he’d had some vague outline of a speech and everything. But, it was out there now. He searched Casey’s face for…something, anything - any kind of reaction.

But his face was as blank as ever. He was just watching Kaidan, the gears turning in his head, in a way Kaidan recognized, even if he couldn’t parse it well. As the silence drags on a beat too long, Kaidan realizes he’s holding his breath - can feel it burn in his lungs, only to break when Casey finally speaks.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

[sanguine-tenshi]

I just finished Inazuma and I have words

TL;DR: Hate the story, mixed on characters, love the design and tired of being treated like a 4-year-old with a learning disability.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

Let’s start with what I like.

Inazuma is absolutely beautiful. I’ll admit Inazuma hits a lot of aesthetic points for me. All the islands are different enough to feel unique but they still look like they are a part of the same land. There are a lot of secrets to discover through just exploring. Each island has a world quest to help it (make it less hostile towards you) so it very much feels like you are saving Inazuma from itself.

.

The puzzles are alright.

I like the cubes that rotate, I always put in the effort to figure them out properly.

Hate the ones that don’t rotate, they just aren’t engaging enough for me, so I just hit them at random and hope for the best.

The glowing floor tiles were fun, once you actually realized what they wanted you to do. A little bit too easy if I’m honest.

The electro compass isn’t really much of a puzzle, more of a fetch the nearest electrograna quest.

Those little pillars that require an electro connection are kinda boring to me, again not much of a puzzle, the hardest part is finding both pillars.

I love the new electro seelie, kinda hard to follow the jittery thing in certain parts but they make a nice contrast to the regular seelies.

.

I’m very much mixed on characters.

Yoimiya is adorable. She is so bright and bubbly. What little game play we had with her was fun and I love her over the top style of fighting. Kinda disappointed she’s another pyro archer but I do admit it fits her character well. It was also wonderful seeing her just settle down and be quiet, just be a part of that moment that obviously meant a lot to her. It’s always nice to see that bubbly, energetic character have that one quiet thing, ya know. Kinda funny it’s fireworks, of all things, for her.

Gorou I like, from what little we’ve seen of him. My man killed a dude with his thighs so I’m down. I do find it kinda ridiculous that a resistance general has his whole damn belly exposed. There is also something about his voice that just does not fit. I cannot for the life of me put my finger on what exactly it is. Could be the tone itself, could be just voice acting. It sort of feels like the VA is trying to sound deeper than he actually does.

Sangonomiya Kokomi, mixed. I like her design, she looks like some sort of mystical priestess. Again something about the voice is jarring. I expected her to sound sort of airy, like she isn’t 100% present, like she’s seeing something we can’t. TBH she reminds me of Luna from HP for some reason. 

Yae Miko, I was interested because of her design. She sounds very arrogant and up her own ass, which would have been fine...if she hadn’t given us that god-awful line. “...I have high hopes for you, child. Don’t disappoint me.” Dear lord I wanted to punt her off the mountain. Or fucking what! Also she’s some bigshot priestess of the Sacred Sakura and yet she can’t do her damn job properly. Why couldn’t her arrogant ass come down from her high perch and cleanse the stupid roots? Why did the traveler have to do that shit?

Baal looks dead inside. Booba sword is overrated, get a life. I want a remach! And no cutscene shenanigans this time!

Kujou Sara seems like one of those ‘honor above all else’ characters. Those are either hit or miss with me. You have my attention for now. Also what are those shoes woman?! I’d rather you wear those leg-killing, needle point stilettoes instead of those Wish gag shoes. How in the name of all that is holy can you run in those?!

Thoma, I like him. At first I thought we were gonna get another Childe incident, but Thoma is too much of a innocent puppy to pull anything that horrible. To me he fits a fox a lot better than Childe does. Childe is a dingo and I stand behind that.

Kamisato Ayaka...hate her. At first I was neutral on her. Nothing about her design really spoke to me, but I was willing to wait and see. But then miHoYo started to violently push her friendship at us. We are totally friends now, this is the first time you see my face, but we are so totally friends now. And during her story quest everyone was like “Ah, you are so good Ayaka. You are so nice Ayaka. You are so perfect Ayaka. We all love you so much Ayaka. And oh, how could a mere merchant like myself...” Ew, go away. This is the first time I’m actively not pulling on a character banner. Normally I pull even if I’m not particularly interested in a character, because you never know how good their gameplay is until you take them out in the map. But I think I’ll be skipping this one. No thanks.

.

And now, the worst part, the story.

We’ve been hearing about the situation in Inazuma for a long time. There has been also a lot of talk about how hard it is to get there. About the wall of thunderclouds that surround the islands. So to have it cut to black and then voila Inazuma, feel just so cheap.

I was expecting something. An animation. A struggle. A quest. A minigame. At least show us the horrible weather! Something! Anything!

Hell if they wanted to be assholes about it they could have made it so that if the player fails at this point the ship is damaged, you return to Liyue and have to wait until tomorrow for the ship to be repaired. No Inazuma for today. That sure as hell would have raised the stakes.

The next complaint I have is with Yurika, the 2 milion mora processing fee girl. Later on Thoma mentions that the agency people see the fees as easy money, so her attitude doesn’t make much sense. After all someone like her would want to extract as much money as she can, but you still want the people to be able to pay that.

So it would make more sense to me if she was overly friendly and asked way too many questions. She’d need to get a much information as she can and after all the previous hostility people would be very open with her. So she’d be able to quickly find out why someone is here, what they are selling and roughly how much money they’d be able to pay. A merchant selling expensive silk would have more many than a regular ore merchant. So she’d be able to extract as much money as she could.

“I know this is a lot of money, especially for something so simple, but there is nothing I can do about it. I’m so very sorry.” And people wouldn’t say anything bad to her because she’s the first friendly face they see in Inazuma.

The stealth mission was just god-awful and I hope we never have to do that nonsense again.

Getting off of Ritou was a bit janky at the end, Chisato should have had a better reason for coming along. But I’m honestly just glad we didn’t get out the usual way...getting stuffed in a crate and smuggled out.

As a side note, I’m getting really tired of characters overexplaining things to me, especially Paimon. Dear lord, not everything has to be said, you can leave me to come to my own conclusions and solutions. Just please, who cares if a few player struggle for a bit, you don’t have to hold my hand through the whole thing.

Ayaka’s three were...ugh. It was basic emotional manipulation. Oh no this guy forgot about the love of his life and he’s been waiting for decades. And oh how sad this guy was so good and he helped these people so much but now he can’t remember. And oh the tragedy this guy forgot his life goal and is now hunted by the demons of the past. Oh the humanity! 

And it did not work. Know why? Because I have no emotional investment in any of these people, in this land. What is happening to the vision bearers in Inazuma is tragic, true, but that doesn’t make me want to overthrow the government. I don’t live here. I just got here. I wanna ask a question or two and then move on. None of this concerns me.

I was so happy when the traveler just flat out refused to start a revolution. And then we had to go and meet some people and immediately I knew this was going to be some oh noes the tragedy moments and then we would agree to help them.

It’s so forced.

Wanna know what would have been better?

Just as we are leaving the Kamisato estate Thoma catches up with us. And he tells us he gets it. We are an outsider and this doesn’t concern us. He was hopeful but he expected the denial. We shouldn’t hold it against Ayaka.

He joins us as a guide because he knows of the people we have to meet.

And so as we help these three we also get to know Thoma. We find out he was an outsider too. He got in just before the worst of it started and then he was stuck in Inazuma. He lost someone to the Vision Hunt. They slowly lost their mind after loosing their vision, their ambition too closely tied to their personality to continue without it (what is happening to Domon hits a little too close to home and he has to walk away, this is where we hear the story of the one he lost). And the same would have happened to him if the Kamisatos hadn't taken him in. He owes them his vision, his sanity and his life.

So this rebellion is personal for him.

At the end of the three wishes the atmosphere is somber. We tell him we understand why Ayaka fights, why he fights. We know that this is all wrong, that it should be stopped...but not by us. We came here to get a lead on our brother. And rebellion isn’t an overnight affaire and we can’t loose so much time in Inazuma.

And yeah, he expected as much. He just asks that we let Ayaka down gently. It’d be a shame if someone as idealistic and hopeful as her lost their spark.

And so we are gentle but firm with Ayaka. She looks like she wants to argue with us but Thoma shakes his head at her. So she sighs and tells us that a promise is a promise. We should come to the Komore Teahouse in a few days and she’ll have a plan for us to meet with the Shogun.

Now we can still have a character story quest with Yoimiya and we can still somehow get involved with helping Master Masakatsu, but it’s through Yoimiya instead of Ayaka.

And instead of a character story quest with Ayaka we have one with Thoma. Hell, give him a whole damn hangout event even.

You can probably guess why I’m pushing the friendship with Thoma so much.

Because. He. Gets. Kidnapped. For. The. 100th. Vision. Ceremony. 

And that would have been the perfect emotional in to get us involved in the rebellion. After all we just saw what happens to people who have their visions taken away and we are not letting that happen to Thoma, someone we just got close to.

So Baal makes it personal for us as well.

.

I have a few more minor complaints.

Aoi is stupid for asking for compensation after she tells us everything we needed to know because, ya know, we could have just walked away. We should have.

The whole stupid misunderstanding about the value Kurosawa’s sword holds. Kinda obvious he meant emotional value instead of monetary.

The suspicious amount of visionless NPCs and by that I mean this is the first time we have NPCs with vision. This wouldn’t have been a problem if we’ve seen NPCs with visions in Mond and Liyue.

The whole rebellion camp bit feels incredibly rushed. We just sort of lollygag over there and then there is a fight (against Sara and her stupid shoes).

Don’t make us fight Baal just to force us to lose. It would have been better if we were forced to retreat, because Thoma was injured, because there are too many soldiers for us to handle on our own. Hell, you can have a funny scene where we straight up jump off a cliff with Thoma clinging onto us and screaming bloody murder until he realizes we are slowly gliding away and he’s not about to plummet to his death.

The Sakura cleansing quest should have been voice acted.

The Mirror Maiden and Pyro Agent are totally on a date, I will not be told otherwise.

[wonusite]

thinking about daddy!gyu tickling you because you keep teasing him but the way you're gasping for air and squirming bc of him gets to his head and he gets horny and smashes his lips onto yours, swallowing all your giggles which turn into moans as his fingers trail from your stomach down to your core where he starts rubbing you over your underwear hehehehe

- fu anon

SIEKOSKS STOP I CAN EASILY PICTURE HIM DOING THIS 😭

then he would tease you asking why you’re no longer laughing even though it’s bc he’s knuckle deep in you.

[philliamwrites]

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.1]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 2k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla," sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia's hands.

____________

Loosely connected chapters about you and Childe finding happiness. Maybe.

Notes: Part 2

Masterlist

***

childe? what a problematic asshole i hate him i- *trips* *thousands of pictures of childe spill from pockets* fuck those aren’t mine i swear i’m just holding them for a friend i- *slips on a pile of pictures* fu ck no they’re not mine i hate him i just- *more pictures fall out as i fall to my knees, desperately trying to pick them up* hang on a sec jUst LISTEN

Chapter 1

     A cold gust of icy wind drives you deeper into the sheets and you swear by the name of Her Majesty Herself once you get up and find Alexei, you’ll smother him with a towel for leaving a window open in the middle of the night.

    Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. Fine, not dead of the night then, but no one cares for technicalities like these when sleep is involved. Especially after a night like this one, when Alexei fucked you into oblivion and back, you need every minute of shuteye you can get before another day of exhausting missions in the Chechnaya Taiga of Snezhnaya claims your last strand of sanity.

    It’s peaceful mornings like these that make it all worthwhile though—the quiet during the early golden hour when people slowly wake up to a brand-new day and get ready to do their chores, their factory work. The sheer number of possibilities stretching out before their hands, and hope rekindled every morning despite the harsh cold waiting at their doorsteps. You love how everything stands still, how even the uncaring universe seems to grant people a sliver of peace, allows them to be soft and vulnerable. To be kind to themselves by indulging in a freshly brewed cup of coffee or tea. Nothing can spoil this for you, nothing and no one—

    An awkward cough sounds from the door. You close your eyes, willing him to disappear by simply ignoring him, but his eyes burn into the back of your head like two smouldering coals and eventually, you turn around to see Alexei standing in the door frame, shifting from left to right. “There’s someone out there who wants to talk to you,” he says.

    Turning around, you try to disappear into your pillow. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they can wait until it isn’t such a damn unholy time.”

    Alexei clears his throat. “It’s uhm … it’s someone from the Fatui.”

    Your eyes snap open. Suddenly the warm, cosy blankets feel like a snake’s tight hold around your body, and you struggle out of its grip, grabbing for the dressing gown you carelessly threw around the back of your chair last night.

    The sun hangs low in the east, painting the city of Kerch that stretches outside of your window a sheen of dusky gold. When the red-brown bricks of the dacha cottages come into view, you think of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child every year in celebration of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of the Zapolyarny Palace.

    Cold already seeps into your bones even though the robe is tight around your body. You hiss when your bare feet hit the icy floor but can’t find your slippers. Time to die like a woman.

    You brush past Alexei, who’s scratching his head, still just in his underwear and you think him crazy for walking around half-naked like that even though it’s minus 58F outside and the heating systems inside your barracks only start to work once outside temperatures drop to minus 75F.

    Maybe what they say is true. People from around Noyabrsk in the north of Snezhnaya regularly dip into frosty rivers and you do remember him mentioning ice swimming is his hobby. It was one of the few things you thought attractive about him. Actually, it was the only thing you thought attractive about him.

    Light streams into the floor from the kitchen, flickering once, twice in dangerous foreboding. It’s time to switch the lightbulb. Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure, because that isn’t important right now. What’s important is Tartaglia sitting at your table, leaning back in a chair, both feet crossed on top of the table, and eating your leftover mayonnaise sandwich you saved up for breakfast.

    His eyes slide lazily toward you, taking in your form—barefoot, shivering even though the fur from your bathrobe is of the finest white wolf fur obtainable on the market.

    Tartaglia finishes your sandwich, smacks his lips and licks mayo off his fingers. He doesn’t even like it, and you know from time to time he can’t handle dairy all that well. He just eats it because he knows how it infuriates you.

    “Alexei, huh,” he says in lieu of hello. “Didn’t know you’re into himbos.”

    Behind you, Alexei makes a sound like a kicked puppy. You glare at him over your shoulder, then jut your chin towards the front door. “Out. Now.”

    He doesn’t wait for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly fast for a guy this big, he bolts into your room, gets dressed in record speed and leaves your little one-bedroom apartment without so much as a Goodbye or “We’ll hear from each other,” and you prefer it that way. It saves stuff from getting messy.

    Speaking of messy, you really wish Tartaglia would have sent you a note before coming. The smell of icy wind and snowy forests clings to his clothes. He must have come straight from a mission, not unusual in the slightest, yet in most cases he sends a message your way just to make sure he doesn’t run into one of your one-night stands and it doesn’t get ugly.

    Like right now.

    “I thought you had a little more class than that,” he says nonchalantly. His feet keep wobbling from left to right until you make your way over and push them off your table. Not that you actually sit there to take your meals, no. But this is your home, you have to assert dominance.

    “Well, I’m not picky,” you say, taking the empty chair opposite from him. “The nights of Fyrva’snezh are really fucking cold.”

    “I’m sure Fire-Water will do the same trick.” He’s sulking, yet he has no right to it and knowing Tartaglia, that’s why he sulks even more.

    Your relationship can be summarised with one word: complicated. Which is funny, because besides martial arts classes (taught by a teacher that is a real ball of sunshine who could easily snap your spine like a twig) and infiltration tactics courses (led by a grumpy teacher who once woke you all up in the middle of the night to do a spontaneous quiz about infiltration steps and everyone who failed or fell asleep had to run a marathon through the forest in their underwear) you had to take at the Fatui military school of Zapolyarny, they also teach mathematics and molecular physics, and that shit was complicated.

    Growing up in a small seaside village—bless little Morepesok; how much you miss babushka Katya’s refreshing botvinia soup—with only a handful kids your age, gravitating towards Tartaglia was the natural development. He loves ice-fishing, you love eating fish. You gag just smelling solyanka, he wolfs it down like it might be his last meal on earth. Opposites attract each other, as they say, and how true it is for you two—you, the morning person and he, the night owl; his will of iron and your nerves of steel. Your bow, his sword, even though Tartaglia is a masochist who likes to make it hard for himself by trying to switch weapons solely because you’re better at it than him and he is a sore loser.

    His worship of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, your fear of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

    “I don’t think you came all the way here just to call me a slut,” you say. He is in no position to do so anyway, because Camilla from the ptychy’moloko shop down the road that leads to the Sarov church didn’t shut up about blowing him for weeks until you sent her a liver of a pig and claimed that was the leftovers from the last girl that thought she could put a leash on the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Camilla quickly moved on to an inconspicuous merchant who sells matryoshka dolls for a living and all is well that ends well.

    “What do you want?”

    Tartaglia starts tapping a gloved finger against the wooden table, a nervous tick you don’t know he’s aware of.

    “I’m leaving for Liyue first thing tomorrow.” His tone is low when he speaks, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a sense of urgency.

    “Okay.” It isn’t the first time he’s leaving Snezhnaya by order of the Tsaritsa, but every time he does, something inside you leaves with him. “So, you want me to keep an eye out for Teucer and the others?”

    “He’s really unhappy I’m leaving again already.” Tartaglia doesn’t mention the reason he was sent away just a couple of months ago to Inazuma was because he accidentally blew up an artillery factory belonging to a nobleman that secretly shipped orders to Fontain. The fallout from that was easier to handle with him not being anywhere nearby. Tartaglia is like a pair of hot tongues; no one is sure where to put him or how soon he would cool off, but if they just drop him, he might light the world on fire. Kid gloves are put on and a careful perimeter marked out.

    “And what excuse did you make up this time?” You knock your foot into his leg, lingering on his calf just a second too long before withdrawing again. “Another business trip to promote your toys? You can’t hold up this charade forever, you know.”

    “Why, your eyes feast on Snezhnaya’s greatest expatriate toy seller, now extending to the Liyue Branch of our Institute for Toy Research.” Tartaglia’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “You wouldn’t be so cold to break a little boy’s heart. That’s not you.”

    You want to remind him that you have no problem to put an arrow between a man’s eyes, or rip out his fingernails, one by one, to get the information that you want.

    “You owe me, toy man.”

    “Put it on my tab.”

    Tartaglia looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but as always, he decides to swallow those words even though they must hurt like swallowing needles. You know that feeling, and so you help him sort out his tightly entangled yarn of emotions by figuratively pushing him off the cliff.

    “Don’t forget to bring condoms. I hear the women of Liyue are beautiful.”

    Tartaglia goes a sickly grey colour, like the ashes of a dead fire, but he’s been the leading role of this play too long to fall out of character now. He gets up and stretches like a cat getting comfortable in a spot of sunlight. His jacket rides up, showing a stripe of skin, and you quickly turn your head away before giving into leaning over the table and mark him with your teeth.

    Patting his left pants’ pocket, Tartaglia says, “I’m always prepared.” He carries a grin that is dry, humourless, and for a brief moment, you two lock eyes, trading a look that feels like a dare. You allow yourselves to imagine how he picks you up and carries you to your bed where you two would proceed to fuck without abandon through the whole day and the following night, leaving the bed only to get food until Tartaglia leaves for Liyue and you’d send each other love letters until his return. What an idea. What an utterly stupid, naive, wonderful idea.

    “Well, lucky ladies,” you say, not bothering to hide the jealousy in your voice because jealousy is easier to handle than regret.

    “Lucky indeed,” he agrees and dons his easy-going smile, one that he’s perfected after hours upon hours in front of the mirror until it accomplished what he wanted: to mock people, infuriate them.

    On his way out, he stops to ruffle your hair in an affectionate way, one typical for childhood friends, but the distance between you is like the ocean separating Snezhnaya from Liyue.

    It was on the very first day of your conscription into the military organisation, Number Six of the Ten Laws that the Fatui abide by: Any physical or romantic relationship between Fatui agents is prohibited. As thou would not exchange flesh with thy brother or sister, so thou shalt not with your comrade, for he or she is thy brother or sister in arms.

    And everyone knows Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s word is law, and though the law is hard, it is the law.

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

[neon-u-dumb-shxtty-child]

I’m probably going to get killed for this, but I’m a C!Dream sympathizer and enthusiast

Let me explain.

At the start of the server, Dream only wanted the best for everyone else, but they all villainized the crap out of him. They made him out to be a horrible villain, especially during L’manberg’s development. He most likely thought that power was the only way people would listen to him. He most likely thought that if they wanted a villain, he’d be that villain, no matter what his intentions were.

The server made him that way, but no one wants to admit and accept it.

C!Dream is based on perception and interpretation. With people like C!Tommy and his point of view, C!Dream is seen as a horrible, unforgiving monster, because of how he treated them. But with people like C!Techno and his point of view, he’s seen as more sympathetic, because he’s seen in a better light. You can see past his actions as see that he’s a broken man that was made the villain and was never give a chance to get better. Atleast that’s how I see him.

(I’m gonna make it clear. I am NOT justifying C!Dream’s actions and what he did to C!Tommy and everyone else he hurt. I’m just explaining why I personally see him as an empathetic character.)

And my final point is the prison, the goddamn prison. The prison made me hate C!Sam for the longest time until I realized that he was just trying his best to keep everyone safe, even if it meant hurting them. But C!Quackity, I despise him in this arc, and this is coming from someone who genuinely likes some parts of his character. But this arc, oh boy where do I start, first his whole villain/Las Nevadas arc was just his boyfriends forgetting him, for reason that were all their faults. Both C!Karl and C!Sapnap had issues and C!Quackity didn’t bother to keep contact with them. But who does he take it out on? C!Dream!

(I understand C!Quackity is an abuse survivor, and most likely didn’t process them leaving him properly but that does not justify what he’s doing to not just C!Dream, but to everyone he’s hurting.)

Back on track, the prison had TERRIBLE living conditions. Isolation, near starvation, not to mention the physical and mental torture. Anyone with eyes could see that C!Dream was slowly loosing his sanity being stuck in there. And with C!Techno being stuck in there, we learned that C!Dream was put in these horrible conditions for ALMOST A YEAR. Any normal person would’ve gone insane and or died in there.

And that concludes my rant. Feel free to add onto it. Sorry if any information is wrong, I’m a little rusty.

[yourillusoryenvy]

Just a dream

This is my first time writing a one-shot and sharing it with people. I’m really excited but also super nervous! I am open to feedback, questions, ideas, anything. Just let me know your thoughts!

Word Count: 1,032 

Note: (f/n) means “friend’s name”, I had no idea how to abbreviate so I just shortened it to (f/n). So in the couple instance you run into the abbreviation here just plug in one of your closest friend’s name.

*3:34AM, (y/n)’s bedroom*

Your eyes jerked opened. You could feel it.. It was here.

It had been weeks since you first started feeling this uneasiness. No matter where you were and what you did, you could not shake off this feeling of being watched. Could it be that you were being followed? But by who? And why? For revenge? Money?

You were an average person. A good student, with a few friends and a somewhat normal family — at least from an outside perspective — , normal hobbies, no crazy exes, no enemies per se, and no known stalker..  On top of that your family wasn’t rich and, for now, you were drowning in student debt. Your part-time job as a cashier only allowing you enough money to pay your bills. So money couldn’t be the reason. And neither you nor your family ever wronged anyone to warrant stalking so… Why would someone follow you? 

This is exactly what your friends had asked as they laughed off your concerns. They were right. You were being silly, maybe even completely paranoid. 

For weeks you had attempted to shrug off the feeling, repeating yourself it was all in your head, until a few days ago. You had started loosing sleep over it. Your own room did not feel safe anymore. It felt like someone was here, with you, in your room. Unable to ease your worries, you had started pulling all-nighters. After four days without sleeping, surviving on various caffeinated drinks, you were barely a shell of yourself. This morning, after seeing your exhausted face and your difficulty focusing in class, your friend, (f/n), had offered to stay at your place for a few nights so you could get some rest. 

And here you were. Laying in bed next to her. You could hear her calm, steady breathing. She was sleeping, unbothered by the presence in the room. You could almost touch her, so close yet so far... You were paralyzed, frozen by fear, your body refusing every one of your desperate plea to move.

As your eyes started adapting to the darkness, you were able to faintly discern a tall humanoid shadow in the far right corner of your room… On second look, there was no mistake: it was a human, a man to be exact. His face was lightly dimmed by the device he was holding in his hand. Your first guess would have been a phone but the shadow of the device showed weird angles that you couldn’t make sense of..

You wanted to scream, to run, to turn on the light, to wake up your friend, to do something… Anything. But you couldn’t. Your body refusing to cooperate, leaving you as a mere spectator of this terrifying scene. 

Your eyes were glued on the figure, as you were trying hard to pick up on any characteristic that would help you identify the man. Unfortunately, all you could make out was that he was relatively tall and lean; maybe even muscular considering the shadow of his arms. His hair must been short to mid-length per the few strands falling on his forehead. His face appeared to have soft features, and he was… smiling? No visible scar, no tattoo, no strong recognizable features. You couldn’t even see his hair or eyes color. 

“Just turn on the light… Just. Turn. On. The. Light”, you repeated mentally as if it would change something. Instead, all you could do was carefully watch for any movement. But the shadow stood perfectly still.. Did he know you were awake? 

When your internal pleas did not help, you slowly started focusing your attention on your right hand. “Just move one finger. He won’t see it”, you bargained internally. After a few agonizing minutes that felt like hours, you were finally able to move your pinky. The ability to control your body slowly spreading in your other fingers, your hand and arm. “Just turn on the light”, you implored yourself one more time.

You took a quiet but deep breath before lunging on the light switch that was on your left. The warm white light immediately filled your room. As you turned your head to get a look at the the far right corner, to see who was here, you saw… 

Nothing.

“(y/n)?” (f/n) grumbled, “What’s going on?…. Turn off the light and go back to sleep!”

“N-n-nothing… I-I’m.. Sure.. I-I’ll leave it o-on for now” you apologized, still trying to process what had just happened. (f/n) sighted and turned around before hiding her head under the blanket, as she fell back asleep.

You heart was racing from the adrenaline pumping in your veins.. You had experienced sleep paralysis before, but this time it felt different. It felt real, even now that you were undoubtedly wide awake. But no human being could have left the room in such a short amount of time. You must have only taken your eyes off of the shadow for a second, two maximum. No-one could have made a run for it, completely quietly, in that time frame. Was it just a very bad nightmare? Maybe it felt so real because you were so sleep-deprived? Or maybe were you making it up? Had you gone crazy? 

You slowly laid back down still questioning your sanity. While you did not want to let your guard down anymore, the comforting light, the presence of your friend next to you, and the lack of rest in the past 4 days, were enough to convince you to attempt to fall back in a much-needed sleep.  After all, it wasn’t real, it was just a bad dream… 

…Or was it?

.

.

.

.

*3:47AM, a few streets from your appartement*

“That was close call” Feitan noted while walking, hands in his pocket, next to his fellow troupe member. Shalnark only answered with a laugh, his attention focus on typing something on his bat-shaped phone. The young blonde had clearly enjoyed the thrill of almost getting caught.

“Why wait? Why not take her now? We thieves, we take what we want, when we want” Feitan continued.

Still smiling, Shalnark looked up from his phone, a smile plastered on his face. “Toys are meant to be played with”.

[lightsinthedistancee]

City Midnights, Chapter 1: Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: “The concrete ripples in your delirium, shifting like the smoke your pilot leaves in his wake when he takes to the skies. He is your once in a lifetime, and you are determined to cherish him as your final hour approaches.”

Reader reflects back on their life with Poe in their final moments.

Warnings: Implication of Sexual Assault (nothing explicit), Violence

Taglist: @paper-in-ashes-fanfiction​ @castiel-barnes​ @starryeyedstories​

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You lie on his chest, fingers tracing circles over smooth skin. It’s just you and him. You and your Commander. He’s sleeping, soft breaths escaping his slightly parted lips, his lashes curly and long. He looks relaxed when he sleeps. More relaxed than you ever see him. He’s a man who feels that he needs to save the entire galaxy, and slumber is the only time where he relieves himself of that burden.

“Poe,” you murmur. “Sweetheart.” Your hand caresses his cheek. A worry weighs heavy on your chest. You want someone to talk to.

You know he won’t mind you waking him. He never does.

His eyelids flutter, a soft groan escaping his lips. The light streaming through the window reflects handsomely on him as he rubs his eyes, a smile playing out across his face at the sight of you beside him, slightly over him.

“Morning, princess,” he says softly, a tired raspiness to his voice. He glances at the clock, raising an eyebrow at the time. “What the hell, sweetheart? It’s early.” He says it as if he intends it to be a complaint, but there’s no malice behind his voice, just a mild concern.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you whisper, momentarily regretting your decision.

“Hey, it’s fine.” He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “What’s wrong?” His hand gently rests on your back, pulling you back down to his chest.

“Just worried about my mission tomorrow.” You know it’s going to be dangerous. You knew that the moment you’d received the assignment. But of course, you’d accepted it, for this was your duty: to work for the greater good and lie down your life for it if necessary.

Poe presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve got it planned down to the second. It’ll be clean in and out, like always. You’re Leia’s best agent for a reason, love.” His genuine insistence begins to feed an easiness into you.

“You don’t know that,” you reply, not quite knowing where this anxiety is coming from. Usually, you’re calm, ready to fight your own little war. But this time, there is a bad feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

“I do,” he insists, wrapping his arms around you. “It’ll go well. I know it will.” He pauses. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Strongest person I know.

You’ve never felt weaker as you lie on the cold stone floor.

It’ll go well.

It hadn’t gone well. You hadn’t seen it coming. The soldier coming in behind you. The impossibly strong blow to your head before the whole world went black.

But regardless, here you are. You shiver, your vision coming and going in spots before you. The ground of your cell is wet, each point of contact piercing your skin with an unbearable chill. You are hungry. And thirsty. And cold. And in so much pain.

The days pass and slowly blend into one. You don’t know how long you’ve been here. As your perception of time fades, so too does your hope. The Resistance is not coming. You are near certain. You’ll die at the hands of these pathetic First Order sympathizers. The days of waiting for your savior to come busting through the doors are long over. You only lay there, waiting for death—even hoping for it. The blows you take from your captors barely faze you anymore.

As your sanity dissolves, and as more time passes, an entire section of your head that you’d locked away years ago begins to come undone. You think of your home that you’d abandoned years ago, as if it’d meant nothing to you as you desperately searched the galaxy for your place in it all.

Visions of the oceans you grew up by flash in your mind, along with sundresses and red lipstick. I love you, whispers your mother. Extensive seas of hibiscus and forests of palms calm your nerves. You relish those visions, cling to them with desperation. If this is how you’ll die, you suppose it’s not the worst way to go.

But even that has its negatives, for each time your delirium collapses in calamity, all you can see and feel are darkness, gray, and cold. No longer warm sands and fiery skies, just the concrete. No more rippling water and flowers gently swaying in the wind, just the silence.

You are terrified. Fear is ripping you apart. The noises of your captors make you tense up. The wound slowly leaking blood onto the ground beneath you worries you. The pain in your entire body makes you await death like an old abuser.

And just like all your other times of fear, you turn to one person in your head. Him. Poe.

For a moment, you feel ridiculous. Like you’re some helpless damsel in a holodrama spending her last moment pathetically yearning away for her love. But in truth, Poe is much more than your love. He is the star to your planet, keeping you in orbit, stopping you from being flung into the endless depths of the cosmos.

He is your confidant, your rock, your partner in crime, your best friend in the entire galaxy and beyond. The concrete ripples in your delirium, shifting like the smoke your pilot leaves in his wake when he takes to the skies. He is your once in a lifetime, and you are determined to cherish him as your final hour approaches.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You slip and fall in and out of consciousness, seeing skies and concrete and oceans.

Gray.…orange.…gray.…blue.…gray, once more.

You’re in your own head, watching memories on replay, like you’re stuck in some joyous sub-reality that you’re so close, yet so far from reaching.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

You jolt from where you’re sitting, out on the airfield, on some cargo boxes, legs hanging down. The sun is setting, the air is cooling, life out there is dying for the night. The presence of the curly-haired pilot is nearly bothersome. You want to be alone.

Regardless, he climbs up beside you, loosely slinging an arm over your shoulder. Something about his demeanor always makes you relax.

“Just not having the best day,” you respond, staring at the concrete below.

“Would it be too intrusive to ask why?” His voice is tentative, unsure. “Or is this the part where I shut up and be quiet and just be there for you.”

You laugh softly, processing his words. There for you. You wonder if he feels like he has to be. There’s no doubt that there’s something between the two of you going on. That’s been going on.

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

Months of flirtations between you two. Compliments thrown back and forth, countless winks and touches, unsure if the attraction was true and not just some cheap distraction from the war. Not just an attempt to ease pain by feeling desired by someone.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you ask, your voice a little too shaky to not strike concern in him. “The war.”

He frowns, his fingers walking into your hand. You’re a fighter. He knows that. And this type of talk was not one to come from you.

“What happened?” His voice is always soft, always comforting. But somehow it comes out even softer.

You scoff. “Why do you even care?” It’s meant to come out lighthearted, but somehow it ends up sounding more malicious than you’d intended.

“Because I care about you, sweetheart,” he whispers, the last remnants of the sun beginning to disappear.

“Yeah?” You pull your hand away, twisting your fingers with your own instead. “You bother all your friends like this?” You rebuff his obvious admittance in a humorous tone, recoiling from the real, deep emotions beginning to permeate the air. You don’t feel like dealing with real emotions now. So in response, you grow defensive.

“Not when I care about them as more than a friend.”

You freeze. Your immediate first thought is whether or not he’s messing with you. But not because he’s the Resistance golden boy or because he’s an outstanding pilot or because he’s impossibly handsome. You’re on par with him in your own game, and you don’t think of him like that.

But you would’ve had that reaction to anyone who’d told you they cared about you. You haven’t been in a good place as of late.

Poe is staring at you. Just staring. Waiting for you to say something. You say nothing. Your thoughts are racing, telling yourself to get something out. But nothing comes. And when you finally get the courage to look at him, there is only hurt. It’s written across his face, already engraved in his posture.

He looks betrayed. As if thinking that you’d been the one messing with him during all those months of flirtations. He doesn’t snap at you. Doesn’t lose his temper. But that makes it all the more worse.

“Forget…forget I said it.” He sighs, giving you one last look before hopping down.

You watch as he goes, your shoulders slumped, already beginning to beat yourself up. But something comes over you.

“Dameron, wait!” you call out, going after him. He turns as you get to him, and you grab the collar of his jacket, pulling him towards you till your foreheads are touching.

You stare at him with apologetic, yet adoring, eyes as your hands find their way into his curls. He’s the one that closes the gap, his lips melding with yours, hands on each other, tender and soft.

He’s also the one that pulls away first, a radiant smile on his face, one you’ve never seen before. The usual is one that’s practiced, flirtatious, charismatic. This one is relaxed, genuinely happy.

A breeze blows past, making you shiver.

“Cold?” he asks, and you nod, a smile tugging at your own lips. He wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Come on.” He begins to lead you back inside. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

That’d marked the beginning of a romantic relationship that still prevailed many years down the line. You smile thinking about it, absentmindedly listening to the tap of the leaky concrete ceiling. A small meal of something that looks terrible is shoved through your cell door before it closes again.

The two of you had shared memories, secrets, pleasure, and pain. Love and anger and jealousy. Everything both of you had was passed to the other, whether it be out of giving or the need to share a burden. You’d lived through victories together. Trials and tribulations. Incidents that had come too close to death for comfort. Those that had been knocking at death’s doorstep…

“Where. Is. He?” You’re hands are in your hair, facing down the General, taking a tone with her that could earn you a demotion. But you don’t care. You’re terrified. Poe was supposed to return a week ago. It’s been three.

Leia looks at you, not angered. There’s something akin to sadness in her eyes, and she looks at you with that motherly gaze of hers, feeling your distress traveling through the air to her.

“You should be focusing on your missions, Major,” she simply says. She walks up to you, resting a hand on your shoulder as you feel a heat at the back of your eyes begging to come free. “Listen to me.” She says your name, making sure that you’re providing her with your full, undivided attention. “You are our best agent, best spy, best sniper. I need you level-headed, and worrying is not going to do that.”

“With all due respect, General,” you reply, straightening your posture. “I don’t believe I can get any more worried than I am now. At least if I know, I’ll have something to help me make peace.”

She sighs, walking around her desk, sitting in the chair, leaning back and momentarily shutting her eyes. “We have reason to believe he may have been captured by First Order sympathizers in the Outer Rim.”

You show no reaction at her revelation, but inside, you are curling up, sobbing. You know that Poe is strong, that he’s clever, and courageous, and brave, but past evidence does not lie. Those who are captured by the First Order or those who sympathize with them never return…

You jump as the alarm in the med bay near the General’s office sounds, and it does nothing to aid your mood. That alarm means hope slipping through the cracks. Searching for life but ultimately finding death. It means that emergency aid is immediately needed on whoever has returned.

But as you hear medics rushing by, you swear that you hear a familiar last name. And before Leia can stop you, you’re running. Chatter seems louder as you push past people. The air seems more alive. Perhaps indicative of an important someone making a miraculous return.

And then you see him. The hopeful high you’d felt crashed to the ground, now impossibly low. He looks dead. But he is not. And perhaps that’s worse. He’s layered in bruises and cuts. A chunk of his hair appears to be missing. One of his eyes is closed, the other is swollen shut.

The next day is all a blur, filed with tears and apprehension and a sense of loss. You’re in a haze, all consumed in a numbness. You’re not allowed to see him at first, and when you finally are, the two of you get your first quiet moment together alone.

You sit at his bedside, your fingers laced with his, listening to his breathing. When he stirs, he lets out a small groan. “Poe,” you whisper.

He mutters something unintelligible, but he gives your hand a squeeze. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, finally cracking open his eyes. The first thing he sees are your tears, and even in his debilitated state, he looks concerned. “Are you alright?”

You stare at him. “You’re asking me that?”

“Well, I’d say you seem to be in a worse state than me at this point.”

You let out a choked laugh, smiling and crying harder at the same time. You lean over, resting your head on his chest, relieved to feel him again. “I was so scared,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” he simply says.

You feel his hand on your skin, his thumb brushing tears away. “You looked dead,” you whimper. “You looked so close.”

He closed his eyes a moment, his own breath shaking, “I’m here now, baby. I’m safe…with you.”

You jolt as the door to your cell slams open. No words are said as a boot makes contact with your stomach, right on the spot that had previously been leaking blood. You cry out as you feel it open again, the warm liquid dripping down your side.

At the beginning of your stay here, they’d asked you questions, none of which you answered. Eventually, they’d stopped, and now, all they did was make you suffer. It didn’t seem that they had any definitive goal in mind, only to cause you pain.

A set of hands roam your body, and you don’t move. Don’t even flinch as a derogatory and suggestive remark leaves your captor’s mouth. You feel his hands at your pants, sliding them down, and you dread what will come. It’s already happened before…multiple times, but it does not get easier with each reoccurrence. You utilize the only defense mechanism you have left. You retreat into your head once more.

The city lights are beautiful. Gold and white and neon and blue. You’ve always loved cities; you still do. They’re alive in every way. A culmination of a million cultures from every corner of the galaxy. Millions of beings, none of which know or care who you are.

You’re happily shrouded in your anonymity, content to be no one.

You stand on the balcony of your hotel room, looking out across the buildings, focusing on little scenes: a couple buying ice cream, a drunk throwing up into a bush in the far distance.

Your love sleeps behind you, soft breaths floating through the air, just barely reaching your ear. Or at least, you believe he is asleep. You don’t hear his footsteps on the floor, but he is there. He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to your neck.

“Hey,” you whisper, leaning into him, feeling him around you. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head.

“Me neither,” you respond. The clock reads midnight, but the air still crackles with life. “Go for a walk?”

He nods, the both of you getting dressed. On the street, there is soft music drifting through the air, a jazz from a sidewalk cafe still open to night workers and night owls. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, yours around his waist, as you two slowly walk down the street.

His body is warm against the chilly air, and you nestle against him as you stroll. You and him stop by the river, watching the water ripple below, painted a million different colors by the light. More buildings shine in the distance, forming a jagged skyline, so intricate that you want to drag your fingers along it and feel the texture.

You notice Poe’s gaze on you.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He pauses a moment. “Nothing, you’re just… beautiful,” he simply responds.

You laugh. “All these lights, and you’re looking at me?”

He only smiles and shrugs. The subtle compliment makes you warm inside, security washing over you. As a gust of wind blows past, he moves behind, wrapping his arms around you on either side to keep you warm.

You adore this place.

Just you and your love—in the midst of one beautiful city midnight.

You snap back to reality, the memory making you smile. Pain vanishes for a small amount of time as you think.

No, this would not be the worst way to go.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

“City Midnights” Chapter One originally posted on AO3 on 12/7/20.

Read the second chapter here.

[rhodeys]

I wish you would write a fic where tony has accidentally turned into a child and Rhodey has to babysit him Thanks !!

thank you for the prompt! 💞💞

(i may have had too much fun with this) 

The thing is, Rhodey's used to being greeted by an empty penthouse every time he decides to check up on Tony. It's precisely the reason why the rest of the penthouse blend into the background while he makes his way to the private elevator that leads to Tony's workshop – the sectional sofa, the mezzanine, the staircase leading to the mezzanine, the kid, the–

Rhodey does a double take. 

There's a child in the penthouse - staring back at him like a baby deer caught in the headlights. The child blinks, just once, before brown eyes are back to being impossibly wide over the tiny hand perched upon the glass handrail. He's wearing a black t-shirt that's ten sizes too big for him, the edges of it ending at his knees. His feet are on two different stairs, almost like he'd been in the middle of making his way down before Rhodey conveniently barged in. The child doesn't even move a muscle. 

"Uh," is all Rhodey says, eyes flicking around the penthouse in sudden uncertainty before he turns to the boy. "Hey." 

The boy continues to stare at Rhodey for five odd seconds, making the older man feel oddly conscious. And then, finally, a careful: "Hi." 

"Hey," Rhodey says again, softer now. "Are you alone here?" He scans the empty penthouse once more. "Where are your parents?" 

"Why?" The boy is quick to ask, tone changing as his eyes narrow, and Rhodey's never seen a five-six-whatever-year old sound so defensive. "Where are yours?" 

Rhodey's taken aback, if only for a brief second, at the sudden shift in tone. Brown eyes are no longer wide, but slitted with something close to suspicion. "They're not–" Rhodey starts. Stops. "I'm sorry. Just–" He turns his head away, still maintaining wary eye contact with the boy, and calls out in the general direction of Tony's bedroom. "Tony?" 

"Yeah?" The boy asks. 

"No, not– that's my friend," Rhodey elaborates, making a vague motion with his hands to the space around them. "Have you seen anyone else around here?" 

"Is your friend's name Tony, too?" The boy asks, slowly continuing to make his way down the stairs, sharp eyes still fixated on Rhodey. 

"Yeah. He's–" Rhodey starts, and then something the boy had said registers. "Wait. Too? What's your name?" 

The boy finally takes the last step, and it's right then that Rhodey sees the familiar design of Black Sabbath printed across the oversized t-shirt. The sleeves were pulled up and knotted at awkward angles to prevent it from dangling down tiny arms. "Tony," the boy says. 

Rhodey's lips part in growing surprise as he takes in the messy waves of dark hair, matched with a pair of brown eyes that shine too bright, the layer of chub across a familiar bone structure, and the all too familiar expression of suspicion that Rhodey was once subjected to in MIT – one that, over the years, had eventually been hidden behind a perfected mask of cool. "Tony."

"Yeah," the boy says, making a face like Rhodey's being stupid. "S'what I just said."

---

"I mean," Rhodey clarifies, pinching the bridge of his nose after Pepper had calmly pointed out through the call that Tony's always been a child. "He's an actual kid. Physically. He's–" he cuts off as he shifts his attention to Tony, who's scowling from the other end of the sectional with tiny arms crossed over his chest. "Do you know how old you are?" 

"Course I do," Tony huffs out, eyes narrowing in offense. "I'm eight."

"Eight? Kinda short for an eight year old, aren't you?" Rhodey teases, and Tony's eyes narrow even further. The boy looks away just as his cheeks flush pink at the jab aimed at his stature. 

"Wait. Is that Tony?" Pepper's voice filters through the phone. "It doesn't sound like him."

"Gee, I wonder why eight year old Tony doesn't sound like fifty year old Tony."

"How are you even sure it's him? Did you ask Jarvis?" 

"Trust me, I'm sure," Rhodey says, deciding against bringing up when eight year old Tony had unashamedly called out 'who's the broad?' the second Pepper answered the phone, which ended with Rhodey fumbling to put the phone off of speaker. 

"And Jarvis isn't responding. He must have gone down when Tony did– well, whatever he did." Rhodey sneaks a quick glance at his watch. It's been almost an hour since he walked into this debacle. "He should be back up soon." 

"Okay," Pepper says after a heavy sigh. Her calm demeanor doesn't even surprise Rhodey – god knows the pair of them have been through enough and more of Tony's eccentricity. When it comes to Tony, this is just another day for them. "Jim, listen. I'm still in DC, but I'll be there in a few hours." There's distinct shuffling from her side. "Just– stay put. Read him a book. Put him to sleep."

"Put him to–" Rhodey cuts himself off before he can even consider the ridiculousness of the suggestion. "This is Tony."

"And you're his best friend. Which is why I'm sure you'll figure something out." And by thrusting her sheer level of confidence upon Rhodey, Pepper ends the call, leaving him staring helplessly at the phone in his hand. He looks over at Tony, who immediately looks away, defensive hands still folded across his chest in an act of petulance. 

Pepper had a point, Rhodey figures. Smaller Tony can't differ much from the real deal. He just has to make Tony talk; keep him occupied. Maybe play an R-rated movie– 

"Keep staring at me like that, 'm gonna think you're a pedophile."

"Jesus Christ."

---

They're not even ten minutes into watching Eraserhead before Tony decides it's too unrealistic, and therefore not worth his time. 

"What?" Rhodey asks, barely able to suppress the disbelief in his voice. Tony loved this movie – even watched it twice a month, every month, while they were in MIT. Sure, it had Rhodey worried for Tony's sanity at first, but he got around to movie nights soon enough. "You love this movie."

"Nope," Tony says, and that's that.

---

"Aren't you too old to be a babysitter?" Tony asks after spending a whole of five minutes scrutinizing Rhodey with a fairly impressive stink eye.

Rhodey huffs out a breathy laugh. "Tell that to the guy who put me here."

"Maybe I will," Tony says pointedly – sounding like he fully intended to file a formal complaint. "Where is he?"

"You're talking to him," Rhodey says, which shuts Tony up.

---

Rhodey's making a mental checklist of how else he can entertain eight year old Tony who hates Eraserhead – when Jarvis comes online.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis greets, and Rhodey immediately shoots a silent prayer of gratitude to the AI. On the other side of the sectional, Tony's head jerks up in surprise from where he was fiddling with the StarkTab – eyes darting around for the voice. 

"I apologize for my inactivity. My servers may have been affected while Sir was testing the functions of…" Jarvis trails off, and there's a very telling silence that follows – Jarvis apparently having noticed Tony's absence and the kid's presence. Tony's still looking around for the source, and when his attempt turns futile, decides to zero in on Rhodey. 

"Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis starts, his words edging on hesitation. "Is that–" 

"Yep."

---

Tony takes it upon himself to find out the source of the voice. There's ten minutes of Tony opening and closing doors, crouching under tables, checking behind furniture five times his size, and because Tony - no matter the age – is still Tony, returns to where Rhodey's seated, newfound determination plastered across his face. "Who was that?"

"Who was who?" Rhodey asks, raising an innocent brow. 

"The guy who was just talking to you." 

"Don't see any guy here."

"I heard him."

"Heard who?" 

"The guy!" Tony blurts out hotly, throwing his arms out in frustration as his cheeks flush a shade of red. The movement makes the full sleeves of Tony's undershirt break from the knot Tony had made, resulting in them splaying out like loose wires before they end up dangling flimsily at his sides. Tony pays no mind, and Rhodey tries to pay no mind. 

"Which guy?" Rhodey asks, and he can barely contain his grin watching the way Tony puffs his chest, lips parting to make way for whatever childish blabber before they snap shut in annoyance. 

His face turns into a scowl as he brings his arms back across his chest, dangling sleeves and all. "Stop pulling my leg." 

"Whatever you say, kid."

"Not a kid."

"You're, like, five."

Tony looks like he's about to explode from frustration. "Eight!"

"Full fledged adult, then."

---

"You have a lot of grey hair," Tony speaks up all of a sudden, working on the offense this time. 

"You're short," Rhodey answers without missing a beat.

"But I'll grow," Tony says, grinning now, like he'd struck gold. "I'll be taller than you."

"Oh, yeah," Rhodey agrees for the sake of entertaining the kid, deciding against breaking his bubble as much as he'd like to. He adds an enthusiastic "definitely." 

Tony, self-proclaimed genius that he is, catches on to the intent. He looks almost giddy with excitement as he crawls over from his place on the sectional to where Rhodey's sitting. "You're jealous!" Tony exclaims, eyes shining in delight. "Aren't you? You're jealous that I'm gonna be taller than you!" 

"You got me, kid," Rhodey shrugs, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "What can I say? Life can be a– biscuit, sometimes."

"A bitch, you mean."

---

They go through the StarkPad together, not that Tony needed much help anyway, seeing as he already figured out most of how it works by himself. Rhodey gets his fair share of questions anyway, from why do people need such a big screen? to I can watch an entire movie in this?

"Ha, this makes you look even older!" is the first thing points out when Rhodey switches it to the front camera. 

"Yeah, yeah," Rhodey says smiling, and in a split second, contorts his face just as a grinning Tony holds up the tablet and takes a selfie of them. 

"This is so cool," Tony exclaims in barely contained excitement as he proceeds to take a dozen more pictures of himself, some of which Rhodey accidentally ends up in the background of. 

"Yeah, remember my friend Tony? He made it."

Tony perks up, suddenly more interested, and Rhodey thinks he's going to ask more about the StarkPad until– "Is he taller than you?" 

Rhodey snorts. "He wishes. Tony used to stuff paper balls into his shoes when we were in MIT. He wears heels now." 

"I know MIT! My dad studied there," Tony says, and Rhodey makes a surprised sound, like that wasn't news to him at all. Tony cocks his head, eyebrows knitting as if something just occurred to him. "Wait, how does he wear heels?" 

"He gets them custom made into his shoes."

A pause. Then: "And he's still shorter than you?" 

"Yep."

"That must suck balls."

"Yep."

---

"You never told me your name," Tony says out of the blue after spending a good few minutes drooling into Rhodey's shoulder while he was dead to the world.

"It's Jim."

Tony shifts, drawing his feet towards himself so he can curl into Rhodey's chest. "That's an old man's name," Tony points out softly. 

"Rhodey, then."

"How many names do you have?"

Honeybear, Platypus, Sourpatch– "A few."

"My name is Anthony," Tony says, voice softening even more, as if he'd pass out any moment now. "But nobody calls me that anymore."

"Thought you didn't like-"

"Because when they do, I kick 'em in the dick," Tony finishes, words coming out in soft mumble before he drifts back to sleep.

---

When Pepper walks into the penthouse an hour later and spots Tony snuggled against Rhodey's side, soaking his polo shirt wet with drool, she flashes him a triumphant smile. I told you so.