#you can even see the orange around the bottom of his lip- probably from them wiping it between takes

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

Honestly, the stage blood they used for this bit is so orange... I thought maybe Boss just had some lunch left on his face when they went to film.

It was like 2 scenes before I realized it was supposed to be a cut.

[eowynstwin]

Lilies

Price x f!Reader. - Dom/sub dynamics. whipping. vivisection as a metaphor for love. boot riding. throat-fucking. angst. aftercare. 18+ MDNI.

The bedroom is dim when you enter, lights turned low. Price watches you stop in your tracks at the unexpected darkness; watches you look around and catch sight of him.

He’s in the chair in the corner of the room. Hasn’t been waiting long—expected you to arrive, in fact, around this very moment. Your schedule and all of its minute quirks, tiny variations you might insert out of hunger, or boredom, or fixation on some new hobby, play out like clockwork in the back of his mind, no matter when or where he is.

A mnemonic. More accurately, a memorare. Entreaty to some higher power, as if to remind Death that he has someone far more important to get home to.

You take him in. His ankle is propped up on the opposite knee, glass of scotch hanging carelessly from his fingers, crystalline bottom brushing the carpeted floor. Your eyes focus on the orange-red cherry of his cigar—

—you startle a little when you meet his gaze.

He doesn’t blame you. His pulse beats heavy through his veins. Every breath he takes is slow and controlled, miasmic as it leaves his lungs. He feels less a man and more a vessel for something seething and wrathful, smog rolling in and in again on itself, eddying when it hits the boundaries keeping it contained.

Noxious. Fetid.

The glow of his cigar probably reflects in his eyes.

Borderline pyrolic.

You look at the coiled whip resting ophidian and black over his thigh. His free hand rests along it, thumbnail toying with the braided leather.

“Not a word,” he says evenly. His voice leaves him like it’s coated in sandpaper, debriding the column of his esophagus.

Your gaze snaps back up to his. Holds it.

Searching, maybe.

Your lips do not part. Instead, you wait.

The next breath he takes comes and goes a little easier—but only just.

“Strip,” he says, “and cuff yourself to your post.”

On a better night—a kinder one—he would’ve asked if you needed more directions. Checked in first, even, or warned you ahead of time of his intentions. This thing that exists between the two of you was cultivated in the open, fertilized with his own candor as he told you what he wanted, needed, like turning over a rock to see what squirmed beneath it. It grew as you trellised it together and discovered, through trial and error, what you needed to survive it.

Reward incentives. Good reason to give a damn about what he tells you to do.

But tonight is not a kind one. Venom pumps through his veins—caustic. Acrid. Hissing and spitting in his chest, already drawn back and ready to strike.

Maybe you can tell, as you stand there, watching him. Maybe you don’t feel like protesting. Or, just maybe, you need this, too, need it in the way you’ve begged him for in the past when the present moment felt ephemeral and unreal—because you obey.

You toe out of your heels. Pull your shirt over your head, your skirt down your legs. It’s an outfit he’s expressed appreciation for in the past; the wide drape of the collar exposing your clavicles, the long seams down your hips that buckle as your thighs hold the fabric taut.

You fold everything like a good girl and set them aside on the bed, and then remove your bra and panties—nude silk, no lace, sensible and comfortable and paid for with his card—to place them atop the pile.

Price isn’t in a mood to care why you acquiesce. All that matters to him is that you walk to your nightstand and remove the padded cuffs from the drawer, then to the bedpost on your side of the bed. You remove the endcap hiding the loop of steed embedded into the wood, fasten yourself with a padlock only he has the key to—

And then you kneel, naked, on the carpeted floor.

Giving him your bare back, the dim light sinking shadows into the notches of your spine.

Price says nothing. He doesn’t have a kind word anywhere in his alveoli. There usually aren’t any, when he first comes home, nor could a single one get past the bars of his vocal cords if it tried. This has grown too nacreous, too hypergranulated in his mantle, and it demands excision. He taps the ash from his cigar and sips at his scotch, the dregs burning a line hot and corrosive down his throat.

He sets the glass aside. Rises.

Brandishes the whip once with a sharp snap.

You flinch; your skin is filmy and thin in the gloaming. Horripilation lifts the follicles along your bare arms; the scant light of the bedroom catches your hair standing on end.

He watches a slow tremble work its way to your suspended fingers. Your back expands as you take a deep breath in, and contracts as you exhale, shadows the width of his fingers pooling into and draining away from the valleys between your extruded ribs.

You pull in another deep breath, one, two, three, four, five, and let it go at the same meter. Calming the anticipation the way he taught you.

He draws his arm back, lunges, and the whip cracks against your bare back.

You gasp sharply and go rigid in shock. Price watches the pain spread outward from the lash into your limbs. Bleeding down into the fibers of your muscles; sinking through osseous matter into your marrow like dye takes to cloth. You shift on your knees, a shiver snaking its way up your back.

It’s always cataclysmic, that first bite of pain. Every nerve ending suddenly alive and on high alert. Charged up. Inadvertently destining the next strike to fall even harder by sensory comparison.

Then, the welt appears, rising in reply to the scourge. A clean, sharp return stroke, an echo of the braided leather just beginning its reverberation.

Something cleaves in Price’s chest. Some tight membrane splits open, seeping felsic, hot and black, dripping steadily into his bloodstream. Effusive. Not a dam breaking, but a fissure in the stone.

Your breathing quickens—

And then he whips you again, harder, laying the stroke right next to the first. You cry out when it lands, but he leaves no time for you to prepare for the third, drawing, lunging, and lashing again at unspoiled skin.

You shake in your bonds. He whips you again, laying another diagonally from shoulder to hip as fog blooms across his vision. You wail like breaking glass, china falling from the cabinet, cut crystal flowering in pieces on hardwood floor.

The same tenor he hears when he has you on your back, cock burrowed in your cunt and bullying the plug of your cervix.

Too much, too hard, but your nails dig into his arse and you cry even harder when he lets up.

He whips you again. Welts lift across the known topography of your back—intersecting every angle of your shoulder blades, orogenies shifting and transforming the landscape into something new.

Only passing familiar with the dips and curves he often walks the tips of his fingers across.

Again. The planes of your back tighten, as if solidity will lessen the impact of the lash. Again, right across the tight line of your shoulders—you shriek, thrashing, hands fisting as you pull and swing futilely in the cuffs.

Geography added to. New land raised like it was beckoned by the hand of God. Hot and magamatic on the inside, too delicate to touch without collapsing in on itself.

Again. He snaps the whip, shaping the parabola with the jerk of his arm, shaping the line of a hill like a child’s drawing, then brings it down, sharply, cutting the fall across the meat of your hip. A hillside he often dwarfs with the ugly size of his hands.

Price envies the whip sometimes for its privilege. He’s never been able to lay hands on you directly for its purpose; not easily, at least. The flat of his palms have known the meat of your arse, have made ample flesh ripple like tossing stones across water, but he can’t employ them for much else without turning his own stomach.

He can pull your hair, wrap your throat in his grasp, shackle your wrists or the slopes of your hips in an iron grip, dig his fingers into your thighs and stomach like trying to tunnel through wedges of clay. Often afterwards he’s transfixed by the marks he leaves behind—dotted bruises aligned with the arc and spread of his fingers, or blotchy oblongs fitted to the heel of his hand.

Indelible evidence that Price Was Here.

He’ll try to match the grip that left them, his touch as light and gentle as a dove’s wing; a paintbrush without pigment, remembering the strokes it left behind. Synapses in his brain firing colors to match, claiming them for himself.

He put them there. That makes them his. That makes you his.

But striking you barehanded is beyond even his limits. No matter that you’d allow it. Have allowed it—

He whips you again. Draw. Lunge. Crack. You jolt against the bedpost, throw your head back, buck your entire body to work the pain through it.

One scene, similar to this, tephra building up in his craw and threatening to catalyze if he didn’t find some hurried way to exorcise it.

Some mission gone bad; some idiot disobeying his orders. People dying who didn’t need to.

He’d slapped you across the face, after forcing you to your knees with his fist in your hair—sent you tumbling to the floor. The next thing that had occurred to him had been to swing his foot back—

And the bile had risen so quickly up his throat that he’d frozen. He’d stared at you, on the floor. Lying there, sprawled and waiting. Fear in your eyes—but you weren’t moving.

His collapse after had been swift. He’d fallen to his knees and crawled to you, gathered you up like a stuffed toy and buried his mouth in your hair and hadn’t let you go for nearly three hours. Price can count on one hand how many times he’s cried in his adult life, and this had added one more to the tally.

It’s one thing to send his fury along through leather or wood or crop, and quite another to deliver it to you like you actually deserve it.

So, the whip.

You moan as the next stroke hits. Something long and stretched-out. Caramelized—molasses subducting the bite of the fall, sucrose splitting in the phreatic churn of draw, lunge, lash.

He pauses briefly to look you over. Claw-mark weals, like he’s been dragging his blunt nails down your back, hatch the skin paralleling your spine. Your heels press divots into the bare cheeks of your arse; you squirm in his gaze, drawing them together as you tighten your thighs.

There’s a moment when pain transforms. When heat fills the empty spaces between moving, frantic particles and melds in around them. Capturing them in place.

The calcaneus of one foot finds its way between your folds as you shift; your whole body twitches from it, and you lift your hips a little. There’s an obscene squelch as you settle down again, slick dribbling down your heel into the arch.

Price lunges. The whip cracks. You low like a trapped animal, grinding, and the pitch of your voice swoops upward when he lays another lash right on top of the previous.

Dangerous. Taunting something welling up to the surface, testing what it can take before it breaks. Price knows better.

Knows better, but the roil and hiss in his gut yawns wider with every lash, trembling as a fed appetite is only whetted. Horrible feedback loop—the cry of your voice, he often thinks, is the only thing that could possibly satisfy him, but when he gets it, Price can’t be satisfied.

A taste demands mouthful. A meal demands a banquet. When he hears you wail, he wonders how many different ways he can make you do it, how many octaves are there, hidden away, for him to tease out of you.

He knows everything about you. Everything. He knows every dip and curve of your body, every jutting bone, every creaky joint, every fold and roll and wrinkle. Sometimes he thinks he's got individual hair follicles memorized.

With the whip, or the scourge, or any other tool, the reward for his greed is ephemeral. The known plains present themselves as blank canvas, and for a while, after his work is wrought, there’s something new for him to fixate on. New patterns to trace his fingers along.

Sometimes he thinks he wants to cut you open, just to see what more of you he’s been missing.

Stomach. Lungs. Intestines. Arterial pathways leading to your soft, beating heart. All he wants, he thinks, is to see them. Say hello to them. Run his tongue along their membranes, caress each tiny capillary webbing them together with the lightest brush of his teeth, if only just to organize his experience of them into the archives of you that he keeps locked behind his ribs.

More of you. He always wants more of you.

He lunges again. The whip sings in the air, and the cracker bites again into your flesh. You undulate like rippling water, breath coming out in erratic stops and starts, and then you give a full body yank against your cuffs—

This time, he’s broken skin.

You curl in on yourself, suddenly going still. Your thighs tighten; your scapulae rise, shoulders touching the lobes of your ears.

As you’re if holding onto something that will escape; balancing, on an unsteady surface, something fragile. Delicate as spun glass.

It isn’t deep. A pearl of crimson wells up in the trough, collapsing when the mass betrays the surface tension. It trails a thin, straight line down your back as it slips between stark weals still yet to split open.

You haven’t moved; your body is a trembling fist.

Price takes a long, ragged breath. He asks the question, although he already knows the answer.

“Did you come?”

You shake your head.

Of course not. His good fucking girl—you’re waiting for permission.

Price extracts the little key from his trouser pocket and goes to where your wrists hang limp from the bedpost. The lock turns with a small click, and your arms drop like heavy stones. A breath of relief, involuntary, leaves you.

Price wraps your hair around his fist and yanks you back a little like pulling a dog on a leash. He rounds you, looming above your kneeling form, and wedges the tip of his boot between your knees.

It’s not a new pair. He’s had them for years, and the leather shows it, even despite regular maintenance. They’re brutish things, squarish and unkindly shaped, rough at the edges. Meant to trample underbrush and kick through teeth. A scratched-up battering ram between the soft skin of your thighs.

You lift your hips immediately to open the way for him. Automatic. Pavlovian.

He lifts the toe against your clit in reward, circles it, dragging your folds around. Your lips fall open; glittering, rheumy eyes stare up at him as your cuffed hands circle his knee.

Something soft in Price’s chest touches the inside of his sternum.

His hand goes to the zipper at his groin, and he draws his cock out. In the furor of the lash, he hadn’t even realized how hard he was, but he feels blistering in his own palm, the head ruddy and ugly with it, the veins thick and pulsing. Equally as inappropriate to subject you to.

He drags your head to his cock with his firm grasp in your hair. You don’t need to be told—your mouth drops, and he pushes in without preamble, grunting short and hard when the flat of your tongue melts along the broad artery on the underside of his shaft.

“Rut,” he husks, shifting his boot beneath you, “until you come.”

You moan around him. The vibration of your vocal cords travels up his cock, reverberating with an intensity that has him shoving into your throat with a snarl. You choke at the intrusion, saliva bubbling at the corners of your mouth, but your hips bear down on his boot, thighs clenching it at the sides.

Your whole body rolls and humps against his leg, cuffed wrists coming up so your hands can wrap around the meat of his thigh. You scrabble at the canvas, dig your nails into the weave of his trousers like you want to tear through it to get at his skin underneath.

The whole time, your eyes never leave his, glistening with tears that shiver on your lashes as they threaten to fall. He grits his teeth as your lips pull out around him as he withdraws, and then thrusts short and hard into your mouth in time with the frantic cant of your pussy up and down his boot.

He can feel the heat of your sex even through the leather, could swear that he can count the contractions as you clench around nothing, the tiny bud of your neglected clitoris rasping against the unkind fibers of his boot laces.

Obedient to perfection.

You’re past the threshold as you lean back a little, levering your body to change the angle at which your pussy engulfs his foot, and he half-steps forward to follow you so his cock doesn’t escape your mouth. You roll against him, a full-body wave that lifts chest, then stomach, then hips—

And then he sees it take you as you freeze in place, muscles tensing all at once.

Your eyes roll back, throat convulsing around him as quick, reedy mewls travel up his shaft in quick succession. Your whole body shakes with it, frenetic as you hump his boot to prolong it, loosening the knot he’d tied with your vigor.

He pulls out a little to let you breathe through the end of it, but when you realize what he’s doing you dig your nails into his thigh, following him back. You catch his gaze with yours, eyes pleading, brows knitting together in entreaty. The claws become cupped hands, stroking up and down, and you bob your head a little, hollowing your cheeks.

Price huffs a breath. He hadn’t planned for an orgasm for himself for this. Rewards are for people who earn them.

This—this isn’t that.

But your eyelids lower in pleasure as you take him deeper, saliva slicking the way to his base, and Price has never been able to deny you anything.

His grip around your hair becomes a soft palm on the back of your head, guiding you steady, and he props his shin up along your stomach, knee between your breasts to give you balance.

It’s an orison; tossed into the caldera, something precious given to gravity and the incandescent fate at the other side of it. Your lips melt around him softly, tongue skimming his length like the reaching strand of a candle flame twirling around the tip of his finger.

He loves you so frightfully much.

“That’s it,” he huffs. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You moan in your throat, eyes closed, lashes against your damp cheeks.

“Yeah,” he continues, digging his fingers into your hair. “Too good for the likes of me—mmm—”

You suckle around him, pulling all the way back to mouth at the head of his cock before engulfing him again, cuffed hands rising higher to nestle one into the crevice of his groin and thigh and to spread the other over his hip. His breath quickens, and he brings his other hand to the back of your head, digging the fingers of both into your scalp.

You accept the roll of his hips with a little laugh that escapes through your nose, opening your jaw wide; making room for him to take what he pleases, again, how he pleases, as he thrusts faster, harder, taking what you give freely and delving harder for even more—

The head of his cock bullies your soft palette as his pubic hair tickles your lips, and then it shoots through him, up and down his spine, and he rams into your throat, forcing your nose to his mons as his cock pulsates, erupting hot and viscous, heartbeat forcing his cum out in deep, rhythmic pulses he feels across his whole body.

When you swallow around him his whole body heats up, balls clenching as they empty themselves into you, and he punches his hips in again short and hard as the last vestiges of his climax play out.

You hold him in your throat until he pulls you away, and then you take a long, wet gasp, hot breath fanning across his softening cock as it falls down, drained out. Tear tracks are silvery down your face, lashes stuck together with lipids and salt.

He brings one hand to your cheek, caressing beneath your eye gently with one callused thumb. Sweat beads along your hairline, and your skin is sticky and humid, glistening with perspiration that pools in your collarbones.

He feels his own sweat running down his chest, along and around the follicles of his chest hair and down toward his navel. Your eyes follow each drop; he thinks you’d lean forward and lick them up, if he told you to, even though he can see the exhaustion pulling at you.

“You good?” he finally asks, his voice coated in grit, but steady as it leaves him.

It’s what he always says, after.

You open your eyes to meet his, and this, too, is a moment repeated. He searches. Waits for doubt or fear or dismay to flicker in your gaze, some omen that he’s gone too far, that this, finally, has been too much for you to take from him.

You grace him with a little smile. The lines of your face are slack and loose. Your expression is smooth—languid, floating on satisfaction.

“I’m good,” you say, calm and tranquil—

And the smoke clears from his eyes.

-

He rubs the indent around your finger, branded by your wedding ring in your clenching fist, and brings the knuckle to his mouth to kiss his apology into your skin.

“What happened?” you ask.

You’re boneless, splayed on the mattress with your belly to the duvet. Your head rests against the pillow, face turned toward him.

Even in the haze of afterglow, filaments of oxytocin and dopamine unspooling, your eyes are sharp. Insightful.

You know him too well.

John kisses your ring finger again and returns to the oblations he owes for his violence. The lines on your back are ugly, dotted with broken capillaries and set to linger for weeks. He applies aloe gel, cooled in the fridge, in a thick, generous layer with a soft brush. The kind your aesthetician uses on the rare occasion you treat yourself to some time at the spa, dragging the bristles lightly across your face, around the apples of your cheeks and the corners of your lips.

Softer than he can possibly touch you right now with his callused fingers. A consequence of his vice; flayed skin, lifted weals, cannot tolerate the weight or heat of his hand, no matter how curative or contrite. He destines his own gentle touch to futility.

The one place he broke skin will probably take a month to heal.

A puff of air zips by his ear again. So close as to be your gasp. The rock behind him explodes around a .50 caliber round. Fragments of dry stone, osseous and pale, shower his neck and back.

“The usual,” Price says.

With a q-tip, John dabs bacitracin along the open gash down one side of your back. It isn’t very long or very deep. It might not even scar.

When John is gone—deployed or dead, the difference is negligible, really—there will be no evidence of his presence in your life that you can’t get rid of. It kept occurring to him throughout his deployment, after the near miss.

Everything of his in the house you share, you can box up and donate. Deep clean the place to eradicate whatever traces of his scent are left behind. You can cut your hair in some new style he’ll never see, wear all new clothes, choose a new perfume.

You can take off your wedding band. Shove it in a box in some forgotten drawer, or just pawn it.

It’s childish. Downright adolescent. Snapping your bra like a pimply cunt in secondary school, because the only way he knows how to etch himself into the bedrock of your memory is with pain.

“I’m sorry,” you say, reaching out with one lolling hand.

He leaves the q-tip on your back and clasps it between both of his own, bringing the curl of your fingers to his mouth. He kisses down the side of your palm, trails his lips down the soft skin of your forearm. Squeezes so hard he feels the bones in your hands shift.

You’re sorry. He took a whip to your back, made you hump his boot like an animal, and fucked your face like a whore, all because he couldn’t stand the thought that you would someday be without him. And you’re sorry.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmurs, scratching at the soft part of your wrist with his beard.

It seems even the softest version of his affection must somehow be abrasive.

There’s a little smile playing across your lips as you close your eyes. A deep, serene breath leaves you.

He places your hand back on the bed and dips the brush back into the aloe, loading it generously up to the ferrule. The brush make little furrows in the gel as he lays it down, the layer already thick; he floats the flat of the bristles overtop, smoothing over his contrition, and then, idly, he wedges them in again, carving runnels down through the clear to your skin.

You must fall asleep as he does, or at least you enjoy it enough to indulge him. John follows the lines of each lash from beginning to end, tracing their length, mapping the way they’ve changed your skin.

In a few weeks, as he cares for them, they’ll fade away completely. Left only to memory—both his and yours. But for now, you’ll feel them every day. Feel him every day, even when he’s not there, brushing along the inside of your shirt, stinging with every light touch.

Remembering the hand that held the lash.

He smooths the painted lines over and begins again.

-

a/n: this started as a casual one-off and became a loose masterstudy of @yeyinde's writing style. Lev, affectionately, you are insane. I know this because in writing this I also went insane.

Also dedicated to @391780. Please never stop being kinky online. I live for it.

Also that one part was inspired by this piece of art.

[whxrecruxxes]

MIAMI, THE CITY THAT KEEPS THE ROOF BLAZIN'- ln4

pairing- lando norris x fem! reader genre- established relationship (idk yall) OH ALSO victory smut warning- SMUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTT (you dirty dirty ppl, don't be silly, wrap your willy), victory head ( my boy lando deserves it), lowk pda ???? idk yall tell me if you spot any lollolololol summary- when your boyfriend brings back his first ever GP win, there seems to be only one way you both think of celebrating. GUYS GUYS GUYS HE DID IT I ACC CRIED OUR BOY DID IT !!! LAND NORRIS, GP WINNER. LANDO NOWINS IS NO MORE. GUYS I WAS ACC UNWELL, I CAN'T EVEN I WAS CRYING SO HARD 🥺 anwayyyyyyysssss this is not proofread so sorry if there are any spelling mistakes

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · keep reading !! · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

Those last few laps, you could barely sit still. You spent them biting your bottom lip and pinching your forearm underneath the orange of your hoodie, too scared to even move. Especially after that DNF during the sprint, Lando did not have high hopes for the race, he had told you so right before you two got to the track that morning. And now here you are, sitting in the garage near Lando's dad, fiddling with the promise ring around your finger. Tears started blurring your vision as the final lap was announced, your legs shaking despite you sitting down. When he crosses the finish line, you can barely contain your sobs and your body folds forward as you press your hand over your mouth, Lando's father cheering and rubbing your bag softly. Zak comes running in from the Pit wall, cheering and whooping as he runs towards you.

"He did it ! He fuckin did it !" He yells, wrapping you in his arms and jumping up and down. He's laughing and cheering as he pulls away from you, holding your hand.

"You need to come down with us. He'll want to see you." He says.

"But i'm not allowed. I don't want to get in trouble." Adam nods beside you.

"You should. Knowing my boy, he'll want to celebrate with you." Zak nods, sighing heavily.

"Besides, what the hell they gonna do ? Lando will punch anyone who tries to take you away from him. And he would punch us for not dragging you along, so come on !" You let yourself get taken away, softly crying as you're guided down to the track. You see Lando climb out of his car and punch the air, holding a one with his finger. You can hear him screaming through his helmet, his voice raw. He jumps off the car and is immediately swarmed by max and carlos, who hug the younger driver amicably. He turns towards his team, where you're nestled between his engineer and his father, barely visible in the sea of orange and height. He takes his helmet off, placing it down on he floor, before running up to his team.They instantly grab him and lift him above their heads, bouncing him up and down as they cheer and he laughs. Seeing that smile on his face makes your heart warm.

He's waited for this for so long.

When he's placed down on the floor, his father pats his shoulder and Lando drapes his arms around him tightly. The smile on his face is wider than you've ever seen when he backs away, and it only grows when he finally spots you.

"Baby !" His eyes grow and he lunges for you, shoving anybody out of his way that seemed to be suffocating you in the tiniest way. His arms wrap around you and he kisses the inside of your neck as you lean up on your tiptoes.

"You did it, Lan." You sob as he pulls away. "I'm so proud of you, baby." He cups your cheeks and kisses you, so long and so hard it shoves all air out of your lungs. It knocks you on your ass, falling back to your flat feet and him leaning over the railing to get better access to your lips. His teeth graze your bottom lip, his hands venturing into your hair to tug you closer. You whimper in his kiss, fully aware of the people cheering around you and the cameras probably angled towards you. When he finally pulls away, he kisses your forehead and wipes away your tears. He stares down at you, absolutely ecstatic, before he's dragged away to the med tent.

The podium is even more of a fever dream, watching him spray champagne all over his team below and the other drivers spray him all over, not even leaving him a moment to speak. He winks down at you and you can't help the rumble in your stomach. The promise of celebration is always evident whenever Lando is on the podium - but his first ever win ? There is no way you'll be able to walk tomorrow. And it's already bad enough whenever he looses.

You feel a tug on your arm as the Podium Celebrations come to an end.

"Psst." You turn around to be greeted by Lando's engineer, who seems quite annoyed to be the one to have to tell you this.

"Lando wants you to meet him in his driver's room. He says he needs to speak to you." He says, nodding slightly. You smile at him and thank him, starting to break away from the crowd, but he tugs you back. "Look, i know it's his first win but let's not have a remake of Austria. I don't think anybody could unhear that for months. Just.. try to be quiet." he says, offering you a kind smile to lessen your obvious embarassement. You nod, too scared to speak, and break away from the crowd. Your steps are hurried as you rush to his room, your cheeks red. You knock on the door and wait patiently, anxiously looking over your shoulder. When the door finally slides open, your heart leaps into your throat. He's torn off his suit, the fireproof soaked with champagne and sweat sticking to his sculpted chest and arms. His soft curls are soaked with champagne, the soft cut on the bridge of his nose from the week before reddened with irritation. You smile up at him instantly pushing him into the room and shutting the door behind you. He wraps his arms around you and breathes in your scent, hands gripping you tight.

"My girl." He mutters into your neck, which makes you giggle and tears start to flow up into your eyes again. You pulling away from him, cupping his cheeks.

"I'm so happy for you, baby." You mutter, running your thumb over his nose bridge. "I can finally say i'm dating a race winner." You say. He smiles, gripping your waist.

"Don't you want to say you've fucked a race winner ?" He says, moving your hair away from your neck to wrap his lips around the soft skin. You whimper as soon as his lips come on contact with your skin, leaning into his touch.

"Maybe later." you breathe. He pulls away, frowning.

"Maybe later ? C'mon now, baby, you're hurting my feelings." He jokes. You roll your eyes, softly untying the knot he's made around his hips with his suit.

"Of course you'll get to do that, Lan." You breathe out. If it's one thing Lando knew, is that you were always insatiable for him- and he for you. There was not a moment in public where his hands weren't on your hips and ass, and that your hands weren't combing his hair or kissing his cheeks. Most people found it quite sickening and they would tell you, but Lando would refuse to let you back away, even when you were embarassed that someone would point it out.

Your fingers push the suit apart, shoving it down his legs.

"Whatcha doing now, then ?" He asks, smiling lazily. You look up at him, grinning.

"Giving you a proper celebration." You mutter, pushing his fireproof up his abs as you kiss your way down, kneeling down to your knees. You blindly pat on your wrists to find a hair tie but you can't for the life of you find one. You're about to resort to just shoving your hair down your shirt to keep it out of the way when lando tilts your head up. He slips a hair tie off his wirst.

"Here you go, love. Always have one on hand." He mutters, smiling in that boyish smile that makes you want to give in to his drunken gaze and let him bend you over like he obviously is dreaming of. But he's always the one to make sure you feel good. Now, it's your turn to make him see stars.You tie your hair back quickly and kiss your way down his thighs, fingers grazing his abdomen as they loop around the band on his boxers.

"C'mon, princess, don't tease me." He begs. He's losing his shit, watching you on your knees, eyes already heavy lidded. that bright papaya dress stretching perfectly around your breasts and ass, too far away from him to grab but still delicious enough to stare at. His hand wraps around your ponytail, establishing his grip on you as you finally tug his boxers down. His cock springs up, and your eyes widen, already salivating at the sight. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you wrap your hand around him and softly lick at the precum gathering there, making his head tilt back and a heavy breath leave his chest. He looks like a mess in your grip, his fireproof still halfway pushed up from when you were kissing your way down, and he's made no move to lower it, giving you a great view of his abs.

His grip around your hair tightens and he licks his lips, looking down at you as you ease the veiny length inside your mouth, running your tongue along the vein on the underside, right where you know makes him shiver.

"Fuck, baby, not so fast." he grumbles as your cheeks hollow around him, your hand pumping the rest of the length you couldn't fit in your mouth. He's heavy in your mouth, choking you in the best way possible. He brushes away a tear from the corner of your eye, groaning as he notices your thighs clenching to relive some of the pressure building up. At first, seeing you cry as you sucked him off scared him. The first time ever, he pulled away from you and knelt down beside you, gushing over you as how scared he was to hurt you. After a while he learnt that it was just the way tour face muscles were stretched, but that doesn't mean that seeing you cry doesn't scare him when he sees it. Although right now, your tongue is swirling around his tip, and he's clutching your hair tighter, his groans getting louder.

"Ah, fuck, baby. You take me so well- Shit, I can't wait to be inside you." Your eyes roll back into your skull as you hear those words, feeling your juices coating your thighs beneath your dress. Your pumps start moving faster, your hand tightening around his length and your tongue swirling around his tip. He shoves you down closer to him, groaning as he feels the pressure build up in his stomach. You can tell by the way his cock twitches in your mouth, throbbing with release. Knowing it'll drive him crazy, you pull away, kitten licking down his length, driving him away from his orgasm. He grumbles.

"God, please stop teasing me." He begs, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back, running his thumb along your bottom lip. You get to your feet, ankles wobbly, hand still wrapped around his length. He pulls you to him, lips wrapping around yours, his own hands moving fast to push the flimsy material of your dress up and past you hips all while tugging the top down to reveal your breasts. You hum into his kiss.

"Lan-Lan, we have to be quiet."

"Quiet ? Baby, i just won my first race. I want the entire paddock to know. Hell, the whole of Miami." He tears his firepoof off finally, revealing his abs to you as he grabs your waist and hoists you up, letting you wrap your thighs around his waist. You giggle as he drops you down onto the couch and slots his body between your legs, kissing your neck. A breathy moan leaves your lips as you cup his neck, running your fingers in his curls, biting your bottom lip. He smells of sweat and champagne, and it makes your heart race.

Lando Norris, Race winner.

"You ready, baby ?" He asks, looking up at you as he pushes your underwear to the side. You nod, and you feel his tip slide through your folds. He pushes in slightly, and a drawn out whine of his name leaves your lips, welcoming the stretch.

"Ah, Lan." You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. He kisses your exposed collarbone, his hand reaching up to tug your bra down.

"God, you're so wet f'me, darling. So fucking good for me- My good girl. You want more ? Want to take all of it ?" He asks, his tone teasing as you whine underneath him.

"Please, Lan, please." You beg. He kisses your temple, before pushing into you fully, bottoming into you fully, letting out a low groan. Your walls clench around him and he groans, catching your lips with his, his hand wrapping around your throat slightly.

"God you have no idea how bad i wanted you when I saw you when i got out of that car." He mutters, his hips rutting against yours, his tip hitting that spongy spot deep within you that makes your eyes roll.

"That entire last lap i was thinking of you, baby. My pretty girl, taking me so fucking well." His words are edging you on, your thighs shaking as his rough hands palm them to plough you harder and faster. he bites down on your neck slightly, eliciting a loud moan from you. The rythmic banging of the couch against the wall is deafening, and you convince yourself that there's no need to stay quite anymore when he sits up, sitting you down in his lap and rilling your hips against his. You throw your head back, his hands moving your hips to match the pace at which hes thrusting up into you.

The new angle pushes lewd whimpers and moans out of you, and he seems to relish in it. If there's one thing Lando loves more than you, it's hearing how good he makes you feel. Whether its you telling him straight up or the moans and whimpers he forces out of you, which he enjoys tremendously. Wrapping his arm around your waist firmly, he pulls you in, your hips relentlessly chasing that feeling building up within you.

"God, Lando."

"You close, hm ? You wanna come all over my dick, hm ?" He asks. Your bury you hands in his curls, biting your bottom lip, your thighs shaking as he lifts up to thrust into you at your pace. Your wall squeeze around him and he groans, head falling onto your shoulder as he kisses your exposed breasts and collarbone. Soft whimpers and moans are leaving your lips, and that just seems to drive him further. His thumbs reaches down to press on your clit, and your back arches at the overstimulation.

"Ah- Lan, fuck, i-i can't. S'too much." You whine, licking your lips.

"You can take it, c'mon baby. Open your eyes, look at me." He says as you open your eyes to look at him. He bites his bottom lip. "Fuck, you're so goregous like this. I fuckin' love you so much, baby."

That's enough to drive you insane, gushing around him as your walls flutter around his throbbing length, your body falling forward as your orgasm hits you hard and fast. He follows suit, emptying himself inside you, groaning into your ear as you keep your grip on his sweaty curls, kissing his neck lazily.

"Did so good f'me, babe." He mutters, softly lifting you off of him. You whimper at the loss of him, feeling empty. he blindly reaches over to a towel beside him, softly placing you beside him and bringing the towel to between your legs. You whine as he grazes your overstimulated core, and he kisses your temple, apologising underneath his breath profusely. Lando may love pleasuring you, especially after good races, but he usually gets taken away and hurts you- and that's the last thing he wants.

"I'm sorry, my love. You know how i get after good races." He mutters, adjusting your underwear back over your core and pull your dress back down your thighs and up to cover up your breasts. He grabs a spare pair of boxers and jeans from the chair, before slipping on a clean shirt and walking back to you, lovingly tucking you against him. You breathe in his scent, the new clothes still heavy with his cologne.

"It's okay. I like celebrating with you, like this." You mutter, fingers tracing the soft veins in his neck. "I really am proud of you, Lan. I couldn't sit still those last few laps." You say, not meeting his eyes. He chases your gaze, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours.

"You were the one thing i thought of." He says, tucking your hair behind your ear. "You're my everything, love, and I couldn't think of anyone else better to celebrate with." He says, smiling.

A soft knock is heard behind the door.

"Right, you done shagging now ?" You go rigid at the Aussie accent, covering your reddening face. Lando laughs and answers,

"Come in, Osc !" Oscar pulls open the door, walking in on you snuggled into your boyfriends chest.

"Lily wanted me to ask if you guys want to go out for dinner."

"I dunno.. What do you think, darling ?" He asks, fiddling with your hair, softly brushing your cheek with his thumb."Think you'll be able to walk ?" He whispers. Your cheeks go red and you look up at Oscar, making sure he didn't hear. You shove at his face, rolling your eyes.

"We'd love to, Osc." He smiles at you, before leaving the room. Before he's fully out, he turns to face you guys.

"Also.. Maybe keep it down next time- the entire hospitality was shaking." He says, before finally turning away and leaving. You cover your face, embarassed, but Lando kisses your forehead affectionately.

"C'mon, love. We've got a proper celebration to get to." He says, helping you up. You frown.

"So that wasn't the celebration ?" You ask. He winks.

"No, baby. That was just the beginning, there's more coming when we get home, so you better get that little ass up and jog it into my car so i can devour you the second we cross that door." He says.

You don't think you've gotten up faster.

And of course, as always, Lando held up his end of the deal, your thighs shaking underneath the table at dinner with Oscar and Lily, his hand on your thigh.

If this is what winning a race is like, you never want him to lose ever again.

[sopebubbles]

Master List

Six

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: Yoongi and Hobi are going to give you (almost) everything you need to feel better.

Warnings: allusions to/descriptions of past abuse. Honestly this chapter is mostly fluff (by my standards of fluff). Yoongi is just 🫠

Wc: 8.5k ;)

A/n: if you've not read The Lore™️ I recommend that you do so. Also if you don't follow me and don't see my random posts, m/c is very smol, like probably under 5 foot.

Alpha smells so good, the tiny voice in your head preened, happier than she had sounded in years. Thank you, thank you, thank you, she chanted as you breathed deeper, and despite the fact that his arms were the only things you could feel, you felt more grounded in that moment than you had felt in days. Not that you would ever admit it. 

The moment was too brief for your omega's liking. It seemed before any time had passed at all that your bottom landed in a chair. You looked up at the alpha like he had just taken the air from your lungs as he pulled away from you. Wordlessly, he nudged the shoulder of a taller alpha, and the male moved into the empty chair beside him. 

"Yoongi, are you sure this is a good idea?" A voice asked. There was something familiar about it, and it might have been the pack alpha, Seokjin, but for the life of you, you couldn't take your eyes off the one who had carried you here. Yoongi. Yoongi smells like Tangerines, your inner voice cooed. 

"She'll be fine. She needs to eat now. So everyone will be on their best behavior," Yoongi said in his smooth, deep voice. "Aren't you hungry, princess?"

Vaguely, you were aware of your head nodding and the sound of someone choking to your left. Yoongi picked up a glass from beside the plate in front of you and filled it with orange juice from a glass pitcher. 

"Can you drink this for me, pup?" He offered you the glass and you took it with both hands, but even so you couldn't stop shaking, and a little splashed over the sides onto your hand. "That's okay," he assured you when your lips turned into a frown. The drink was removed from your hands, and they were quickly wiped clean. For the first time you looked around the table to see six pairs of eyes fixed solely on you. Startled, you began to draw away from Yoongi's touch, wanting to curl in on yourself and escape their view. 

"Don't you all have your own dinners to eat?" Yoongi reminded them with a subtle growl. Clinking utensils and murmured requests to pass dishes were their response. Once more, Yoongi gently guided your gaze back to him with a touch of his fingertips. "Just focus on me right now, alright pup? Let me hold your glass and just have a small drink. It will make you feel better in no time," he encouraged with a smile so soft you didn't know what you could do but obey. You let him press the glass carefully to your lips before he tilted it up. The tangy juice coated your tongue, more sour than sweet. It must have been freshly squeezed. It smelled like him. You gulped it down greedily and earned an even wider smile from your—the alpha. He drew the glass away and gave you a soft pat on the top of your head before he pulled his own chair closer to yours and finally sat. He spoke to the others for a few moments as dishes continued to circulate the table, but you didn't hear a word of it. Your consciousness seemed trained entirely on the features of his face, the way his soft pink lips moved as he talked and the slight pull that made him smile, his cute round nose and cat-like eyes. Pretty, pretty, pretty, the you that wasn't you chanted. 

Finally his attention was back on you and you had to focus on hearing the words he was saying when he looked at you again. He was holding a fork of scrambled eggs in your direction. You reached out for it but he took your hand and held it easily. 

"You're still shaking. Let me do it. Open." His voice was soft, but you knew it was a command, and you obeyed before it occurred to you to protest further. How strange to be fed by another person, but the gentle way he did it, without discomfort or clumsiness, suggested that this wasn't his first time. He watched attentively as you chewed and swallowed before he offered you another mouthful. 

"Do you want syrup?" He asked after you finished your eggs. You cocked your head at his question. "On your pancakes," he clarified. You still felt so fuzzy around the edges, whether it was because your blood sugar hadn't picked up yet or you were just out of it, you made no answer. 

"Everyone likes syrup, hyung," one of the others commented on your behalf. 

Yoongi nodded and poured syrup on top of the pancakes in front of him. He cut a triangular piece and lifted it in front of your face, giving you a raised eyebrow when you didn't immediately open your mouth. The instant he delivered the bite, your tongue exploded with a sweetness you had never tasted before. The moan that followed shocked everyone, including you. Your face heated with shame as they all laughed.

"I guess that was your first time," Jin said, smiling when you looked at him. "You'll never go back."

"Jin hyung insists on only real maple syrup," Yoongi told you, refocusing your attention with another fork full. 

You stared into his eyes briefly before you snatched the fork from his fingers and turned it around to push the food into his gaping mouth. "Eat," you said with a pout. The others erupted into cackling while Yoongi chewed slowly, his cheeks and ears turning from pink to deep red.

"I think she can handle it now, hyung," Jimin said, grinning from ear to ear. 

The alpha nodded shyly and pushed your plate closer to you before picking up his own fork. You continued eating on your own, quickly clearing your plate. You hadn't realized how hungry you actually were. When your plate was empty, you started to stand to leave them in peace, but Yoongi placed a hand on your lower thigh, using very little force to put you back in your seat.

"Stay," he ordered, turning your bones to jelly with one simple word. Before you knew what was happening, one of the taller alphas took your plate, giving you a boxy smile, and you could only whine after him. "Did you want more?" Yoongi asked, but you shook your head. It was the idea of an alpha cleaning up after you that filled you with dread. You should be doing that. But Yoongi wouldn't let you. Would you be punished for it later? You looked up at the alpha with bewilderment. 

Yoongi swallowed the last bite of his dinner and washed it down with juice. His hand moved from your leg to your hair and a shiver like you've never known rippled down your spine. He smiled. "You listen so well, pup," he told you softly. "Tae and Jimin will clean this up. Hobi has gone to run you a bath and then he will fix your bed. Does that sound alright?" 

Why was your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth? You'd barely been able to speak one word to him since you woke up to him hovering over you. You needed to protest because none of this was correct. It wasn't making any sense. But you couldn't argue because he made it sound right. You just nodded. He smiled once again before he stood and leaned over you like he was about to lift you up again. You squeaked, finally finding your voice. 

"Walk," you croaked. If you knew his face better you would be able to see the microscopic fall of his smile, but today you couldn't. He nodded and straightened, holding out a hand to help you out of your chair. You took it, surprised at finding yourself unable to pass up an opportunity to touch him again. You got to your feet shakily, but you were determined to walk yourself. He released your hand when you turned to walk back to your room, but your shoulders relaxed as soon as he placed his hands there, guiding you and keeping you steady as his warm palms pressed through your shirt. 

You walked through the bedroom toward the bathroom where the water was running. Hoseok shut it off and turned to you. 

"You have soap, shampoo, conditioner and towels. Do you need anything else?" He asked energetically. 

You raised a hand to your head shyly and cleared your throat before you could speak. "Do you have a brush?"

He didn't answer but simply rushed out of the room, leaving you alone with Yoongi once more. 

"Where are you going?" Jin asked as Hobi whizzed past him on his way to the stairs. 

"Pup needs a brush!" He answered, not changing his velocity. 

Jin sighed heavily. His husband had been uncharacteristically quiet at dinner and there's no doubt it had been because of you. No one knew what kind of black magic the alpha had worked on you to get you to comply, but he knew it affected Hobi that you listened to Yoongi and not him. Now the omega would do anything in his power to get you on his side, if only because he was a little bit of a control freak. That had never bothered Jin. Hobi was always the one with the plan and he was always followed happily along, ever since they were children, before stealing kisses and making future plans, which had been Hobi's ideas too. Jin had never seen anyone not do as his mate said, so had never seen him quite this desperate before. 

"Slow down, sweetheart," Jin admonished as the man came back down the stairs quickly, bearing his hairbrush. Hobi pecked a kiss onto Jin's cheek without slowing his steps too much. He followed to your room and hovered in the doorway as Hobi handed you the brush. 

"Is there anything else you need?" The omega asked when you took it. You shook your head meekly. 

Jin knew the look in Hobi's eyes, the particular curl of his fingers that said he wanted to do it for you. Probably, he wanted to take the brush from your hands and detangle your hair himself. Everyone had done a good job of not noticing during dinner because your presence had been so shocking, but you did look like a fucking disaster. Three days and nights of rolling around in bed, out of your mind, not bathing or taking care of yourself. You looked rough. Jin watched you turn and walk into the bathroom, looking at them as you closed the door as if you weren't certain they were really going to let you go in alone. Yoongi's hands also hovered uncertainly in the air. But they went limp when they heard the lock on the door click. 

"Should we have let her go in there alone?" Hobi asked Yoongi after a second, but the alpha was clearly wondering the same thing. 

"Guys, she might not know anything about being an omega, but I'm sure she has bathing down by now," Jin replied, stepping fully into the room now. 

"I guess," Hobi mumbled. "Quick, help me with the bed." 

Yoongi remained still, so Jin stepped around the bed to pull the fitted sheet from the mattress. He rolled it into a bundle and moved toward the door to take it to the laundry room, but Yoongi stopped him.

"I'll take it," he offered in a rough voice. Hoseok laughed, high and amused, more joyful than Jin had noticed in a few days. 

"You're not gonna make fun of him like you did Namjoon?" Jin asked, almost defensively. 

Hobi shook his head. "Oh, Jinnie, I think he's earned it, don't you?" Yoongi stood holding the sheets with a dopey smile. "He's not just being weird. He's taken a shine to the girl. How did you get her to listen to you, anyway?" 

Yoongi shrugged, his smile turning slightly smug. "I guess she just needed an alpha's touch."

"Whatever you say, hyung. Go take those to the laundry room," Hobi chuckled. "C'mon, Jinnie, help me make the bed." 

"What are you so happy about?" Jin asked abruptly as he helped tuck a new fitted sheet under the corner of the mattress. 

Hoseok smiled as he shook a fluffy blanket over the bed. "I'm going to build her a nest."

"But she doesn't nest," Jin grumbled. It had been one of the things that bothered Hoseok the most about you. He couldn't stop talking about it after he found out.

"She doesn't know how. I bet she's never had one decent nest in her whole life. But I make the best ones, so if I can just show her how nice it is, maybe she'll learn. Or at least maybe she'll be a little more comfortable tonight." He shrugged as he shuffled around the alpha, intent on his task. Jin knew that helping would only get in Hobi's way, so he simply pressed himself to the wall and watched.

"It's not like she deserves it," he mumbled as his mate built up a perimeter, "or will even appreciate it."

"How can you say that?" Hoseok asked, clearly offended. "Everyone deserves a soft nest to lay their head in."

Jin sighed. "I know, but she's been nothing but rotten to you, to all of us but especially you, since she got here."

Hoseok looked at him like he didn't know the man. Jin knew he was being uncharitable in his opinion of you. When you first arrived he was driven as mad as the rest of them by your sweet scent, but his head had since cleared and the way you upset his husband had changed you from an omega in need to a troublesome intruder in his mind, and he didn't feel much like being charitable.

"Jin, you can't hold that against her. She's broken. She doesn't know what she's doing."

"Don't say that about her," Yoongi interrupted. "She could hear you."

"And so what if she does? It's not like she's been particularly concerned about Hobi's feelings."

"Jin, please," Hobi cut him off. "I don't understand why you're lashing out like this."

"I don't like seeing you upset the way she made you yesterday," Jin admitted. 

Hobi stepped close to him and held the alpha's face in his hands. "Baby, I appreciate that you are sticking up for me, but you can't blame her for how she's acting. She's half out of her mind. We don't even know who she really is outside of the heat haze. Yesterday was as much my fault as it was hers. So don't be upset."

Jin closed his eyes as he deflated. "Fine. She can't use this one though," he declared, grabbing a blanket that he only moderately liked off the top of the pile Hobi was pulling from before walking out in a huff.

"Thank you," Yoongi said softly when the other alpha reached the stairs, "for giving her the benefit of the doubt."

"Pfft," Hobi replied as he continued adding soft material to the small nest he was building for you. "It's not for you."

"I know."

Hobi finished and stood with his hands on his hips, taking a moment to admire his work. "What's it to you, anyway? What's she to you?"

Yoongi shrugged, because he didn't yet have a good answer to give.

"She doesn't want an alpha. You understand that, right?" Something like understanding and maybe a bit of pity filled his gaze.

Yoongi nodded. "I know. But that doesn't mean that she doesn't need one. I think she just doesn't know what she needs," he argued, and the omega only hummed in agreement. Yoongi might have elaborated further, but you emerged from the bathroom a moment later with a towel wrapped around your hair, wearing the fresh t-shirt and shorts Hobi had left for you. If you had heard any of their conversation, you showed no sign of it. The alpha's eyes roamed over what little there was of you. Your small frame looked even smaller in his shirt. You were tiny even by omega standards. 

"What?" You asked when they both stood staring at you a moment too long. Yoongi could see you were a bit more yourself now. The color of your irises wasn't so lost  by the pits of your pupils anymore. He hated himself for wishing just a little bit to have you back in that soft state. What if you were about to kick them out?

Yoongi cleared his throat. "Are you feeling better?"

You averted your eyes from his dark stare and nodded. "Thank you." The alpha practically melted over the two softly spoken words. "What's this?" You asked, looking at the pile of blankets arranged on the mattress and then back at the two of them.

"I made you a nest. I thought it might help you sleep. Will you give it a try?" Hoseok asked, hopeful but shy. You swallowed, looking over the nest again, unsure. 

"It will be really good for you," Yoongi encouraged. He wanted to purr at the way he could see your hesitation fall away an inch. 

You tugged the towel from your hair and Hoseok took it immediately from your hands. He wanted more than anything to get at you with a brush and a blow dryer, but he knew that would definitely be too intimate for you. 

"How do I get in it?" You wondered. 

The two men smiled, and without thinking too much about it, Yoongi stepped forward and grasped you firmly around your rib cage. You kicked your feet a little in surprise, but it wasn't much of a protest. Hoseok pulled back one of the top blankets, and Yoongi deposited you directly into the center of the nest, where you let out a little 'oof.' You patted at the blankets all around you, looking smaller than ever surrounded by them. 

"You can adjust them however you like," Hoseok said nervously. 

You took a moment to feel the fabric under your fingers, enjoying the softness, and pulled the blanket on top of you. "I've never had a nest made by an omega before," you admitted quietly. Your eyes were already beginning to glaze over again, with tears or omega space, Yoongi wasn't sure. "This is so nice."

Hoseok's heart swelled, equal parts sorrow and pride. It was a travesty that you had never known an omega's touch, but if he would be the first, he would also be the best. His confidence rose, knowing no one else could do it better. 

"I knew you'd like it." He would thoroughly enjoy telling Jin just how wrong he had been. In response, you only nestled further into the blankets. "I guess you're probably tired. I'll let you get some rest and check on you in the morning," he told you, but he wasn't sure you were listening. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he thought he heard the shortest of purrs come from the blankets. Hoseok turned to the door with a lingering look at you before he caught Yoongi standing beside your bed and looking at you fondly. "Yoongi hyung, are you coming?" He asked teasingly. 

Yoongi shook his head dazily. "No. I'm going to stay and watch over her."

"Yoongi," Hobi said, all teasing gone, his voice flat and serious.

The alpha turned to look at him just as seriously. "I promise I'm not going to do anything. I'm not going to get in there with her or anything. I'm just not ready to leave her. What if something happens?" Hobi gave him a concerned frown. "I have to leave in a few hours for work anyway. Just give me a little while to make sure she's safe."

At that, Hobi walked back to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Alright, hyung. But let me get you a chair so you're not standing over her bed all night like a creep."

He went to the kitchen for a chair and set it by the door so that Yoongi could give you a little space and then let him be. Yoongi sat and watched the pile of blankets rustle for several minutes, listening happily to the broken little chirps and grumbles you made as you explored the nest. His scent fluffed around him, unintentionally at first, but then he hoped it would reach you and be a welcome addition to your cocoon. When it did reach you, your head emerged suddenly from beneath a thick blue blanket, hair ruffled and face red from rubbing it against the blankets. You met his eyes curiously. 

"I'm just going to stay here a little while," he told you gently. "If that's alright. I'll watch over you."

Your eyes didn't stray, but you rested your head on the edge of the nest and continued to watch him back. He fidgeted slightly under your gaze, not uncomfortably, but he wondered what you thought when you looked at him and he hoped it was good. He wondered which of the items Hobi had gathered for you was your favorite and if that would be a good courting gift for you. 

And yeah, he was getting ahead of himself, but he'd been done for since you first called him alpha three nights ago and the way you unexpectedly allowed him to take care of you and sealed his fate. Yoongi had never formally courted Hoseok. There had been gifts and dates, of course, but he already had three other alphas, and Yoongi had done his best to prove that he could be a valuable member to the whole pack, that he fit in right, rather than showing that he could provide and protect for an omega that already had everything he needed. It wasn't at all like he hoped it would be with you. Yoongi wanted you to be his omega. He would have to show you that he would move heaven and earth to make sure you never hurt again, and that you could have everything you'd ever been denied. After just the last few hours, Yoongi was ready to risk it all to give you just that.

"Do you want me to turn off the lights so you can sleep?" He asked when your eyelids closed heavily. At the sleepy nod of your head, he reached above him and flipped the switch, drowning you both in darkness.

It wasn't that late yet, so there was still plenty of activity in the house. In the living room, Jungkook and Taehyung played video games. Their laughter became much clearer to Yoongi now, but he could also hear Namjoon's deep voice as he told Jimin about something that happened at school. The alpha always valued Jimin's advice in particular when it came to his students. He could even hear Jin and Hobi's footsteps upstairs as the omega prepared the pack's nest. He liked to subtly tell each member where they would sleep that night based on the placement of their favorite pillows. Yoongi knew how he would frown when he set aside Yoongi's pillow. He sighed heavily, hoping with all of his being that the pack would let you stay, because letting you go didn't feel like a viable option, but losing the family he had built would break his heart. 

You were barely conscious and you could hardly breathe. And yet somehow it was better that way, better not to be entirely in your body when your alphas pushed your face into the mattress and took what they wanted with the excuse that you needed it too. 

"Omegas like you are only good for breeding. When you give us a pup, we won't have to do this so much."

At least heats were a little better than ruts.

You awoke in a panic, fighting desperately against the blankets smothering you. Sitting up to free yourself, you looked around as you caught your breath. You were alone. The chair by the door where Yoongi sat was empty now, but the door was open and light poured in from the room across the hall. Fearing that the suffocating nest would pull you back into your dreams, you scrambled gracelessly over the edge and toward the door.

You smelled leather, something between a new car smell and an old leather jacket. You had smelled it in the house before, but you hadn't assigned it to a face yet. You should have been paying more attention at dinner earlier, but you had been singularly focused on Yoongi; you couldn't have looked at the others if you'd wanted. As you stepped cautiously into the hallway, you noticed that the TV was on in the living room. When you looked in his direction you found Jungkook already looking at it. He didn't say anything, but his expression was curious, like he was waiting to see what you were about to do. So you turned away from him and took a few unsteady steps toward the other room. You clung to the door frame as you peered into the room. A tall alpha with broad shoulders and fluffy dark hair held back by a headband stood inside the room facing an easel. He looked ponderously at the half-done canvas in front of him, but he must have sensed you, because he whipped around suddenly to look at you. You leaned harder into the door post and he brushed at a lock of hair escaping his headband, getting paint on his face in the process.

"I'm Taehyung," he finally said after a long silent moment of staring at one another.

You nodded, figuring your name wasn't necessary. "Where's Yoongi?" Your voice came out in a rasp.

Taehyung's lips lifted into a boxy smile. "Yoongi hyung had to go to work."

You let out a soft oh. "What time is it?"

"It's after 3 am. So hyung might be home soon," Jungkook said from the hallway behind you. 

"What are you all doing up so late?"

"Oh. I had a nightmare, so I got up to paint a bit. Sorry if I bothered you. He said the pheromones would be good for you, but I know people find my scent overwhelming, so I didn't want to overdo it." Taehyung's smile faltered, and you didn't like that one bit.

"I think your scent is nice," you assured him with a shake of your head, and his smile returned instantly, maybe even brighter. 

"I told you, Tae," Jungkook added.

"I've seen her before," you interrupted the conversation the two men were having with their eyes. 

"Huh?" Taehyung asked, his eyebrows raising dramatically. 

You gestured to the small girl on the canvas behind him. Her arms were outstretched, palms up and her face raised to the sky. "I've seen her on a building downtown."

"Oh!" The apples of his cheeks reddened. "Yeah Hobi and Jin were not particularly impressed with that stunt. But I'm glad you recognized her."

"I pass by her a lot. I always wonder what she's waiting for."

Taehyung turned to look at the canvas, cocking his head to the side. "I never thought of her as waiting for something. I see her as just existing, free, taking it all in."

You shifted nervously. "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't know anything about art."

He turned back to you quickly. "No! It's what you see that matters. I like your perspective. Art is about what you see."

You smiled half-heartedly at him. "I'm sorry for interrupting. I should go back to bed." 

"Do you need anything?" Jungkook asked when you briefly met his eyes as you turned back to the bedroom. You merely shook your head as you passed him. "Yoongi left you some water and a protein bar. He'd want you to have some before you go back to sleep," he added. 

You didn't answer but went straight through the dark room into the bathroom and shut the door. 

"Did I upset her?" You could hear Taehyung ask through the closed door. 

"I think it's alright, hyung. She's probably just tired. Take it from someone who has already fucked it up once," Jungkook assured him. 

"She seemed okay though." Whatever Jungkook's response was, you couldn't hear it. "Cute the way she asked for Yoongi hyung," Taehyung said, and both men snickered. Finally, Jungkook's steps retreated and only then did you go about your business. 

After you washed your hands, you exited the bathroom and went back to the bed. On the nightstand, Yoongi had left you a bottle of water, a protein bar, and two tangerines. You sat at the edge of the mattress and rolled one of the small orange orbs in your hands. When you brought it to your nose. Smells just like alpha, she purred and something in your shoulders relaxed involuntarily. You sliced the thin skin with your thumbnail and began to peel it. Tart juice squirted in your mouth, bringing an unexpected brightness to your mood that you would swear was just a rush from the natural sugar. You quickly peeled and ate the other one as well. You didn't truly have the appetite for the protein bar but…

Alpha wants us to eat it. So you unwrapped it and ate the whole thing in a few unthinking bites and drank half the bottle of water to wash it down. Satisfied that you had done enough, you finally crawled back into the cocoon of the nest.

Hoseok was so nice to give us this, your omega crooned. We should make one like this, please?

"We can't," you whispered back and you settled amongst the blankets. It was lovely, so soft and soothing against your skin. It made your body hum like you'd never known before. At the moment, you couldn't remember why this was wrong, but you knew you could never recreate it yourself. Hoseok was a perfect omega who did everything perfectly. No attempt you made could ever compare, so you could add that to the pile of reasons why you never would. You'd never top this.

You weren't really tired after the snack you just had, and you felt more clear-headed than you had in days. Your heat must have been coming to an end, and that thought brought you immense relief. Soon you'd be free of your intrusive thoughts and persistent needs, and you'd be able to leave and return this pack to the peace it deserved. You decided to enjoy this nest while you could and laid back listening to the distant tv. 

Sometime later, you heard Yoongi come home. There was some shuffling, shoes thudding on the hardwood floors where they were removed, keys clashing with others in a bowl. More shuffling and you could smell him at the bedroom door, which was still open. 

"How is everything?" You heard him whisper. 

"Fine," Jungkook replied. "She woke up a while ago, but I think she's back to sleep now."

You closed your eyes as Yoongi's soft, socked footsteps neared the bed. He stopped by the nightstand, and you heard the crinkle of a wrapper as he closed his fingers around it. His happy citrus scent settled on you and you tried to keep your breathing even.

Ask Alpha to stay, she whined. There's room in here for him.

You kept your fists around the blanket so you could resist reaching out for him. 

He doesn't want you or your filthy nest.

Yes he does! Not filthy!

You let out an involuntary whimper as the voices argued, and you could sense him shift in your direction. His hand reached out to you and skimmed the top of a blanket almost imperceptibly. 

"C'mon, hyung. You should go upstairs and get some rest," Jungkook called to him. He hesitated for a moment, but sighed and turned to pad away, out of your room, and you released your own breath. 

Even with three of his mates still snoozing in the nest, mornings always felt chaotic for Hobi. He always tried to get the men to eat something, at least a piece of toast for Namjoon to soak up the positively enormous tumbler of coffee he took with him every day to school. Jin was a little better about eating a full breakfast, if only to make Hobi worry less. Jimin was always harder to coax since he usually stayed in bed until the last possible second. He was incorrigible on this point, but his omega always made sure he left with a good lunch.

After the three of them were off to work, Hoseok got started on laundry, which there never seemed to be an end to. He didn't like to admit to being a stereotype but when Jin had gotten him the top of the line, heavy duty washer and dryer set last year for his birthday he actually almost cried from joy. The only thing that would have been nicer if he had brought home another omega instead. Jungkook had always been eager to help with chores before he entered the academy, but now Hobi mostly relied on Taehyung, who was a cheerful, if often inept, helper. Really, all of his packmates did their best to help with chores, but it never sat right with him, and deep down he knew that he was lacking something beyond an extra set of gentle hands. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, you appeared in the kitchen a few minutes after the house fell quiet. You picked up a sock that had fallen from the pile of clothes in his arms when he stopped short.

"Hey, good morning," he smiled at you. "Are you hungry? I can make you some breakfast."

You shook your head softly. "Can I help?"

He cocked his head to the side. "With what?"

"Um…I can fold laundry. Or I can clean. I'm a good cleaner."

He hummed and nodded for you to follow him to the couch, subtly sniffing the air around you as he passed. He could tell you were at the end of your cycle since your sweetness had diminished, replaced by a pleasant crispness, more fresh Granny Smith than gooey apple pie. He dumped the pile of clothes on the cushions in between you, and you immediately put your hands to work.

"You can just put them in piles by, like, type of clothing. Everyone wears each other's stuff for the most part, so there's no use in dividing it out." You nodded as he spoke. You sat for a few minutes in silence while you both worked and a pile of neatly folded t-shirts grew quickly on the ottoman in front of you. "Where did you learn to fold like that?" Hoseok asked, looking at the crisp, methodical way you folded the shirts. You did it quickly, but so perfectly that you must have had a lot of practice. You paused, your hands frozen where they carefully helt the fabric.

"Is it not okay?" You asked sheepishly.

"No, it's brilliant. I was just curious."

You cleared your throat and continued folding. "My former alpha was very particular. He was in the military for a long time, and he liked everything to be perfectly neat."

Hoseok tried to hide his cringe, not looking directly at you when he asked, "he was much older than you?"

You hid your face but nodded.

"You must be really good at ironing then?" He laughed, trying to get you both past the awkward moment, trying not to dwell on it in his own mind. He could digest that information later on his own.

"Oh, yeah, I'm great at it!" you smiled.

"You'll have to teach me your tricks. I'm terrible at it even though I've been doing Jin's shirts and Yoongi's uniforms for years. Now I have Jungkook's uniforms, too, but I just hate doing it so much."

You smiled up at him, and he recognized the gleam in your eye as the joy of being useful. "I can help you do them today." 

Hoseok smiled back, and you lapsed back into silence as you worked.

Around lunch time, Hobi's three sleepy pups trudged down the stairs, all fluffed and bleary eyed, as if it were still early morning. Yoongi led the line, but Taehyung and then Jungkook each ran into his back when he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on you where you were ironing his work clothes in the middle of the living room with Hoseok looking over your shoulder. 

"What's going on?" He asked in a rough, sleepy voice.

Hobi's smile gleamed at him. "Little pup is helping me with some chores."

"Did we wake you?" You asked, a tiny bit of fear visible in your eyes. 

Yoongi shook his head and raked a hand through his messy hair.

"Don't stare," Hoseok tisked. "Go sit and I'll get a pot of coffee and some food going. Do you want to join me in the kitchen after you finish this one?" He asked you and you nodded your head shyly, avoiding the men's gazes, before he walked away.

As difficult as it was to have the guys on different schedules all the time, there was something nice about days when Jungkook and Yoongi were at home and Hoseok could give them the attention that was sometimes hard to give when everyone was home. Yoongi was unusually quiet as he sat at the kitchen table. Normally he would be telling the omega about what calls he had made the night before or filling him in on the workplace drama that Hoseok ate up like a soap opera. Instead, he noticed the alpha's eyes glued to you no matter where you went. You clearly felt it too, because although you wouldn't look directly at him, your shoulders curled in as you moved around, following any instructions the older omega gave you. After a few minutes of this, he began to worry that maybe it wasn't just shyness that made you hide, but the fear that Yoongi might be a particular alpha. Hoseok could only guess what that might mean to you.

"Take that to Yoongi, please," he told you, handing you a plate full of eggs and sausage. 

After you set the plate on the table, Yoongi grabbed your wrist, gently but with authority. "Sit." 

Your ass was in the seat next to his the next second. 

"You need to eat, too," he instructed, shooting the briefest of glances at Hoseok. A second later a plate was also placed in front of you. Then Hoseok picked a grape out of the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table and threw it directly at Yoongi's forehead. 

"If you don't stop staring at her like you're going to eat her, I'm going to eat you," the omega threatened. 

Jungkook and Taehyung snickered over their food and Yoongi finally sat back in his chair. You both turned your attention to your meal and didn't look at each other again until you were finished. 

"I'll go take a nap, if that's okay?" You said when you'd cleared your plate.

"Of course," Hoseok nodded. "Leave your plate. I'll take care of it," he smiled, and you reluctantly did as you were told.

Yoongi's eyes tracked you back to the bedroom. After they heard the click of the door, Hoseok popped him with another grape.

"What the hell is your problem?"

Yoongi growled but there was no threat in it. "I want her to stay."

"That's not an answer. You're scaring the poor girl." He threw another grape.

Yoongi flicked it with his fingernail after it fell by his hand, as if it were the fruit assaulting him and not the man across the table. He sighed, "I'm just trying to look out for her. Can't you tell? Her heat is almost over, and then what will happen? Are we just going to throw her out to fend for herself?"

"Yoongi–"

"Please ask Jin to let her stay. I know he's not fond of her, but I'm begging you."

Hobi reached across the table to take the alpha's hand. "We can discuss it with him when he gets home."

Yoongi squeezed his fingers around the other man's hand and looked at him desperately. "I picked up a long shift tonight. I go in a four. But it doesn't matter because he'll listen to you more than me, anyway. You like her, don't you, Hobi?"

He couldn't help smiling at his packmate's emotion, but also because yes, he did. "Of course, sweetheart. We're still just getting to know her, but I like her. She was very sweet this morning. And no, I don't want to throw her out on the street. But it isn't only up to me and Jin. We have other packmates to consider as well."

Jungkook took his cue. "Of course, I want her to stay."

"Me, too," Taehyung agreed. "And Jimin will, too. Namjoon…will agree with whatever Jin decides." 

Hoseok rolled his eyes, even though it was true. "I'll talk to Jinnie when he gets home, but I don't think it will be all sunshine and roses if she stays," he warned, looking particularly at Taehyung. "She might not want to be around all you alphas. Not right away. We don't know how she'll act when she's normal versus during her heat."

"I don't mind if she doesn't care for us. I just want her to be safe," Yoongi mumbled into his food as he pushed it around his plate, earning him an endeared smile from Hoseok. 

"I don't mind either. It could be like having a sister! Never had one of those before," Taehyung mused. 

"Okay, okay. Finish your lunch and get cleaned up. You're smelling up my kitchen," Hobi teased.

When Jin came home, found his husband alone in the kitchen, having beaten Jimin and Namjoon home from work while Jungkook and Taehyung had gone to the gym, giving them a rare moment alone. The music playing loudly from the Bluetooth speaker in the living room allowed him to sneak up on the unsuspecting omega. Jin wrapped his arms around Hobi's waist and buried his face in the man's neck, leaving a kiss while taking a deep inhale. He melted a little more into his back as Hobi reached to turn down the volume. 

"You're in pre-heat, baby," Jin said against his warm skin. 

"I know," Hobi grinned. 

"Isn't that like a week early?"

Hobi nodded. "Yeah, I think our house guest might have triggered it to start a little early. It's not a big deal. I'll probably be there by morning."

"You should have told me so I could get my meetings for the rest of the week moved."

"Don't be silly. You don't have to move all your meetings," Hoseok hedged. 

"Since when? Of course I'm going to be here for your whole heat. That's my job, and my priority." Jin turned Hoseok around so that he could hold his face in his hands. "I'll let my secretary know  and she'll handle it. I won't miss a second."

"I don't need to be waited on hand and foot," Hobi blushed. 

"Of course you do. You're my prince," Jin said with a kiss to his forehead. 

"I was thinking maybe I should see what it's like…"

"What what's like, baby?"

"Struggling the way she did. To be alone…" Hoseok braced himself because he knew Jin wouldn't like the mere suggestion of it. 

"What? You don't want to have a knot during your heat?" Jin looked shocked. 

"No! No. It's not that I don't want it. I was just thinking how strange it would be. Forget I said anything. I must be getting a little muddled already." Hobi fidgeted under the alpha's eyes. 

"Don't worry, baby. The boys and I will get everything ready tonight. We're going to take good care of you like we always do," Jin assured him with a soft kiss to his lips. 

"I know."

"It will be strange, having two omegas in heat in the house," Jin commented, moving away slightly to pick at the bowl of fruit. 

"She's coming off it actually," Hoseok said softly. You told him you wanted to clean the bathroom you'd been using, but you might appear at any moment.

"Oh." Jin froze. "Oh. She'll be leaving then?"

"About that…"

"Hobi, don't look at me like that."

Hoseok took a step closer. "Baby, hear me out."

Jin took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine. I'm listening."

"She doesn't have anywhere to go."

"She does, actually."

"Don't interrupt me," Hoseok warned, and the alpha looked chastened. "She doesn't have somewhere good to go. Somewhere safe. She can stay here. We have the room and she isn't causing us any problems." Jin looked like he wasn't buying. "I've already talked to Yoongi, Kook and Tae, and they all want her to stay with us."

"What about Jimin and Namjoon?" 

"I haven't spoken to them about it specifically, but Jimin has already been trying to convince her that cohabitation is the right way to go, and this could be a good first step, since she's already here. And Namjoon will agree with whatever you think."

Jin smiled a little at that. Namjoon always deferred to Jin on pack matters, while Yoongi and Taehyung weren't afraid to debate. Not that Jin was the kind of alpha who demanded complete control. If anything he kept a rather light touch on power, seeing as how Hoseok was always the one who was really in control, in his opinion. Still, it was nice to get that kind of respect from one pack member. 

"Ultimately, it's your decision, pack alpha. It's your home," Hobi added, knowing how to butter him up.

"It's our home, but more importantly it's your home. I don't really care about her one way or another. What I care about is how she affects you. I don't want her being disrespectful and upsetting you." Jin brushed his fingers along Hobi's cheek and the omega could see in his dark brown eyes that he truly meant it. 

"I think that was all a big misunderstanding," Hobi said with a shake of his head. "We actually spent a lot of time together today and she was really sweet, and helpful. I like having another omega around. I like her." He pulled Jin close, going in for the kill with a light kiss in the lips.

Jin groaned. "What exactly are you asking me here? To court her? Or to let her crash for a few days? Because I don't think I can–"

"I'm not asking you to court her!" The omega answered quickly, not least because that was definitely a conversion he would have to have with Yoongi when the time was right, if it ever got that far. "Just let her stay until she's back on her feet," he proposed softly, not adding or until things change. 

Jin closed his eyes and breathed, "okay."

Hobi hugged him tight and smiled into his chest. "Thank you, alpha. You'll be glad in the end, when you stop thinking just of me, and the need to protect hits. You'll be glad you didn't toss her out."

Jim grumbled something unintelligible.

"Maybe we should use protection this time around," Hoseok said quietly. 

Jin pulled back quickly. "Why?"

"Just…plans might be changing…"

"You don't want to have pups anymore?" Hobi could see how deeply that truly hurt him. 

"That's not what I'm saying at all!" He assured his alpha. "I want pups with you more than anything. But things might take a while to settle and with someone new in the house…maybe we should wait."

Jin shook his head. "No. We've already been trying for over a year. I don't think it makes sense to miss an opportunity. If it's between us trying to have pups and her staying, then I change my answer."

Jin was shaking, and it scared Hobi deeply. Seokjin had always been very clear on his desire for pups and they had already waited so long in his view. He didn't blame Hobi for that, but it hadn't been easy so far. To have you present one more obstacle was more than the alpha could bear. Hoseok placed his hands on both sides of his face and rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs. 

"Okay. We'll try. I was just thinking out loud."

Jin's face fell at his lover's attempt to soothe him. "Wait. No. I'm not going to be the kind of alpha who forces you to have a pup when you're not ready. If you think it's better–"

"You're not forcing me." Hobi reached up on his toes to press their foreheads together. "I want to have your baby. You know how my brain just constantly works to shift things around. Every decision moves everything else around it. But you're right. We shouldn't miss the chance while we have it."

Jin's lips curled into a soft smile. "I love your brain. You make everything work for us, all the time. Don't know what we'd do without you."

"You won't have to," Hobi replied as he was pulled one again into a warm embrace where he stayed for several long moments. Until they heard you clear your throat. They pulled away to look at you.

"Sorry for interrupting," you said sheepishly. "I finished the bathroom. Would you like me to do the one upstairs?" You asked with a bucket in hand. 

"Absolutely not!" Hobi cried. "But you can help me with dinner."

"Of course!" You nodded and went to put the cleaning supplies back in the cupboard where you had found them before washing up. 

Jin sat at the kitchen table observing the two of you as you prepared a meal for the pack. He was surprised to see how you talked sweetly with his mate now, how he could even draw shy little smiles from you. Jimin and Namjoon came home, followed shortly after by Jungkook and Taehyung, and they all sat around the table while the two of you insisted you didn't need any extra hands.

"Y/n," Jin said your name simply to call your attention after he had seen enough. Your hands paused mid chop and you looked at him like a deer in the headlights. "I'm inviting you to stay here until you get yourself back on your feet. If you would like that," he offered, feeling a little sheepish.

You swallowed and looked from the pack alpha to the omega, who nodded encouragingly. "I…I wouldn't want to be inconvenient."

"You wouldn't be!" Hoseok insisted. "You take up no room at all. And you've been a huge help today." He hoped you understood how much he had enjoyed that and how grateful he was.

"But, I'm taking up Jungkook's bed, aren't I?"

Jungkook shook his head. "No. I'm sleeping in the nest, where I'm meant to be. You should stay," he added. 

"Oh. Well. Thanks. Can I think about it?" You hedged. 

Hoseok knew it was always a chance you would rebuff their offer, but he had hoped you wouldn't. Still, you weren't saying no. "Of course you can," he smiled.

A/n 2: please tell me what you thought of this chapter! What did you think of Jin? Aren't yoongi and taehyung the cutest things? I hope you were kicking your feet. Your comments/asks are my greatest motivator, and anon is on!

A/n 3: yes, Jin and Hobi are husbands, as in married in the Sapien way. During early integration, some politicians believed that encouraging Lykos to enter monogamous, legal marriages would discourage polygamous pack practices. They were wrong, but much like in our world, there are practical reasons to get married. Jin and Hobi married young, before they met any of the other pack members. None of the other pack members are married. Additionally in this universe there are no such things as mating marks or bonds, soulmates, etc. What Yoongi is feeling is much more your good old fashioned love at first sight combined with some very strong instincts. Please feel free to send an ask if you have any questions or thoughts!

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[tgmsunmontue]

I never knew I was missing you 4/? WIP

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

ONE TWO THREE

PART FOUR

                “First though, I’ve got something I need to take care of…”

                “Yeah?” Brad asks; and there’s a mad scramble of the phone, he sees a flash of nostrils up close and god, Brad is complete and utter dork. Cute with it though, he thinks, and also technologically inept as he clearly presses the phone against his head without turning the camera off, so all Jake can see is diffused dark orange and red shadows of what is probably his hand. But he does feel like Brad in closer now, his breathing still gasping gratifyingly as he lets out a groan. It makes Jake’s toes curl. “Let me see?”

                “Of course…” Jake says, and he angles the camera down his own body, even if his own view is no longer Brad’s body but some squished up part of either his face or hand depending on whatever camera he still has on. He wants to ask him to hold his phone out, so he can see his face, finally get a good look at him, but then it’s shifting anyway so Brad can look at the screen of his phone and Jake sees him properly. Oh. He definitely has more than a passing resemblance to Bradley Bradshaw, although he has a beard and much longer hair, and it’s a riot of gorgeous looking curls that Jake wants to run his hands through. He is not disappointed in the slightest. God, maybe his name is actually Brad too.

                “Hi…” he says, voice soft and Brad blushes and Jake smiles at him, gut doing a little flip that this is the guy he’s been chatting with for the last couple of weeks and he’s better than Jake ever imagined.

                “Hi…”

                “You want to watch me huh?”

                “Yeah. Please…”

                “Fuck, yeah. Give me a second…” Jake says.

                He wasn’t wearing anything to begin with, the photo he’d sent over an hour ago had been from an hour before that, because it had taken him that long to decide to actually send it, nerves a little frayed about sending something so overtly sexual despite their flirting just getting more and more blatant he’d left some of their conversations needing to jerk off. Right now he reaches for the lube and squeezes some out, mumbling about what he’s doing so Brad can hear him. He has no idea what his camera is showing right now, just has to hope it’s not too embarrassing a sight, suspects it’s likely the ceiling or bedsheets.

                Then he’s picking his phone up again; Brad’s face comes back into view and he’s biting his bottom lip, it’s all pink and wet and Jake can’t stop staring. He moans when Brad’s tongue comes out to lick his lips and then his mouth is just open, lower lip trembling ever so slightly and Jake imagines those same lips around his cock and grasps his cock with a slick hand. He works himself hard and fast, his cock definitely more than interested knowing that Brad is watching him avidly, and Jake never realized he might have a bit of an exhibitionist streak, but apparently, he’s not too old to be learning new things about himself.

                There’re no clear spoken words between them, just Brad staring at Jake through the screen of his phone and god he wants to be in the same room as him, have his hands on his skin, have Brad’s hands and lips on his body. This is all a step closer; his orgasm punches out of him, catching him by surprise and his body shudders through it as he swears under his breath. He’s really going to have to change the sheets on his bed now.

                “Still want to lick you clean…” Brad says, and his voice sounds rough and Jake lets out a broken little laugh.

                “I’ll let you sweetheart. Trust me. I’ll let you. Fuck.” He doesn’t want to say that the second orgasm was better than the first, it feels a little unguarded to admit that. Fortunately Brad doesn’t seem to notice or care, his eyes just dark and intense and yeah, he could definitely pass as Bradley Bradshaw if he wanted to.

                “I’ll call you later. Tomorrow at the latest. Set up a date?” Brad asks, tone unsure like Jake is going to say no.

                “Sounds good. Talk to you later.”

…            …            …

                He takes a quick shower, grins at himself in the mirror and feels so damned good, and it’s not just the post-orgasm high. Jake had seen his face and not freaked out. Hadn’t even seemed to care at all. Had just smiled at him and looked gorgeous and hot and so happy that it had made Bradley feel so relieved. He pulls on sweat pants and scrubs at his hair to dry it as he walks out to the smaller shared kitchen that they use when it’s just the three of them.

                “Ugh. There’s a Bradley that just got his rocks off.”

                “Perk of being a lifelong friend.”

                “Peril. You mispronounced peril.”

                Bradley just laughs, in too much of a good mood for Neil’s teasing to have any impact.

                “So you took my advice huh?”

                “Yep. Video called him.”

                “Great. So all the misunderstandings are cleared up then.”

                Bradley blinks, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Jake definitely saw his face, but there wasn’t any sudden look of realization on his face that Bradley is in fact Bradley Bradshaw.

                “Uh… maybe? I… yeah. I think so?”

                “You think so? Did he not say anything along the lines of holy shit, you’re actually really Bradley Bradshaw?”

                “No?”

                Neil rubs at the space between his eyes and then his brow and forehead.

                “Oh my god… right now you look like a fucking basement dweller. You’re lucky Callie has better things to do than shave you in your sleep.”

                “What?”

                “He didn’t recognize you, you complete fucking idiot. I mean… clearly he still thinks you’re hot. I mean, he did see your face right?”

                “Uh… it wasn’t exactly pointed at my face to begin with…”

                The expression on Neil’s face turns pained again, the forehead rubbing has resumed and Bradley is starting to freak out. Neil’s right, Jake hadn’t reacted, maybe he should have shaved. He collapses onto the sofa beside Neil.

                “Give me your phone.”

                “What?”

                “Give me your phone,” Neil repeats.

                Bradley hands it over, leans in close to watch as Neil unlocks it, because of course both he and Callie know his passcode.

                “What are going to do?”

                “Shh…” Neil mutters, rolling his eyes and then he’s going to recent calls and Bradley realizes what he’s going to do and makes a grab for it. Too late, it’s already calling Jake, and he hasn’t even had time to make him a contact in his phone, it’s just a number. He doesn’t even know if Jake will answer; yes he said he’d call him back, but it’s not even been thirty minutes. This is mortifying on so many levels.

                “You missing me already?” Jake asks, and Neil has put him on speaker. It’s Bradley’s turn to rub at his forehead, glaring at Neil while he does so.

                “No. I’m definitely not missing you. Jake right?”

                “Yeah. Who’s this? You’re not Brad…”

                “You’re right, I’m not Bradley. My name is Neil Vikander. I live with Bradley. Can I change this to a video call?”

                “Uh, I guess? Why?”

                “We need to clear something up and my friend is an idiot of awardwinning calibre.”

                “Fuck you too Neil…” Bradley mutters under his breath.

                “Hi Jake, I’d like to introduce you to Bradley Bradshaw. Yes. That one. He is an idiot and currently hasn’t shaved in over two weeks, but I’ll go and get his license if you need actual proof.”

                Neil has passed him back his phone and he cups it in his hands, stares down at Jake’s face which is looking stunned. Bradley’s stomach is churning, suddenly terrified that Jake is going to hang up, or run, or… fuck. Never talk to him again.

                “Holy shit, you’re really Bradley Bradshaw…”

                “Yeah. I mean… I did keep trying to tell you…”

                “You have a beard…”

                Bradley’s not quite sure why that’s a sticking point.

                “He hates shaving…” Neil says, leaning over so Jake can see his face in screen and Bradley wants to shove him away as much as he wants Neil to give him a hug and tell him it’s all going to be alright. “You really need to shave. Pretty sure you don’t want your first kiss to be a mimicry of Planet of the Apes…”

                “Neil…” Bradley groans, but Jake is snorting in what Bradley really hopes is amusement, and he hasn’t ended the call. He lets hope flare to life. “I can take it from here thanks.”

                “I expect a mention in the best man speech! Actually, I expect to be best man!”

                “Oh my god, please ignore him…”

                “Holy shit. It’s really you… since when do you need help getting a date? Using fucking dating apps?”

                “Callie made the profile…”

                “And yet you used it… This doesn't feel real.”

                “Yeah well, she had some valid points. Some people only like me for the fame, or what I can do for them…”

                “Well, I gotta say, you do things for me… I’m just also very interested in reciprocating.”

                Bradley knows he’s blushing, curses the fact that his complexion shows it so clearly.

                “You getting shy on me now?”

                “No. Yeah. Maybe? I don’t know…”

                “Eloquent. You’re pretty fucking adorable you know that? Biggest nerd I think I know, and trust me, I know a few…”

                “So. Can I take you out?”

                “Hell yeah you can. You can show me your pinball machine collection.”

                “I’d like that. Plus I’ll shave.”

                “Uh. Can you leave the moustache?”

                Bradley grins slowly.

                “Yeah, I can do that.”

FIVE

[satorsra]

Keys

wc: 651

notes: day 17 without my glorious king. miss him sm </3

🔑.ೃ࿐

“I’m sorry again for dropping the hot sauce on your skirt.” Satoru sighs as you two get to your front porch. “I’ll buy you a new one. Promise.” Eyes trailing down from yours down to the small orange stain on your thigh.

The dinner date was fun, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at him.

You let out a small laugh and hit his arm. “You don’t need to do that, it’ll wash out anyways. No biggie.” You turn around and reach in your purse to take out your keys which seemed to be running away from your hands. You continued to rummage around your purse and look for those damn keys.

“Well yeah I don’t need to but I want to. Not like I’m low on funds either, no where close.” He smirks to himself and runs his hands through his hair, boasting as if his full bank account was news to you. But you feel bad whenever he spends a lot of money on you everytime.

“Hm.” You curtly reply, too busy now unzipping every pocket on your purse for your keys.

He pouts. “Alright, I’ll get you the skirt you’re wearing right now and three more. How’s that sound?” He asks like he’s trying to strike a deal, raising his eyebrows despite your back being towards him.

At this point though, you were starting to panic because you could’ve sworn you put the keys in your purse.

“Satoru, new skirts would be lovely but what good would they be if I’m homeless?” You mutter frustradedly as you turn around to his smirk still plastered on his face.

“And why would you be homeless?” He asks, it sort of ticks you off how nonchalant he is.

“Oh I don’t know, probably because I’ve been desperately trying to find our keys for the past five minutes now?” Your brows furrow together and you’re nervously playing with your hands, even though you’re trying to act like you’re mad.

“Do you have them?” You ask worriedly, not noticing the suspicious way he’s not saying anything.

“No.” His response was fast. Too fast. But you were too scared now to realize.

“What? But I put them in my purse before leaving, I know I did!” Patting yourself down, trying to feel for them in your nonexistent pockets. “What if someone stole them? We’d have to go to the police station…”

He’s watching you intently with a straight face, not sure how long he can keep the facade up. Of course he has them, he took them from you while you guys were still at the restaurant – just for fun. But he’s starting to feel bad now, seeing your bottom lip jut out.

“Ohh, you mean these keys?” He seemingly spawns them from no where, spinning them around on his finger. “Thought you were talking about the mailbox keys or somethin–”

“Gahh, you asshole!” You sigh loudly in relief. “Don’t do that! Gimme those.” You say as you try and grab them from his hand, only for him to raise his hand way above your head. Typical Satoru behaviour.

He smirks down at you. “Let me get you some new skirts and I’ll give ‘em.”

“Tsk, okay! Gosh lemme go inside already, you’re so annoying.” You roll you eyes and try jumping to reach them.

He grabs your waist. “What do we say when we want something~?”

You would’ve made a snarky reply, but his strong arm and close proximity of his body makes you falter.

“Please…”

“There we go!” Tone changing from low and flirty to overly happy in one second. He hands the keys over to you and lets go of your waist.

You exagerratedly snatch them from him and turn to unlock the door, and as you do you add in, “Four new skirts, two dresses, and a new tv. And extra kisses.”

He chuckles. “Yes ma’am.”

[artemis-73]

Suptober Day 12: Harvest Festival

The hunt is an easy one. Calling it a vamp nest would be an exaggeration, and Dean takes the two of them out without breaking a sweat. He thinks about calling Dad and asking if he's missing something.

Then he figures Dad wouldn't answer anyway.

He heads back to the motel alone. On the way, he passes Main St. It's completely closed with hay bales stacked in the street to block anything but foot traffic. There's a huge sign in faded oranges, browns, and reds declaring the start of the town's harvest festival. Tacked to the bottom are fliers from a bunch of local businesses, and one in particular catches his eye. It's for a place called Milton's that claims to have the best pies in the state.

He parks in the nearest empty spot and hoofs it back. The entire street is filled with people, mostly families, who are enjoying each other's company as much as they're enjoying the booths. Dean tries not to look at them too closely.

The bakery's booth is easy enough to find; he just has to follow the trail of people with half-eaten baked goods. When he gets to the front of the line, the woman behind the table freezes. She has fire red hair pulled back in a ponytail and big brown eyes that widen in surprise. Her customer service smile is still plastered on, and after an awkward, stuttering moment, she says, "Hi, how can I help you?"

She throws a look over her shoulder at the man who's slicing a new pie at the back of the booth.

"Uh." Weirdly enough, none of Dean's alarm bells are going off. It's a weird interaction, and he should be running the other direction, but... But he really wants some pie. "You got pumpkin?"

She nods eagerly. "Of course." To the other man, she says, "Cas, can you bring me a slice of pumpkin?"

Without looking up, Cas says, "I'm a little busy, Anna."

More urgently and through clenched teeth, Anna says, "Cas."

With a put upon sigh, Cas looks up, and it's like deja vu. As soon as he sees Dean, he freezes. His ice blue eyes dart to Anna then back to Dean. He drops the knife, scrambles for one of the pre-packed slices, and comes over to hand it to Dean.

Neither of them say anything while Dean takes out his wallet to pay. He even drops a couple of bucks in the tip jar before he starts back toward where he parked.

He's almost made it to the car when he hears someone calling his name. When he turns around, Cas is jogging after him. Dean slips his hand into his pocket so he can feel his switchblade.

"How do you know my name?" he asks.

Cas stops. Clearly, Dean's apprehension is obvious.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--" Cas worries his lip. Then like it's some kind of joke, he raises his hands and says, "Be not afraid."

Dean flips the switchblade open but keeps it close so that the people driving by (probably) won't notice it. "Listen, buddy. I asked you a question, so start talking."

"Okay, okay." The real concern on Cas's face makes Dean relax a little. No monster's going to be scared of a little blade. "Anna and I are human. We are. We just haven't always been."

"Then what were you before you were human?"

"You're not going to believe me."

"Try me."

"Angels," Cas blurts out.

Dean laughs. It's a little manic, but man, the guy is actually crazy. "Angels aren't real."

Cas hasn't lowered his hands, but he takes a step closer. "Your name is Dean Winchester. Your younger brother is Sam. Your father is John. He raised you both to be hunters after your mother, Mary, died."

"How the hell do you know all that?" Dean bumps against the Impala. He hadn't even realized he was backing up.

"Heaven has plans for you and your brother. Awful plans."

"And what? You're telling me out of the goodness of your heart?"

"When Anna and I fell, we told ourselves we wouldn't get involved with any of it. We didn't expect you to show up at our booth, and it seemed cruel not to warn you." Cas finally lowers his hands. "I'll leave you alone now. I'm sorry." Awkwardly, he turns and starts back toward the festival.

The guy's crazy. Maybe he knows other hunters, and that's how he knows about the Winchesters. Maybe he's some kind of monster with amnesia that thinks it human. Whatever the case may be, there's no reason for Dean to do anything but climb into the Impala and leave.

"Fuck," he grunts. Then louder, "Hey, Cas!"

Cas turns around tentatively, but there's a hopeful quirk to his eyebrow.

"You said this whole heaven thing included Sammy?" Dean asks.

"Yes."

Dean sighs. He looks back at the road that leads to his motel. He could be packed up and heading out of town in less than half an hour. Cas hasn't moved.

Finally, against his better judgement, Dean says, "Could you and Anna use some help packing your booth up?"

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Autumnal doctor/rose, i lov it! How about ninerose and some alien hot cider?

thank you so much for this prompt, nonny! <3 hope you enjoy the fluff! and as always, please forgive any mistakes. i am my own worst grammatical enemy.

[read on AO3]

"That can't be right."

Through the doorway, he watched Rose laugh as she dumped yet another fistful of pseudocinnamon into a giant cauldron. The TARDIS had dug both out of storage—or generated them spontaneously, the Doctor suspected. He certainly would have noticed the cauldron before: the thing was massive, a piping hot shade of orange that assaulted the eyes, tall enough that Rose could barely see over the rim after hauling it up onto the hob. It was so fanciful and absurd he couldn't believe it was supposed to be functional.

It was also exactly what Rose had asked for.

Could hardly be a coincidence, could it?

You spoil her, he thought with a brief, mild accusatory glance upward. But he was not favoured with so much as a blinking light.

Typical.

The Doctor had always known the TARDIS had favourites, but he'd never in all his lives experienced such blatant, unrepentant spoiling of a travelling companion! The first time he'd seen Rose's bedroom—or, more accurately, palatial bedroom suite—he'd been gobsmacked. Her bed was enormous, at least twice the size of his. Though he wasn't much for throw pillows, hardly any aboard the ship had escaped the journey to Rose's bed; it was a miracle she could sit on the thing, let alone sleep there. And the eightieth century hi-fi teledeck?

No longer the centrepiece of the media room.

Which he was still sulking about.

But this was a new level of indulgence. The ship didn't just create matter out of nothing; everything had to come from somewhere—usually her vast stores of past rooms. To come up with something completely new involved energy transference. Effort. Time.

And, to create something as specific as a garish orange cooking cauldron? Care.

Shaking his head, he stepped inside the little galley kitchen. He'd followed his nose thus far, but the scent grew even more potent the moment he passed the threshold and into the sweltering heat of the narrow space.

"What do you mean?" Rose was asking, turning to look at him with big, worried eyes. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, nose and lips a berry pink. "This is exactly what the barista told me to do!" She rapidly dusted off her palms, a cloud of warm brown powder dispersing into the air, carrying with it the spicy, faintly floral scent of the cloned cinnamon root native to Chame. It made his nose itch. "Why would he lie?"

The Doctor scoffed. "To keep you coming back, Rose! All the way across the charted universe—dragging me and my poor ship with you—just to get your hands on the real thing," he said, with a grumbling noise of displeasure as punctuation. "Probably a bit of clever salesmanship."

Rose's smile slipped a little, prompting an unpleasant dip in his own stomach. It wasn't fair to her, him being so obviously jaded.

After all, the barista had been perfectly nice. To Rose.

Specifically.

"Was that a harrumph? Did you just harrumph at me?" Rose's head cocked, and the grin she set loose on him was a true blue Rose Tyler special, top to bottom: eyes sparkling, tongue curled around her teeth, and with a certain jaunty angle to her chin that told him she was gloating for some reason he didn't want to think too hard about, lest he actually find out what in the world she meant by it.

"Here, put this on. You can help," she said, turning to withdraw—from one of the kitchen's many and dangerously full drawers—an apron that didn't quite match her own. Hers had cheerful, smiling Jack-o'-lanterns all over a white backdrop, nestled amidst illustrations of autumn leaves and lit candles and seasonally appropriate candies that nobody he'd ever met actually enjoyed.

His apron... also had pumpkins on it.

"Oi! Is that s'posed to be me?"

He snatched the article from her hands, pulling it up to look closer at the frowny, grumpy-looking illustrations dotting the black fabric. The eyes and mouths of the Jack-o'-lanterns were slightly puckered, like someone had left the pumpkins out in rough weather for a few days, and it gave them a uniformly sour, Scrooge-like expression.

His gaze narrowed, and Rose pressed her lips together, like she desperately didn't want to laugh. "Don't look like that," she managed, raising her hands. "I just asked her for aprons."

The Doctor scowled, even as a part of him perked up. Aprons, plural. Had she wanted him to join her all this time? Why hadn't she said anything?

"Anyway, don't worry," she went on carelessly, "nobody's here to see you in it."

You are, he thought in spite of himself.

His eyes followed her as she took back the apron and motioned for him to bend so she could drape it around his neck. The brush of her jumper-clad arms against his hair made the tips of his ears tingle and grow warm, and he ducked his head nearly to his chest in sudden awkwardness. The few moments it took for her to make a knot would give him just enough time to get hold of his rebellious—not to mention ridiculous—biology, he decided.

Don't be daft, came his stern internal voice.

There. Job done.

When he righted himself, Rose was beaming. "I dunno," she said, tipping her head this way and that, observing him, her ponytail flopping about. "I think it works for you."

"Do you now?" He looked down at the frowning pumpkins spread across his chest; they were even more wrinkled and unpleasant viewed upside-down.

But if Rose thought differently...

"Yeah." She nodded more definitely. "Very good look."

Well, then.

-

Making the cider took more time but was somehow less involved than it seemed Rose had expected.

Aside from grinding up all the pseudocinnamon and quartering the apples—they hadn't picked up any authentic Autogolds on their last grocery stop, but had some lovely Galas to hand—the other steps were quick and simple. Most of the process was a load of hurry up and wait.

Which left them with little to do but hover around the cauldron, breathing in the steam and knocking hips when they got too close. Which was often.

"What's so great about this cider anyway?" the Doctor finally asked, after a few moments of grinning at one another across the cauldron. He dipped the wooden spoon in for another sample, wondering when he'd suddenly taste what made it special enough for Rose to go to all this effort.

He remembered the overly-friendly barista, smiling with all his teeth. He remembered walking around the market stalls afterwards, Rose beaming and pointing out every little thing that caught her eye while the sun set. He remembered sudden warm pressure—how she hid her face against his shoulder when a stiff wind blew through the courtyard, setting all the beads in the jewelers' tents tinkling and flashing. There were no skittering leaves to speak of, but the whole scene had given a passable impression of a mild Earth autumn day.

It had been a good day, yes. But the cider had been rather ordinary.

Rose nudged his hip again, then deftly pulled the spoon from his hand. "Stop messing with it, or it's never gonna brew right. We're s'posed to let it sit." She replaced the lid, closing in the steam and the gentle sound of simmering. Then she sighed. "I dunno. The barista told me all the ingredients and how to make it and it all seemed fairly normal, I guess, but there was just something about it—comforting. Couldn't put my finger on why. Maybe because it was such a perfect day," she added absently, fiddling with the hem of her apron.

The Doctor stilled. "Perfect?"

When he looked at her face, her eyes were on the floor. "Yeah. Think it was."

"Not... boring?" he asked, wishing she'd look up at him. But she was just crossing one foot over another, concentrating on her shoelaces. He wondered why.

After they'd dropped Adam off on Earth, he recalled with a scowl, he had gone a bit mad with the easy trips. Just a little break, he called it. But their "break" had turned into weeks of short stops on interesting—but more importantly, peaceful—worlds. Playing tourists.

At first, neither of them had really known what to do with themselves in these sorts of places. Relaxation was anathema. And Rose had been around long enough to know you never took off your running shoes, not ever, so she didn't quite let her guard down either. They'd wandered around, taking in the sights—Rose was never short on curiosity and clever questions—but it was always with their backs up. Ready for anything. It was a vigilance neither exactly knew how to shrug off.

Especially after he'd nearly lost her.

And she knew it.

They would meet each other's eyes and just know what the other was thinking of. The Dalek, the laser to the back of her head. Incomplete goodbyes over a staticky video. And the fear in her eyes when he'd run toward her with a gun in his hands. He hadn't felt that kind of shame in... a long, long while.

But they'd survived.

It took every moment of those two weeks to make him believe it. And it was only once they landed on Chame, in that market—so familiar, so Earth-like, and yet so different—that the calm finally found them. Arm in arm, meandering through a crowd with warm cups of cider in their hands. He'd realised then he wasn't waiting for the next thing to come around the corner. And neither was she.

Time had passed since that day on Chame. Back to the old life. The adventures. Neither of them could bear to stand still for long, or rest on their laurels. There were so many worlds needed saving, where time and tide of history had to be set right. It was never-ending.

It was their life.

But not the only part. Was that why she wanted to recreate the cider?

"No," Rose said after a moment. "Not boring. Not for me." She finally looked up, eyes soft. Shrugging helplessly. "Could never get bored with you."

The Doctor swallowed. Her proximity was like gravity.

He felt himself tipping into it. Giving in to it. Hands lifting to settle on her arms. and his head falling forward, lips coming to rest gently on her crown. Her hair smelled like apples and cinnamon and warm human.

It would have been impossible for him to say it, but he had no doubt she knew.

That day hadn't been boring for him either. It had been... more than good.

It had been perfect. The day's very ordinariness made it unusual, standing out like a burning star amidst their murkier, often more difficult travels. Its simplicity—its uncomplicated pleasures—made it rare and maybe even worth recreating. Sometimes.

"All right, then," he said. "We'll have cider." He couldn't say all he felt, couldn't tell her he understood, because he didn't know exactly what he felt. Like a pinching deep within him, clenching tight around his hearts. The Dalek had called it love; his people might have called it foolishness.

All the Doctor knew was, he wanted more perfect days with her.

[soulofapatrick]

Backseat of his Brother’s Car - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Tommy picks you up from work, both of you having missed each other recently with your work schedules meaning there's a lot of pent up frustration 

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: Smut; riding; p in v; fingering; a little bit of overstimulation; fluff; established relationship

Notes: I had this idea for a while but didn’t have the motivation to finish it until @thesapphirequeen send me an ask with a similar prompt

Y/N’s POV

The cafe is always quiet after seven pm as the workers are mostly home by now but there’s always a few stragglers who have had to work late or the students who have been in all day, not realising the time until the evening sun turns the room a mixture of oranges and red. It’s my favourite time of day, the sunsetting means I can finally hang my apron up, leaving Frances to close up. Before I go I make sure to brew three coffees and a frappe knowing I’ll get those sad puppy dog eyes from Joel and Sarah if I don’t come back with their usual coffees. Upon moving to Austin I never expected I’d find a family let alone a boyfriend but three years later here I am. The tray of coffees in my hand and my soft goodbyes called to Frances breaking the comforting quiet of the cafe then the cold evening breeze wrapping her hands around me. 

There he is, sitting in the front seat of Joel’s truck, cigarette hanging from those kissable lips, curving up into a loving smile when he sees me. The click of the car doors unlocking has me rushing over, wanting to get into the warmth and head home to have dinner with my three favourite people. 

“Hey there baby girl.” Tommy coos as I pull the passenger door shut behind me, securing the coffees in the cup holders before leaning over the console to steal a kiss from him, his lips tasting of strawberries and cigarettes. It’s so addictive, everything about Tommy is addictive and I just want to climb over and settle on his lap but we can’t. We’re outside my work and Tommy’s brother and niece are waiting for us to have our dinner, Joel probably trying to cook it which will end up with Sarah taking over. I don’t know how the brothers survived before I arrived in Austin as neither of them can cook anything without almost setting the kitchen on fire. It’s amusing and I guess adds character to them both, watching the way they panic and flail around trying to act smooth which I don’t think is a word either brother have heard of when it comes to cooking. 

A hand lays on my thigh, higher than it should be and Tommy’s bottom lip is between his teeth as he joins the road from the carpark. His sun kissed skin glowing in the evening light, illuminating his freckles and I want to run my tongue over every single one. His hand is inching further up, slipping under my skirt until his pinky finger ghosts over my now aching core, my legs spreading further apart instinctively. I could never say no to Tommy, the way he treats me like I’m the only person in the world, taking his time to explore and work out every dip and bump in my skin over the last year. 

We’re not that far away from home and Joel and Sarah will be waiting in the living room so we wouldn’t be able to sneak upstair anyway so he’s just teasing me. Teasing himself too from the way his jeans look exceptionally tight and well… two people can play this game, “Tommy,” I warn and he glances at me, cognac eyes so dark they’re almost black and his lips part with a soft moan when I place my hand over his ever-growing bulge, “Is this why you wanted to pick me up today, hmmm?” I breathe against the taught skin of his neck before biting down, not enough to break the skin but enough that the car jerks a little. 

“Fuck baby girl,” He grips my thigh tighter, “We haven’t had much time alone together with me working late and you working early.” 

“I know,” I sooth the bite mark, before moving back to my seat, leaving him wanting more. A scowl appears on his face as his hand tightens on the steering wheel, his hand on my thigh moving to cup my soaked panties. Two thick fingers plunge inside without a warning, my hands flailing to find something to ground myself to, one wrapping around his wrist that is pumping those two fingers in and out of me and the other digging my nails into the fabric of the seat below me, “T-tommy… we can’t. O-oh fuck.” My head drops when he curls those fingers and my backs arching, tightening around him as he smirks, attention on the road as we pull onto our road. The heel of his palm presses against my clit and I’m jolting in my seat, a pitiful whine leaving my lips as he reverses into the driveway. 

“Backseat. Now.” Tommy’s growling out, turning the engine off and I just stare at him wide eyed until he’s pulling his fingers out of me, leaving me empty and wanting. He doesn’t have to say it twice, I’m scrambling into the backseat, minding the coffee and waiting for Tommy to join me. As soon as he’s settled in the back with me I’m being yanked onto his lap, his fingers resuming their brutal pace, rubbing against that sweet spot that has me whimpering. His other hand tangles in my hair, voice low when he says, “Eyes on me baby girl, I want to see you when you cum for me.” 

It takes everything in me to force my eyes open, meeting the endless pools of deep cognac staring back as his thumb rubs rough circles over my almost overstimulated clit. A gasp tearing from my lips as the waves of pleasure crash through me, my walls clamping around his fingers and he’s whispering sweet praises as I ride out my high until I’m slumping forwards, my head on his shoulder. The hand gripping my hair now moving to card through it as he murmurs against my neck, “One more baby girl, I need one more from you.” 

I just nod, hands moving between us to fumble with his belt and popping the buttons on his jeans. We both feel the urgency, this needing to be quick as there’s no way the pair inside the house didn’t hear the car pull in. It means Tommy barely gives me time to adjust to his girthy length before he’s gripping my hips and raising me up to slide me back down, finding a brutal pace that has me gasping as the tip grazes my cervix with every thrust. It’s quick, it’s hot and it’s heavy. Kisses are harsh and biting, the windows of the car fogging up as my hands tangle in his hand and I’m pulling as that coil in my stomach begins building again, causing my walls to close around him. 

He panting my name, teeth marking any bare skin he can get his lips on as his dick begins twitching with every downwards drag. Neither of us are going to last much longer, especially when his thumb moves back to my sore clit and he’s pressing on it, not even rubbing but it’s too much. My nails digging half moons into his shoulder while my other hand in his hair tightens almost painfully but he seems to get turned on by it with the way his hips stutter and he’s pulling me down once more. The guttural moan that leaves his lips in the form of my name is making me almost cry with pleasure, the feeling of him filling me up making my legs shake with effort. 

We stay like that for a little longer, his face buried in the crook of my neck, my forehead against the back of the seats and both of us trying to catch our breaths, just revelling in the feeling of my overstimulated walls still fluttering around him. Tommy is very much into the after sex bliss, wanting to stay inside for as long as he can, sometime we’ll fall asleep like that but right now we can’t. His hands tightening on my hips when I try to move has me whining as we’ve been out here for a suspiciously long time and his dick is twitching against my g-spot, sending waves of too much pleasure up my spine. I finally pry my eyes open, legs still shaking and am met by the front door opening, Tommy still grinding my hips against his a little in overstimulation. Joel appears, eyes narrowing with suspicion when he catches the fogged up windows and I’m panicking. 

“Joel! Joel! Joel!” I’m tapping Tommy’s shoulder as Tommy’s older brother walks towards the truck… his truck. Tommy helps me off, quickly tucking himself back into his jeans and doing the zipper up while I flatten my skirt just as the door to the backseat gets open. 

“In my car?!” Joel crosses his arms like a father telling his children off and I just duck my head, straightening a crease in my shirt. Tommy just flashes his older brother an innocent smile, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the car after him. Joel shuts the door and locks his car before following us inside. 

I kiss Tommy’s cheek and tell him I’m going to take a shower. Tommy’s eyes darken hungrily at this but I smack his chest lightly, not wanting to get into even more trouble with Joel, “Go help Joel set the table for dinner.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He grins, grabbing my wrist when I head for the stairs, eyes soft when I look back, “I love you baby girl.” 

“I love you too cowboy.”

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

TAGS: Tag List Form

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[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“Y’know, when I was little, I had hair down to my ass.”

Billy digs down at the bottom of the bag, inspecting the orange dust that coats his knuckles before he crunches on another chip. He knows that Steve is doing his customary nod to show that he’s listening even though he can’t even see him.

Fingers gently rake through his roots, massaging at his scalp, and Billy lolls his head against one of Steve’s thighs. Scrapes down at the bottom of the bag with his dust-caked fingers and huffs when he comes up empty-handed.

“I bet it was untamable,” Steve says fondly. Chuckles as he watches Billy suck a cluster of orange away from the pad of one of his fingers. “I wish I could’ve met you when you were a kid. If you were anything like how you are now, I bet we would’ve been inseparable.”

“You would’ve gotten sick of me in about ten minutes.”

Steve tsks, but keeps toying with Billy’s hair where it spills into his lap. Starts gathering sections to fasten it into a braid for about the tenth time since they’ve been sitting here.

Ever since Robin showed him how a few nights ago, he’s been fixated on becoming a pro for whatever reason.

Probably so he can braid his daughter’s hair someday.

The thought makes Billy’s face flush with a familiar heat. It’s not the first time he’s thought about Steve’s — their future — like that. Their furniture together. It’s not even the first time today that he’s thought about it.

“I mean, I could tolerate Tommy, so I think we’d have been fine,” Steve says. “He was a crier. Could never take hits even when he was the first to start shit, and then he’d go tell, and I’d always get the ass-whooping.”

Steve shakes his head. Sighs to himself and tucks a stray curl behind Billy’s ear.

“Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly stoic,” Billy muses.

“You get what I mean, though. We would’ve had a fucking blast together as kids.” As soon as Steve finishes the braid, he unwinds it gently from the tail up. Combs his fingers through it thereafter and brushes one of his hands over Billy’s cheek. “What made you cut it?”

Billy tilts his head back, staring upside down at Steve while another hand comes to swipe his bangs away from his face. There’s an easy smile playing on the brunet’s lips.

“My old man took me to a barber shop a little bit before my fifth birthday.”

Steve’s smile falters.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” Billy’s eyes slip shut, and he focuses on the warm palms touching his skin. Careful enough to be handling porcelain. “Got in trouble, so he dragged me there and had it all buzzed off.”

“That’s… drastic. What did you do?”

“Dunno.”

“You don’t remember?”

Billy huffs. He kind of wants to laugh, because everything his dad has ever done is hilarious when set in the past tense. The screaming, the veins popping out in his neck, the look on his face.

But then something else wells in his chest at the thought, and it isn’t funny.

“All I remember is crying my eyes out in that chair. Probably got into my mom’s lipstick or some shit, it didn’t take much to set him off.”

“He was probably just jealous of your pretty curls,” Steve says softly. It brings a small smile to Billy’s face. “Seriously though, I’m sorry he… I’m sorry you had to experience that. You don’t cut a kid’s hair as punishment.”

Near the end, his voice gets a bit stern, and Billy feels the sun simmering under his skin. Burning through his pores and shining light up into Steve’s face like rays of sunshine through parted clouds.

You’d make a good dad.

Billy wants more than anything to say it, but his lips form around something else when he parts them.

“We would’ve been fast friends if we met as kids,” he says.

“I don’t need another friend.” Steve’s face flushes with pink realization when Billy opens his eyes, and he quickly shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have needed— I had lots of friends, so I would’ve—” Steve cuts himself off with a sigh and pinches his eyes shut for a moment. “We would have held hands, y’know? Had sleepovers up in my treehouse, just the two of us.”

Billy can’t even begin to suppress the blossoming grin on his face.

“I never considered that little Stevie was a player too.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Well, in that case, I’m glad we didn’t meet as kids. Neil would’ve just taken that from me too.”

The brunet sobers. Rubs his thumb over the apple of Billy’s cheek.

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do.” Billy turns his face towards his partner’s open hand, smiling as he presses a kiss to the soft skin of his palm. “Just like I know that in every universe, every hypothetical situation, Neil will be an asshole, I know that there’s no timeline where I don’t love you at first sight.”

Steve, ever the romantic, presses his lips together as a chapped red overtakes his cheeks. Billy sits up on his knees and turns around to lean into Steve’s lap at the first sign of tears.

He hugs his torso. Buries his face into Steve’s t-shirt and squeezes him when he sniffles.

“I’m glad we met when we did,” Billy adds. “When we both really needed it.”

Slender arms wrap around him, cradling him closer, and Steve’s chest echoes with a chuckle.

“When I needed another ass-kicking.”

“No— you know what I mean, you dork.”

“I do.” Steve strokes his hair, and Billy melts further into him. Feels, for a moment, like he’s five years old again and hugging his mother at the beach. “I’m just happy we met at all,” he says. “But I’m confident that it had to happen no matter what. Even if we were ninety and using walkers.”

Billy chuckles at that. Imagines, instead, the two of them growing old together. Here in this home that they’ve made for themselves, with their latest set of grandchildren running a muck.

He thinks he’d be willing to learn to like kids for that.

“As if either of us will make it to ninety,” he muses.

“Hey, shut up, we’re both living to a hundred and twenty because I said so.”

Steve tugs gently on his hair, prompting him to tilt his head back and look up. The brunet has the fondest look on his face, like he’s found spiritual enlightenment in Billy’s eyes.

Billy thinks he knows the feeling.

“Kay,” he says.

“It’s nice out right now.”

Fuck if either of them know if that’s true. All they know right now, all that exists in this moment, is each other.

“Mm, you wanna go for a walk?” Billy hums.

A huge smile blossoms over Steve’s face. He pushes his fingers through Billy’s hair one last time, cupping his cheek and letting the blond lean into his touch.

“Sure. I have to go change my shirt, though, because I’m pretty sure you got Dorito dust all over it.”

Billy snorts. Sure enough, when he raises his hand into view, his fingertips are still stained orange. Steve just smiles at him before they both get overwhelmed by giggles.

I’m glad I met you.

[neonvandalsxcb]

• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬

CONTENT WARNING. This contains a very long, written storyline with mild language, vandalism, foreshadowing, tension build, and progression of the “Neon Vandals.” All that is written is for fictional and entertainment purposes that do not portray the idols used.

Mark adjusted the strap of the duffel bag on his shoulder. The spray cans clinked against each other, brushes knocking as he glanced beside him.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to come out with us?” Mark questioned. Jisung hummed in response, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans.

“We aren’t staying out for long.” Jisung shrugged, turning his head to grin at the group, his dark eyes shimmering. “He can manage a few hours. Besides,” He tilted his head, eyes shifting to Seungmin with playful exasperation, “someone’s been ruining my art.”

The masked brunette rolled his eyes, running his lithe fingers through his brown locks. “Not my fault it’s up for grabs. It’s been, what?” He tilted his head back, sharp eyes resting on Jisung. “A month?” The group chuckled as Seungmin’s tone shifted into something low and smug. “Your rustiness would have made it more of a tragedy.” 

“Rusty?” Jisung laughed in disbelief, shoving Seungmin who shifted his footing. “Look at who you’re talking to! Second of all,” He then pointed at him, causing Mark to snort. “Your ugly orange probably made it a tragedy!”

“You’ll easily take back your territory~ It’s not like he covered everything,” Jaemin reassured with an amused chuckle, rounding the corner with the group. 

The parking lot was empty, tire marks acting as traces of life as the streetlight burned bright in its white glow. The large billboards loomed over them, buildings casting shadows downward, licking at their feet. But Mark’s attention shifted to the covered board abandoned on the far left. Its metal ladder swung awkwardly, whispering its metal groans. Nothing but a white sheet covered the board’s contents. 

It sat dormant with no traces of fingers or handprints, barely wrinkles along the body of it. No one but Jaemin knew its secret, but he remained adamant in explaining. 

For weeks, Jaemin ushered the group away from it, causing them to grow skeptical of its contents. Even now, as they passed the structure with prying eyes, they wondered what was forbidden to see. 

But they all held their tongues, biting it as Jaemin’s dark eyes glanced at them almost narrowly. While he spoke sweetly, stating casually, “Be careful in the lot. That board is getting removed soon,” his gaze was challenging.

It caused a shiver to run down Mark’s back, knowing that he was observing them. Though bubbly and vibrant, Jaemin tended to cast a mysterious shadow to shroud them from troubling topics. It was difficult, all the more harder to confront Jaemin's skillfulness in dodging the conversation. 

“Sure thing.” Seungmin answered, yawning behind his mask. “You’re the one who shouldn’t wander too far.” He added, causing Jaemin to smile, waving his hand as he disappeared around the corner with his own bag of paint. 

While Mark eyed the walls, deciding which he’d cover, Jisung grumbled under his breath. “It’s getting removed, and he still won’t say anything about it?” 

“There’s no point to it.” Seungmin retorted, rolling his sleeves up as he tested his can. Orange blotches appeared in an orange mist briefly on the pavement. “It’s being removed. Whatever it is, it’s garbage now.” He mumbled.

“Sure,” Jisung furrowed his brows, resting his hands on his hips. “It’s garbage but apparently, it’s too shocking to see for weeks. That totally makes sense.” He stated sarcastically. 

Mark gave a weak smile, shrugging as he walked past the two. “I don’t think it’s anything important. We’re fussing over something useless,” He stated poorly. But he bit the bottom of his lip, his own curiosity gnawing at him relentlessly. 

“It’s dumb, sure.” Seungmin confessed, sighing as his boots tapped against the pavement, stopping to paint beside Mark. “But we’ll forget about it in a few days.” 

Jisung scoffed. “You know that’s bullshit. We’ve talked about it for almost a month,” He reminded them. “If it’s being thrown away, then why can’t we see it? A glance won’t kill us.” 

It was a good point. But Mark shuddered at the thought of getting onto the metal platform to look at the hidden content. He was stuck between feeding into his curiosity, versus letting it pass by quietly. 

“Make you stupid.” Seungmin tsked, causing Jisung to roll his eyes. “What if all that’s underneath that sheet is some ad? You’d just waste your time.” He argued, causing Mark to shake his head 

“It’s not like it’s actually our business,” Mark hummed quietly, shaking his can. “Not one sign given to us that it’s for us to look.” He stated, but as he raised the can to the wall, the lot filled with a loud, metallic clatter.

It was almost comical of the timing, additionally the startled reactions as Mark spun round to the sound. His eyes blinked rapidly, Jisung stumbling sideways, and Seungmin dropping his can with his eyes rounded, body rigid.

Their gazes fell on the once swinging ladder, now grounded to the street as its whispering groans silenced with relief to meet the pavement. But now it led to the metal platform, the piece shimmering under the light as if a coaxing guide. 

Jisung blinked. “Does that sign suffice?” He questioned after a moment's silence, laughing a little.

Immediately, Mark turned his head, eyes narrowing on Jisung while the younger looked at him with a growing smile. “That is not a good sign for us.” He replied, closing the top of his can. “We are not going up there.” He stated firmly.

Jisung leaned back in motion towards the ladder, teetering on his feet. “You can’t be serious that it’s not fate!~” He smirked, tilting his head. “And hey. Worst case scenario, it’s some jacked up political ad.”

“No way.” Seungmin waved his hands in refusal, stepping forward with sharpened eyes. “We aren’t going to piss Jaemin off.” He then pushed his finger against Jisung’s chest, the other raising a challenging brow at him. “And you said you wanted this to be quick.”

“I did,” Jisung looked daringly into Seungmin’s dark eyes, humming. “And that’s still my plan. Plus, it’s not that big of a deal. If he gets pissed, doesn’t that mean he’s up to something?” He questioned.

Mark tilted his head in thought, Seungmin grumbling under his breath. Before either knew it, Jisung hooked his finger around the younger’s mask, pulling it off and turning on his heel. “Or try to stop me!”

“Jisung!” Seungmin yelled, hand outstretched to grab him but missing. Mark groaned in disbelief, grabbing the bag as the two ran to the ladder. 

Jisung grabbed onto the bar, climbing up with Seungmin huffing in exasperation. Unlike Seungmin, Jisung was swift, pulling himself up and easily onto the metal ledge of the board. Mark joined them, pushing Seungmin upward and helping the breathless male up.

Seungmin grunted, flipping his head back to fix his bangs before glaring at Jisung. “I’m seriously going to kill you.” 

Following his gaze, Mark straightened as Jisung stared at the sheet. One hand was in his pocket, the other lightly pressed against the board to feel the sheet. His head moved, analyzing the ghosted imagery underneath. Up close, Mark noted that it was more intricate and detailed. But the colors were muted by the sheet, design obscured.

“I can’t tell what it is. But it reminds me of mist,” He commented, noticing how Seungmin was bouncing lightly, his lips firmly pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

“Cool. Mist. Let’s go,” Seungmin bluntly stated. Jisung shook his head as he started moving along the platform, adding more pressure against the sheet as the colors peeked barely through. 

“No way. This is a whole piece of art,” Jisung said in awe, causing Mark to tilt his head in confusion of what was astonishing. Admittedly, he was closer to the board, actively prodding at it with curiosity while Seungmin and him stood idly by. “You aren’t concerned that someone did this purposefully?”

“I am concerned that we are up here!” Seungmin hissed, stepping forward to snatch his mask from Jisung’s hand, scowling at him as he wore it once more.

“One peek! Come on!~” Jisung grinned with fascination, causing Mark to snort as he stepped forward to the two. 

“This is peeking. Besides, Jaemin might catch us up here. What then?” Mark raised a brow, only for Jisung to shrug while Seungmin rolled his eyes. He grabbed Jisung by the arm in an attempt to start pulling him to the ladder. 

“Sleeping outside. That’s what!” He grunted, only to stumble as Jisung easily jerked away, smacking his hand away from him with a scoff. 

“You’re scared we’re going to sleep outside?” Jisung teased, laughing when Seungmin’s eyes sharpened at him. He shrugged as he went on dramatically. “Oh woe is us if he sees us ogling!~ Seungmin will be casted outside, away from his little plants, and stuffed toys that sing him lulla-””

Jisung didn’t finish as he stumbled backward, Seungmin having shoved him out of flustered frustration as he hissed sharply. “Dumbass!” 

But they gasped as Jisung smacked against the board, the sheet snagged by metal clips and accessories on his clothes that a chilling shriek of a rip filled the air. Stunned, the group froze, Jisung awkwardly standing with his shoulders pressed up to his ears, eyes wide. 

“Did-.. is there?-” The startled male stammered out, hesitant to turn around. In silent shock, Mark pulled Jisung away, revealing the ripped fabricate as green peeked through the exposed tear mockingly in its luscious greens.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Mark gawked, mouth gaped open as Seungmin grabbed at his hair in dismay. 

“You can’t be serious! How did that happen?” Seungmin questioned in distraught, his eyes darting to Jisung and narrowing on him sharply. “Your damn clothes are as bad as you are!”

Jisung blinked, brows furrowed as he argued. “Who’s the one that pushed me against it?” He rolled his eyes as Seungmin groaned at him, looking at the board and gesturing to the rip. “I-It’s not that bad anyways!” He grinned sheepishly. 

But as Mark examined it, the green was vibrant in mixed swirls of teasing illusion. It was spiraling in mocking amusement at their distraught. It made him wince, disliking how black and white spilled into it, hints of blue and gold clashing together, lacking little unity to it. Fortunately, the tear wasn’t large, a simple slit as the white fabric hung lamely. 

“Define your bad from mine.” Seungmin scoffed.

Quietly, the three inched cautiously to it, guiltily and curiously gravitated to the piece as Jisung leaned forward, head tilted. Whatever fright he had evaporated with his burning desire to analyze their findings. But he gradually grimaced, lips pursing together tightly as his eyes squinted. 

“Tell me I’m not the only one getting deja vu.” He mumbled.

“Deja vu of what?” Seungmin tilted his head, eyes shifting to Jisung in question. 

“Doesn’t this remind you of someone’s art?” Jisung responded, letting his finger graze against the painting almost hesitantly. “The style? I mean. You don’t see a lot of us doing this kind of spiral and bleeding effect.” He explained. 

“Yeah but, ‘someone’?” Mark straightened, hands in his pockets while Jisung’s hand ghosted over it, almost frozen as he spoke skeptically. “Very little of us even use this many colors in one piece.” He reminded the younger male. 

“But someone used a shit ton of green before.” Jisung retorted, shifting his gaze to the two in anticipation for either of them to recall the individual he vaguely mentioned. However, Mark and Seungmin exchanged concerned gazes, earning an exasperated sigh. 

“Okay. Clearly, we’re not on the same page.” Jisung grumbled, straightening as he grimaced, grabbing the hanging strip. “Maybe it’s because it’s been so long. But if it’s what I think it is, then this is fucked up.” He said through gritted teeth.

Without a warning, he tugged at the white sheet. As if in retaliation, it emitted another shriek as the threads loosened, stretching into a long, exposing strip. 

“Jisung, what’re you doing!” Seungmin hissed, eyes widened as Jisung viciously pulled the canvas sheet. The rip was loud, echoing as the tear was endless as Jisung’s persistence and grunts to free the hidden work. “Jaemin said to leave that alone!”

“Fuck leaving it alone!” Jisung snapped, becoming more aggressive as he yanked at the sheets when the board’s painted contents were unraveling before them. “Take one good look at this and try to tell me that this isn't fucked up!”

“Dude, come on.” Mark groaned, walking over as he caught the ripped strip of sheet. “We’re just as annoyed as you are that it’s just sitting here like that.” He winced as Jisung tore a larger chunk, adamant of stopping. “But you know he..” Mark’s voice faded as his eyes widened, eyes running over the exposed art.

He watched as green oozed in spirals, revealing different gradients of blue and turquoise to accompany the vigorous color. Rather than appearing grand in its massive size, it was overwhelming than remarkable. To Mark, it was painted so vividly and chaotically that it felt almost invading, uncomfortably overloading his visual sensory that he stepped back. 

But their eyes were glued on the black, nightmarish spider now looming above them, with venomously green accents, fangs dripping that sent shivers throughout Mark’s body. Surrounding it was white, blotched mist, adding more to the ominous imagery that peered down at them in its horrifying glory.

“We should’ve known.”

[c4ttheart]

have wtv this is (originally posted on wp -KUROMIS for my wonderful and very much real soon to be girlfriend) while i figure out how tumblr works

ermm.. this isnt angst but it isnt fluff either ? wc is smt around 500

he must have imagined it all.

from the influence of the stars driving the both of you together, to your empty hands and the lingering promises in the air.

from the pitter patter of your footsteps down the hall when the light of the rising sun would illuminate your face to the sound of your laughter echoing around his room.

from the cavity in his heart filling up to the feeling of your fingers grazing the skin of his arm. from the softness of your lips to the twinkle in your eye, megumi fushiguro must have imagined it all.

it is some late afternoon in October when you don't answer, and it is later that same day he realises he misses you. but he is expecting too much, he has let himself fall for your sweet words and promises so low he can't even see the sky anymore. his makeshift throne filled with insincere praise is crumbling appart and soon he will find himself down a hole he dug with his own bare hands, a hole so deep no amount of saving can help him.

the stars twinkle softly under the sky turned dark, as if laughing at him from above. tonight, they are particularly hellbent on punishing for something he isn't aware he has done.

but he does not care, for he can not see what is above. he has hit rock bottom, yet he continued to dig. now he wishes he had brought something- anything- to get him out of here.

megumi fushiguro isn't a religious person in any way, no, yet he prays to the god(s) above for a sign. he is as lost as the ant scrambling against the floor trying to escape, wondering how he got here.

he finds that his words don't even make sense anymore. maybe he needs sleep. maybe he needs the heat. but he is in too far deep to have any of those, so he has to crave them instead.

he feels as if he is drowning in air, grasping onto anything he finds around him to breathe. how long has it been ?

everything is made up, he reminds himself, there is no hole, no laughing stars in the above he cannot see, and he can breathe. he is here. he is home.

but where are you ?

that is when megumi fushiguro realises that it is all a figment of his imagination, just like the sky, the throne, and the lack of air.

he must have imagined it all.

from the smile bearing all your teeth you would give him to the orange juice you would drink in the mornings. from the words you spoke to him in a daze to the smell of your perfume. from the tip of your head to your toes, megumi fushiguro must have imagined it all. he must have imagined you.

he thinks and ponders every word his brain speaks to him as he sips on a half empty glass of canned orange juice. maybe the glass is half full, he doesn't know. he does not even like orange juice and the different opinions people have on glasses depending on their mood.

yet again he wonders if he imagined it all. he must have, he probably has, he definitely has.

because you were never there.

he must have imagined it all.

megumi in his schizophrenic era

[savamava]

Creep | Sebastian SDV x OC

Sebastian is 100% a pervert stalker in this. I personally hate writing y/n so I made an OC. This is my first post on here so idrk what I'm doing. I'm probably gonna do a part 2 or make this into a little story. Idk we'll see.

Warnings: stalking, pervert behavior, masturbating, mentions of smoking, maybe that's it??

Word count: 1.5k

Sebastian is a creep. He understands that what he's doing is wrong, but he just can't help it. He can't help himself, especially when the new farmer is so young and pretty.

~•~•~•~•~

When Sebastian found out that a new farmer was moving to Stardew Valley, he wasn't expecting much. He thought it would be another old man. But when a pretty brunette walked up to introduce herself one Friday night at the saloon, he was taken aback. She was shorter than him by almost a foot, with freckles adorning her adorable face. She introduced herself as Bee. She was definitely not what he was expecting.

That wasn't a bad thing, though! But Sebastian knew he had to keep his distance. He knew that if he got close to the new farmer he'd want her, in more ways than one. So he ignored her.

This didn't go over well... Bee stopped him anytime she saw him. Every single time, he couldn't stop himself from raking his eyes over her body, taking in her curves and the soft details of her face. He wouldn't even listen to what she was saying half the time, he'd be too distracted by the way her lips moved when she spoke, the way she stepped closer to him when she became too enthusiastic about her new farm, how delicious she smelt when the wind wafted her scent towards him...

God, he needs to stop. Even thinking about her now, in the comfort of his room, has him reeling. He wants to see her, to talk to her. His programming can wait.

It's late, almost midnight according to the clock displayed at the bottom of his computer screen. Despite this, he gets up and throws on a hoodie. He tiptoes up the stairs, scared that his mom or Demetrius might catch him. Or even worse, Maru.

Perfect little Maru has become friends with her. Of course she has, she has to please everyone. Sebastian scoffs at the idea of them hanging out, jealousy fueling his urges to see Bee. He wants to be friends with her, he really does. He's just so scared that his creepy intentions will come to light and she'd be scared off. This thought obviously doesn't occur now, as he's walking through the mountain trail and down towards her house.

He takes in his surroundings, he hasn't been to this farm since she's moved in. There's a chicken coop and a silo at the far side of the farm, and a small area is sectioned off for her crops. He admires all the hard work that she's put into this farm. He remembers how overgrown it was before, thinking about the times that him, Abigail and Sam would roam the abandoned field and have smoke seshes in the empty house.

Sebastian can't believe he's doing this. Reality sets in and he quietly laughs at himself. He almost turns around to go home. Almost.

He quietly walked up the steps of the farm house, cringing at the creaks from the old floorboards. He almost went for the door, hand hovering above the doorknob, but he hesitated. She might wake up if he wriggles the knob. He pulls his hand back and steps towards her window. It was cracked open.

Sebastian smirked to himself, slightly pushing the window up. It surprisingly didn't make a noise, sliding up with ease. He glanced up through his eyelashes, pushing his hair out of his face. She's still asleep. He carefully climbed through the window, holding his breath as he kept his eyes on you. He was half expecting her to open her eyes, but she didn't.

He noticed an orange cat sleeping at the end of the bed and smiled, refraining himself from petting it. The cat was quickly forgotten when Bee made a noise, turning over and facing him. Her eyes didn't open, it seemed like she was still fast asleep.

Sebastian noticed the very, very thin slip dress she was wearing and sucked in a sharp breath. He eyed the way her chest rose and fell with each breath she took, noticing how her nipples were perked up from the slight chill in the spring air. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch her, to fondle her tits and pinch her nipples, to put them in his mouth and suck on them until she begged him to stop, to give her more.

Sebastian is a creep. He understands that what he's doing is wrong, but he just can't help it. He can't help himself, especially when the new farmer is so young and pretty.

Sebastian let out a quiet, barely audible moan. His eyes wandered lower, to her stomach, then down to her thighs. They looked so soft. He brought his hand down to his crotch and palmed his hardening cock over his jeans. His knees almost buckled at the sensation. He closed his eyes, imagining it was Bee that was touching his there. His breathing became shallow as he imagined what she tasted like. What her mouth tasted like, her skin, her sweet pussy.

He froze when she moved again, opening his eyes to see her turning around. Her back faced him now, the blanket that was covering her fell onto the ground. Sebastian eyed her ass, the slip rode up, showing her bare ass cheeks and pink lace panties. He almost came in his pants from the sight alone.

He knew he was being a pervert. He knew that he'd be too embarrassed to ever face Bee again. But he couldn't help himself in the moment.

Sebastian quietly unbutton and unzipped his jeans and pulled his aching cock out. He groaned as he began stroking it, keeping his eyes on Bee's ass and imagining what it would look like if he was fucking her from behind. God, he wished he was right now. Maybe if he actually talked to her then he could convince her to have sex with him.

He bucked his hips into his hand and brought his free hand up to brush his hair out of his face. He wished that she was facing him so he could get a good look at her tits. He wished that she didn't have anything clothes on at all. He wished that he could rip that little piece of clothing off her body so he could see every inch of her, every curve, every scar, every beauty mark.

He thought about her sucking him off. He thought about fucking her mouth as he fisted his cock, whimpering at the thought of her trying to take his entire length down her throat. he imagined her pretty face as tears ran down her cheeks as she bobbed her head up and down his shaft. God, he would kill to have her pretty mouth on his dick.

Sebastian felt his stomach drop when she groaned. He shot his eyes open and stared at her, expecting to be caught. He waited for what felt like ages, but she didn't move or make any other sounds. He debated leaving, he didn't want to get caught being in her house. But he also didn't want to leave with blue balls.

He continued stroking his cock, hurrying up his pace to cum as quickly as possible and get out of there. Despite his anxieties, the idea of being caught by her turned him on even more. He imagined what she would do if she caught him. Would she be weirded out and yell at him, or does she have the same feelings that he has for her? Does she want him to fuck her as much as he wants to?

Sebastian imagined how you would look riding his dick. How your tits would bounce with every movement. The way your pretty face would look trying to adjust to his size. He felt himself getting closer to his release as he imagined how your pussy would feel squeezing his cock. He let out a low moan as he suddenly came in his hands, imagining it was Bee's pussy he was cumming in. He let out shuddering breaths as he continued stroking his cock, bringing himself down from his high.

When his euphoria finally wore off, Sebastian became embarrassed by his actions. He stared at his cum covered hands and sighed, putting his now soft cock back into his jeans and wiping his cum on them. He definitely won't be able to talk to Bee the next day, or maybe the rest of the week, and he's going to have a hard time when she tries to talk to him. He won't be able to think of anything but how perverted he is.

Sebastian made his way to her window, climbing back through it and shuffling away from the farm house. He wanted to get as far away as possible. He didn't want to think about what he did, he had to go home and go to sleep. Maybe that would fix his jumbled brain, sleeping it off.

When he finally made it back to his room, he immediately took his jeans and hoodie off, throwing the stained clothing into his dirty clothes bin and flopping onto his bed. He closed his eyes, only seeing images of Bee when he did. He groaned, he felt like there was no escape from her.

It was going to be difficult with her around...

[princemick]

Hi! Can you pls explain how you can do red lips on your gifs? Your colorizing is so vivid always especially on lips. I'm so impressed!

HI! yes, I for sure can explain this to you because its actually really easy. so under the cut I'll make a tutorial on how to get this lip focus effect on my gifs.

I'm going to be using oscar because he is the most naturally blushy person on the grid but I'll also quickly explain things you'll have to watch out for with different skintones.

so, the big trick to this is to make sure your lips/blush are a contrasting colour in comparison to the rest of your gif.

(think about the colour wheel, green is the opposites side of purple)

lips tend to have a more purple/red hue to them while skin tends to be more orange/yellow in undertone. so what we're gonna start with doing is adding contrast and making sure greens and blue's are heavier then the yellow/red is.

I prefer using curves and colour balance for this as you can play around a lot and use the dropper tool in curves to make your life easier

now, I like adding a few more layers of colour balance and channel mixer to try and neutralize the colour even more but this all depends on the raw footage and on the skintone.

now that we're happy with our neutralizing colour we're gonna be grabbing hue/saturation which is THE big trick to this colouring

you're gonna grab the lil hand tool at the top left and click on the darkest part of the lips

now this is what your hue/saturation should look like. we're going to focus on the little bottom part and we're going to expand the little tabs and slide it to the more puple part of the colour line.

then, we're going to slide UP the saturation so far as it looks natural, you should be able to instantly see a difference (if you dont, slide around the little tabs until you do see the lips brighten up) I like to darken the lightness too to make the colour a bit more neutral.

with this part you have to watch out with different skintones.

every person has different under tones, people with white skin tend to lean more pinkish while darker skintones especially lewis has more yellow skintones, because of this you will probably make lewis's skin FAR to yellow which is obviously NOT good.

you can still use this style with those skintones you just have to watch out more, neutralize better and get the sliders more purple as their lips also tend to have more purple tones in them.

here's a fantastic tutorial how to get rid of yellow tones in black skin if you do run into this problem with your colouring.

now, you have your basic lip blush, from this moment on you can do whatever you want with the colouring, I like to neutralize more after this, so adding another few layers of colour balance.

then I tend to go into the red and yellow of selective colour and manually play around with making the lips/blush more coherent with the rest of the lighting.

to simplify this I'm only going to show yellow and red but I normally use all colours on selective colour.

and then I just add my normal colouring which can be whatever you like to do. I like adding more contrast and highlight spaces to add more depth to his face and I almost always add one more layer of hue/saturation which will make his blush and lips pop out even more.

which makes this my final colouring result

I hope this was coherent and logical and ya'll understand what my thought process is with my colouirng. if it's not or you want some more explanation on something please dont be scared to ask!!

if yall do use this style and colouring please do tag me I'd love to see what ya'll make!!!

[steelycunt]

hello oh my god HELLO!! insane ask prompt .. there's no coming out of this alive. but 2 or 4!! whichever choose your fav xx

HI YOU. god. well a million years later, i am here xx i'm so so so sorry xx literally nothing happens in this one either they're just smug and obsessed with each other but i don't let them be smug often enough so it felt fair xx went for two in the end xx

There’s this faint white scar, on his chin—it cleaves through his bottom lip, just slightly, and curls downwards. It’s the shape of Norway. Sirius is twelve when he first notices it, over breakfast: orange juice and fried mushrooms and his best friend’s mouth. He’s nineteen, now, when he kisses it, and that’s only in lieu of swallowing it whole.

“I need to show you—” Remus pauses, twists to spit a cherry pit into the souvenir mug they’ve balanced precariously on the chair’s arm, “I need to show you how to use the washing machine.”

Sirius stretches one arm across Remus’ waist; they’re crushed into the bile-yellow armchair they got from a second-hand furniture shop last week—a bargain, even if it took them the best part of the day to drag it, with James’ help, from the shop to their flat—and it’s all a lazy knot of hands and hipbones and dry knees, rucked up shirts and boxer shorts.

Tangle in an old shoelace. They’ve been sitting here, just like this, for hours—dust has settled, most likely. Moss has grown. My heart is like a wheel, drawls the record player.

“Not right now, you don’t.” His nose is digging into Remus’ cheek. He wants to kiss him, wants to kiss his lips and his neck and his eyelids and that lovely curl of hair, just there—which isn’t new—and so, without a second thought, he does—which is.

“Do it later,” he urges. “Won’t take long. I’d like to think I’ve acquired skills in my life thus far that will prove transferable to putting dirty clothes in a big barrel.”

“Well, I’d like to think so too, but then—I also thought you’d acquired skills that would prove transferable to using a hoover, up until last night. And my blind faith ended up making fools of us both, didn’t it?”

Sirius dismisses him with a gesture, plastic palette from the Co-op in hand; the little fruits roll like eyeballs. “You know, I’m starting think you don’t really care all that much about household chores, Moony. You just like seeing what a shite muggle I make, so that you get to be smug about it. It probably helps you cope with the reality that I make such an exceptionally talented wizard.”

“Wow.” Remus chuckles, draws his head back to look at him properly, to present him with this awful little grin—this boyish, tilting, fruit-stained grin. Everything is funny. Even the things that aren't. Days passing like the beats in a knock-knock joke. “You’re exceptionally bloody insufferable, is what you are.”

And, sat here, there’s this thing in Sirius that swells so fiercely; it bucks around inside his chest, which is the drum of a marching band, which is a pinball machine for the cherry pit he accidentally swallowed earlier. Except the cherry pit is his own heart. Except the cherry pit is the entire fucking sun. All orange.

He’s thinking about all that time spent locking themselves in broom cupboards. Co-conspirators, holding hands under the table. Notes passed on balled-up corners of parchment during class, hello, hello I like you do you like me, hello I want to see you lets skive off after lunch, we can snog behind the greenhouses yes/no? (say yes please.)

Today, standing in their very own flat. Putting their hands on each other’s faces. Not once—not fucking once, did Sirius have to check over his shoulder before they did it.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he argues, with a click of his tongue. “You seem to suffer me rather well. Look—you’re wearing my shirt.”

“That’s exactly my point, you fucking twat. All of my shirts are in the laundry,” Remus shoots back, and then—he kisses Sirius, quickly, on the mouth. Once, twice. Smiles, afterwards, as though he’s stolen something from him, and is now holding it out of Sirius’ reach. His stomach, perhaps. His spinal cord.

“What are you smiling about?” Sirius demands, regardless of the fact that he’s doing it to. It’s hard not to. They keep waking up in the same bed. His boyfriend is wearing his shirt. Later, they’re going to do laundry. He pushes his forehead against Remus’. “Stop it.”

“Nothing. I’m not, it’s only—we really live together, properly,” Remus says. He speaks quietly, as though their flat is a beast he is trying not to wake. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. Or sneak around. I just get to—suffer you, all the time.”

It catches Sirius off-guard, makes his face ache. Someone begs, let me roll it!

“Mm, lucky you,” he tries to tease, but it doesn’t land right, it’s all soft in the belly—lacks the snarky, whip-crack delivery he intended. He clears his throat, to punctuate it. Eats another cherry. Red flesh beneath his teeth.

Remus, watching him. His fine brown eyelashes. Sirius’ arm, draped across him. “Yes,” he agrees. “I think so too.”

[wrencatte]

Rated: T Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags: Jason Todd Whump, Magic Jason, Batfamily, Outlaws as Family, Protective Batfamily

Jason succumbs to a magical aliment while on a mission with the Outlaws. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not the first-time magic has tried to mess with him. (and it certainly won’t be the last, that’s for sure.) Just give him a couple days. He’ll be fine.

Yeah, no. That’s not how this works. This magic is stronger.

Darker.

S t a r v i n g.

Only his family can save him this time.

 – This is how it starts:

April is the cruelest month, Jason thinks – miserable and resigned, all because of the nightmares dogging his heels since the calendar flipped. The Pennsylvania landscape is grey and sad, rain pouring down and bending trees under its onslaught. It mists his face, nice and cool, but when thunder booms and crashes and rattles the windows he almost flinches, tasting grave dirt on his tongue, feeling the grit between his teeth. Jason flexes his fingers, phantom pains of splinters and torn nails making them ache deeper than bone.

 – so! let’s try and clear this up, okay pumpkin? what hurts – fuck – he’d died to fire and came back to rain, and it gets mixed up sometimes, in his head. He curls his hands around the porch railing, slivers of wood digging into his palm and, shit, that’s really not helping at all. It usually doesn’t bother him, his death. It’s probably (definitely) one of the most traumatic things that ever happened to him, but he’s, yanno, seven years past his grave and all that. Sometimes you just have to move on damnit.

April has never bothered him before. And yet –

There’s a worm on the sidewalk in front of him.

He shudders, closing his eyes against the sensation of them crawling up his spine, wiggling out from his rotting skin clothes when, no, his clothes are clean and whole and relatively new. No worms here.

Maybe he should take another shower.

“Anything?”

A body next to him, fire-orange hair brushing his arm, shoulder against shoulder as Artemis leans on the railing next to him. Jason drops his head. Not startled, he’d heard Artemis’s steps on the creaking floor – maybe he should leave a note and tell whoever owns this place they need to call someone about that. He sucks in a slow breath, pretends he doesn’t taste his own death through it – blood and screams and a mangled batman, batman, please. Ugh, stop.

“No,” he forces himself to say evenly like he’s not slowly breaking down. (This is fine. He’s fine.) “The rain’s an issue.” It muffles his senses, makes a blanket of Nothing tinged with Other, and he can’t See anything.

He watches her from the corner of his eye – the way locks of hair escape her ponytail and cling to her cheek, the way her eyes are greengreengreen against the backdrop of grey. There’s a dab of blood on her bottom lip from where she’s been picking at it during their down time.

“When is the rain ever not an issue,” she grouses. Her fingers are carving half-moons into her skin, knuckles bleaching pale. Jason gets it. He really does. It’s been ten days of investigation and chasing, nothing to hit, nothing to fight. He feels the itch under his own skin too. She presses their shoulders together even harder, leaning most of her weight on him as she puts a finger to her ear. “Biz, you got anything?”

“Everything,” Bizarro responds in the perfect recreation of Jason’s chirpy sarcastic tone. Jason snorts. “Me found absolutely nothing. We don’t get to go home now.”

Jason laughs outright, misses the way Artemis smirks triumphantly.

“Yeah, yeah, big guy. Drop down in the backyard. Might as well eat while we wait for the sun to come out.”

“Under and in.” –  and that makes them both laugh, you can practically feel the smugness radiating off Biz from over the line.