#people should Make Rivulet more fucked up I think

[jawbreakervi]

seaslugcat

new Rivulet design :3

#rain world #rw rivulet #rw looks to the moon #doodles #artists on tumblr #i Loveeeee Taking characters and Making them weird critters #people should Make Rivulet more fucked up I think #marcusart

[appalesbian]

The @wilcze-kudly Avatar Hottest Woman Tournament got me inspired to write a silly little drabble. @korrasamibottles this one’s for you.

The door to the home gym was cracked, and Asami couldn’t help herself. It promised to be a long day at Future Industries and nothing motivated her like catching a glimpse of who she would be coming home to.

She tiptoed into the home gym to find Korra at the punching bag, hitting and kicking in rapid-fire sequences. Asami was temporarily mesmerized by the fluid grace of Korra’s movements coupled with the immense power that fueled them. She had clearly been at it for a while, if the rivulets of sweat dripping down the small of her back were any indication. Asami had half a mind to collect them with her tongue…

“Stupid fucking-“ Korra spat with a particularly strong kick to the bag, followed by a one-two punch. “-bullshit, what do they know-“

Asami frowned. Korra had mellowed considerably in the years they’d been together and it seemed unlike her to be so upset, especially so early in the day.

"Are you okay, love?” Asami asked. Korra jumped and spun around mid-swing.

“Ah, ‘Sams, you scared me.”

"Sorry." Asami pressed a kiss to the crown of Korra's head. "I wanted to see you before I left for work. What’s got you so upset?"

"You haven't seen?"

"Seen what?"

Korra's eyes blazed. She bent down to retrieve a piece of newsprint that lay crumpled on the floor next to the free weights.

"The fucking... poll."

Asami looked at the crinkled paper. The headline of whatever section this was (Living? Culture?) proclaimed "Republic City's Hottest Dame! YOU Decide!"

Asami snickered.

"This is supposed to be news? They’ll print anything these days.”

“Keep reading!” Korra insisted.

Asami skimmed through the article, something about giving the citizens the power to choose the city’s most attractive woman by mail-in ballot, until she came upon her own name.

“Asami Sato, CEO of Future Industries and wife to Avatar Korra, was a shocking casualty of the second round of voting, losing by a slim margin to Republic City Police Chief Lin Beifong, the new statistical favorite moving forward in the competition.”

Asami laughed.

“Good for Lin! She’s beautiful, the people are right. Maybe this’ll help her learn to take a compliment.”

Korra stared at her.

“But they chose her over you!” Korra exclaimed. “You, of all people! You! Have you seen yourself? There’s never been a more beautiful woman in the history of the world! It’s an outrage!”

Asami smiled and pulled Korra into an embrace, not minding at all that she was now at least 20% as covered in sweat.

“You’re so sweet.”

“I’m not sweet, I’m right!” Korra protested. “I mean, yeah, Beifong’s pretty hot, I’ll admit it, but these people have the nerve— the fucking nerve— to say that my wife isn’t Republic City’s ‘hottest dame?’”

“People have different tastes.”

Korra still glared in the direction of the newspaper in Asami’s hand

“You really don’t need to be offended on my behalf,” Asami reassured, releasing Korra from her hold. She sniffed exaggeratedly and pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. “I promise, I’ll make it through somehow.”

“Okay,” Korra grumbled. “I was going to go have a word with the editor of the Republic News, but I probably don’t have to do that, huh.”

“Nah, it’s all good.”

A moment later, a thought occurred to Asami.

“Wait a minute, are you in that competition?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Korra said nonchalantly.

Asami read through the remaining contestants.

“Yes, you are! And hey, look, you made it through this round!”

“Heh, good for me.”

“I was going to say,” Asami chuckled. “If you weren’t, I’d lose all faith in the people of Republic City.”

The softly flattered look in Korra’s big blue eyes was too much. Asami pulled her in for a kiss, letting it express anything more she might have said about how incredibly lucky she felt that Korra was in her life. Korra kissed back eagerly and held her tight.

“So,” Korra said, eventually coming up for air. “Should we look at the rest of the bracket and place our bets?”

“Yeah,” Asami laughed and opened the spread to see the full bracket of contenders. “Wait a minute… is that my mom?”

FIN

#korrasami #ahwt #was I writing this during our weekly staff meeting? I’ll never tell #ficlet

[poppy-metal]

I want Eddie to kiss me in the rain outside while making up from an argument and then fuck me in the backseat of his car with nothing but the sound of the rain on the windows

you slam the car door as you exit, pink shoes getting muddy immediately as you stomp away from eddies car when he'd stopped at a light. fuck him.

you hear the slam as he comes out after you, his muffled, "jesus christ." before the slap of his boots in the rain come up behind you. you continue walking even as he calls out to you. you frown when he grabs your elbow and yanks you around, pausing when you see just how beautiful he looks soaked in the rain. its annoying.

"let me go, eddie." you snap, trying to wriggle free.

"can we please argue inside like normal people?" he says, loudly so as to be heard over the downpour, "tight jeans and wet weather do not mesh well."

"then go!" you yell, "i can walk."

he doesn't let you go, he just looks at you. his big eyes doe like. water is rainfalling off his black lashes. unfairly pretty. "I'm not letting you do that." he says, softer now.

your bottom lip trembles, "oh so you're gentlemanly enough to not let me walk home in the rain but not enough to not be a fucking jerk to my date?"

eddies jaw clenches. he shakes his head, a quick motion that sends water scattering. his grip falls from your arm. "he wasn’t- he wasn't good for you." he says lamely.

"that's what you said about jacob, and todd, and harry-"

"harry was a pissant."

"I know!" you yell again. "but you should have let ME figure that out. Im tired eddie, im tired of you chasing off the boys i like."

his eyebrows come together. you think he looks tortured. he takes a few steps back from you and runs his hands through his slick hair like he's agitated. "i don't understand why you want to go out with so many guys, anyway. what's with the sudden interest all the sudden? you never cared before."

you're suddenly so tired. tired and wet and cold.

"because i want to be kissed, eddie." you say plainly, water slicing down your body in tiny rivulets. "I just want one good movie kiss. is that so wrong?"

eddie stares at you, eyes wide. the sound of the rain between you sounds thunderous. his hellfire shirt is clinging his skin with how soaked through it is, you can see the outline of his pecs, just slightly defined, through the damp fabric. you look away.

"and you think." he pauses, takes a step closer and dips his head so he can meet your eyes, "you think those shitheads are gonna give it to you?"

"Its not like you're gonna kiss me so i have to settle." the words are out before you can stop them. your eyes widening at the same time his do. he opens his mouth and you take a step back, your foot catching on a slick patch of concrete.

"forget it-" you start and then yelp when you start to slip. eddie darts forward and steadies you before you can fall on your ass on wet pavement, his arm looped around your waist.

you stare at eachother, chests heaving. water drips from his nose and onto you. he looks at your rain damp mouth.

"shit." he says, and again. "shit." before hes leaning down and taking your lips with his.

its your first kiss, and its better than any movie. It tastes like rainwater and eddie. a sweet, beautiful taste that you learn a alot more of later that night, when he takes a lot of other firsts too, your bodies slick and moving together like you were always meant to.

#ask #forgot to add the sex part bc i got caught up thinking abt the romance im sorry #eddie spaghetti #eddie munson x reader

[doomh3ad]

brahms being absolutely terrible to a one night babysitter? Dropping dishes, turning on music, or even turning the water heater off while the sitter is showering. Brahms being an awful little stinker

he's such a menace i kind of love it 😭

brahms + terrorising a one night babysitter

And to think, you thought it was sweet when the Heelshires asked you to take care of a doll. The old couple had only wanted one night to revel in their freedom, attending a formal dinner for the upper echelon, it seemed.

This has got to be some violation of workers' rights. Do one night babysitters have unions? You think they absolutely should given the shit you've had to put up with in the last hour.

Expensive dishes crash to the floor the moment you leave the kitchen, any food you make for 'Brahms' you find in small pieces like it's been angrily ripped up and thrown away, or worse - the soup you made is currently sliding down an antique-looking lamp, the shards of the bowl preventing you from even trying to clean it up.

Absolutely fuck this place.

Trying to relax, you put on some classical music for the doll and got into the shower. It seemed things were looking up - you couldn't hear any plates smashing, the shower was wonderfully opulent and the exquisite heat was soothing to your tired muscles.

Then, of course, the water heater was shut off and you were left shrieking at the sudden change in temperature. Ice-cold water sprayed out in rivulets and chilled you to the bone.

Only one person could be responsible for this. Well...one doll.

Your frustrated yell of "Brahms" was likely heard across the English countryside, scaring away birds and people alike.

It was a blessing enough to almost bring tears to your eyes when the Heelshires returned. You began explaining immediately.

"Listen, thank you for the opportunity, but something weird is going on in that house and-"

"Ah," Mrs Heelshire smiled, and exchanged a knowing look with her husband. "Brahms has taken a great liking to you, I see. Excuse him, this is quite comparable to him pulling on your pigtails because he's harbouring a crush. You should really come again, I'm sure he'd be better behaved then."

Fuck this. Fuck this place! You wouldn't come back if they paid you! You're leaving right now and never even thinking of it again.

Then, Mr Heelshire places a wad of cash in your hand, more money than you've ever held physically in your life before. To add insult to injury, he worriedly adds a few more bills and, frowning, apologises for "not carrying a suitable amount around", promising to "get the rest to you later."

The rest?

Huh. On second thought, maybe you could be persuaded to come by again.

#slasher x reader #horror #slasher #slashers #slasher fic #slasher thirst #imelda's writing #brahms heelshire #brahms x reader #brahms x you #brahms heelshire x you #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms the boy #the boy #the boy 2016

[simcardiac-arrested]

I understand why a lot of people do not like the Saint campaign but to me i feel like it is that these are old souls that should finally be allowed to rest. In some ways it follows what the original game was doing: ascension is the only way to be happy. Siv and monk did not want to ascend but Pebbles gave them the mark because he believed its the only thing thatll make them happy. And now Pebbles is getting uno reversed by Saint. Sorry if that doesn’t make sense i just woke up my mind is scrambled eggs

i never said i disliked the saint campaign! i think it’s cool, i had fun playing it, i just think that as a ‘finale’ to the whole game it’s kind of …. i mean ig it fits, in a way, but what i meant was that we could’ve ended on rivulet just as well and it would’ve been more of a happy ending i suppose. tho yea, rain world was never about happy endings—it’s just downpour brought in a new atmosphere of lightheartedness, at least for some of the campaigns. maybe back then ascension was the only way to be happy, but now we could actually lead survivor and monk. etc etc. to be fair i also just woke up and it is 8am. what i was trying to say though is that ascending pebbles seemed like…idk, not cruel to me…but just. strange. because yeah it’s kind of fucked that he spent so long looking for a solution and ruining his whole life, and then it just comes to him. just like that. it’s a little … i dont know how to describe it. i need to go to class but im rainworldbrained

#cramswering #thank u for sharing ur opinion i think it’s also interesting

[edactually]

Ed POV - 4.3

For someone who preferred sleeping in, waking up at dawn to the sound of singing birds was more irritating than it was charming. 

Ed couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard actual birdsong in the mornings. Stede lived just outside of the city where it began to diversify into suburbs, but it still felt like he was waking up in Snow White’s cottage or some shit.

And he had to piss, so he couldn’t even roll over and go back to sleep for a few more hours. Great.

At least he knew where the bathroom was. He stumbled out of the guest bedroom towards it, eyes still blurry with sleep as he practically kicked the door open.

“Gah!”

Now that was enough to wake him up properly.

He’d barged into the bathroom just as Stede was getting out of the shower. His modesty was covered, but only just. The towel wasn’t wrapped around his waist yet, but was gathered at the front of him and protecting Stede from complete indecent exposure, but that really was the only part of him left to the imagination.

Ed was staring slack-jawed at Stede’s exposed skin. He was dusted all over with freckles, little rivulets of water still running down his pale skin, getting caught in that chest hair and trailing lower, dripping down beneath the towel that Stede was hastily wrapping around his lower half.

Stede was starting to flush pink all over and Ed finally remembered himself and turned around. “Shit, I’m sorry! Still half-asleep, I didn’t even think– I should have knocked– fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” He could hear shuffling behind him and what was the unmistakable sound of a towel hitting the floor.

Oh dear god, Stede was naked.

If he turned around now, he’d see everything.

No ! It was bad enough he’d just barged in. For fuck’s sake, how hard was it to be a decent person and allow Stede some privacy?

“You can look.”

If he looked, then he’d combust into flames and burn to ash from the sight, he knew it.

But what a way to go.

Ed turned his head first before following with the rest of his body. Stede wasn’t naked. He’d dropped the towel in favour of a dressing gown that he’d belted tightly around himself. In some ways, it was a blessed relief. In others, it was crippling disappointment.

“Good morning, Edward.” Stede had managed to compose himself, and was in his formal bed and breakfast host persona. “I wasn’t expecting you to get up so early.”

He walked towards him, and Ed was still frozen in place. Stede coughed politely, but he still didn’t get the hint until Stede’s hands were on his shoulders and physically manoeuvring him out of blocking the doorway. “Please make use of the facilities, and I’ll get breakfast started. What would you like?”

Ed just blinked, still not fully awake and still coming to terms with the sight he had been greeted with. “Anything.” He managed, in lieu of a useful response.

But it was enough for Stede, and he drifted off towards the stairs. The first creak of the wooden floorboard on the top step brought Ed back to just enough of his senses to pop his head around the bathroom door. “Wait!”

Stede waited, resting against the handrail. “Yes?”

“Would you–” Fuck, he felt so stupid now. Stede was looking at him, waiting to see what was urgent enough that he’d stopped him in his tracks, so he had to come out with it. “Would you make those pancakes for me again, please?”

And his demeanour softened, the formal mask drifting away, and he was Stede again. Beautiful Stede with his warm smile and kind eyes. “Of course. Coffee?”

Ed swallowed. “Yep. Splash of milk with–”

“Seven sugars. I remember.”

Lots of people knew how he liked his coffee. They had to, in order to run and fetch it straight away when it was demanded. But Stede had remembered of his own volition. It shouldn’t have been as touching as it was.

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#edactuallysmau

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ TWO OF CUPS .02.

tw. incest, mutual masturbation, dubcon, jealousy, angst, love triangle wordcount. 3k

part 01 part 03

a/n. blue lock blue lock blue lock. i know people might be waiting for some other stuff a bit more than this but as i'm still working on a big assignment i'm resorting to crossposting from my other acc for now!

itoshi rin x fem!reader x itoshi sae

He’s thought about damnation a lot, has thought about what it would look like as the end of his days come to a final count once- maybe twice. It’s a vague outline of himself, he imagines, a dark shadow trailing behind him every step. Invisible, but present. It’s not like he sees damned written with heavy, crooked letters mirrored back on his forehead when he looks, but then again, he never looks quite that hard.

Never stares at his reflection in shame like he probably should, getting sick off of the many lies laced under his skin. He’s not really waiting for it either. He’s not religious anyway, gave that up a long time ago with the promise of your hands linked in his, staying close enough for him to cling to.

It’s only damnation when they are damned regardless, with no intention of repenting. And repenting— that would require him being away from you long enough to clear out his head from you, which isn’t going to happen. The icy water glides down a parched throat until it fills his entire stomach, rivulets missing his lips and traveling down the stretch of his neck instead, dripping down his shirt. He imagines that’s the kind of stain everything else leaves on him too, revisiting the pain again and again each time he breathes. Each time he eats, or sleeps, or runs his body into the ground trying to escape it.

The truth is, there is no escape, he’s tried. Like fucking Hell, he has. He’s bent and broken himself into ridiculous shapes for forgiveness, and still— still it sits on his tongue like a poison, thick, heavy, unrelenting, and only pretends to fade with each break of day. You’re soft in the mornings, entirely mellow and wanton, like no touch he gives you is too much. He reaches down to nudge your chin upward, tilting your face skyward to greet the sun -for him, never with him- because he doesn’t illusion himself to think you’re on the same sinking playing field he has been cast off to.

He’s nothing but a weary, drowning sinner; and you his savior. If the glove fits, you might as well wear it, right? “Mornin’ niinii,” you drawl before he dips his lips to yours, brief enough not to be weird, to wash away the connotations that linger unspoken on his lips. Because of course they linger, there’s nothing about his sins that washes off easily. They stick like honey, like glue to the corners of his mouth and try their hardest to ruin him further every waking moment, for years past and years to come.

He lets you slip from between his arms to get ready for the day, instead rests his head into the door of the bathroom when you shut it behind you. The morning run didn’t do much to burn away the shadow pooling at his feet, swallowing him where he stands.

Sae nii back. In the empty room across the hall, he can already hear him shuffling, like he smells the moment you wake, and like the sinner he’s resigned himself to be- his blood sings with jealousy. It brings back memories.

Rin trails behind, unshowered, uncaring, when you come back out of the bathroom, because he can’t shower with you when Sae’s here and the guy, the splinter in his sole, won’t ever resist the urge to make it weird for you two. He knows that for sure. You never blink twice when he slips into the stall with you, pressing up just close enough to feel the dips and stretches of your skin against his chest, his stomach, lining his arms with warmth. You never stare— and so you don’t know that Rin absolutely does.

Instead you go about your day like normal, making the two of them breakfast without thinking, like the angel he knows you are. He’s seen it, the sharp contrast between you two. He doesn’t say anything about the way Sae’s eyes flick to the bow of your apron, or below it, just scrapes his chair a little harder until you place their plates in front of them. Your hand finds his on the table like it always does, every morning for the past two years, feeling it twitch under the tracing of his long fingers along your barely visible veins— pretending like he can’t feel your older brother’s eyes on the motion.

You don’t notice it, just giggle when it tickles, ask for some water to take away your sleepiness. “Have you been healthy, niichan?” you mumble through a mouthful, and Sae’s shimmering, emerald irises meet yours too quickly.

“Sure I have,” he reaches over the table to brush a lone strand away from your cheek, before he stuffs another mandarin slice into his mouth, “why, you worried about me or something?” Rin feels the way you tense, watching the pout grow more grand on your pretty face, before the oldest mercilessly continues. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about your nii nii? He can’t even eat his breakfast without holding your little hand.”

The spoon clatters down too noisily, disturbing the barely-existing peace like a trainwreck barreling through a building. You draw your hand back, Rin resists the pull. He can only glare under his thick, long lashes and hope that the look will make Sae drop dead on the spot. Sinless, he’s sure, because Sae never gets what he’s owed when it comes to bad luck. Rin excuses the noise, picks up the utensil again and resists the urge to roll his eyes when his brother lets his lips quirk up, like this is all some big game to him.

Which side of the triangle is the favored one, right?

Rin’s hands don’t shake as much as he expects them to, but still more than he wants, when he scoops the pudding and leans over to you. The morning rite of passage goes undisturbed, Sae watches as Rin brings it to your mouth and you let it slide in without a problem, sucking it clean when he pulls back. You return to your drink, one hand still captured, and miss how Rin slips the spoon into his own mouth after. Sae doesn’t, but he stays quiet as he eats his own breakfast, playing with the peels of the mandarin like the lesser of two evils. After a few more spoonfuls and your happy hum to assure him it’s delicious, the oldest clears his throat.

“I remember when I was her number one big brother to cling to. Really knows how to make a guy feel like he's on top of the world, right?” A smile. “I imagine you get that now. Hows’it feel to be the new favorite, little bro?” he asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gets up from the chair, leaving to get some paper. It’s far from innocent, and even further from naive, and the dark haired sibling would rather only sit and wait it out.

He clenches his jaw, rubs a thumb over your interlaced hands as he bites back the attitude when answering. “She’s always been this kind, nothing much has changed.”

There’s a glint in the other’s eyes at the answer, brightly rubbing Rin the wrong way. As if it’s mocking him— really, nothing has changed yet? — he doesn’t think the eldest would be below it either. The silence is enough to make even you fidget a little, squeezing your fingers a little tighter around his.

He’s sure you don’t really get what’s happening, sweet, little thing you are, but he’s so fucking tired of being the one to back down. You clear your voice as you pick at your shirt, one of Rin’s spare shirts that barely cover your ass, and nudge your knees into his thigh. He bites his cheek, sighs, then finally breaks eye contact to untangle his fingers to instead place them at the bottom of your spine for some comfort, shifting in his own chair.

“Well, that sure is something then. Never noticed you two were so close when I was around.” There’s a little chuckle when Sae bites his lip, definitely swallowing down a triumphant grin, before he too moves.

He reaches down and wets the paper by putting it on his tongue, before gripping your face and swiping it along the corners of your mouth for imaginary crumbs, and Rin can barely hold back the urge to take the stupid butter knife and plant it straight through his brother’s palm to pin it to the table— like some sick butterfly collection. “Tch, still eat so clumsy, don’t you?” Sae coos as you struggle to pull your cheeks from his grip in embarrassment, before he finally sits back down.

“I really,” he continues, propping one foot onto his knee, “am so glad to be back here though. It’s sure been what-,” he pauses for dramatics as if he didn’t help you move in, as if he didn’t swing his arms over your shoulder with a knowing, sly grin and taunted Rin every second of the way there, “two whole years since you two moved in together?”

You pout, jutting out your lip in a way that makes Rin want to eat you up, kiss you until you run out of air to waste, before nodding. “Yeah, it must be two years by now!” Your face changes into one of amusement, before you look over at the dark haired brother for some sort of reaction. “You’re not sick of me yet, are you?”

Never, he wants to say, but Sae is here- with his knowing grin and stupid, infuriatingly smug eyes. He just nods back, expression dry. “Sick? You’re a menace to live with, sick is putting it mildly.” You pout again, and this time, it’s all for him. All for Rin to see and admire, for him to reach up and kiss if he so wanted to- if his older brother wasn’t such a fucking pain.

Not that he cares, Sae has always been a pain anyway.

“Kidding,” Rin pulls you, both large hands on your hips, down into his lap when you get up from your chair- can’t help himself from nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck as you giggle at it, wrapping both arms around your waist to have the full of your weight on his lap. You smell so soft, feel so soft— talk like you’re a daffodil blowing in the wind.

It’s intoxicating, and he doesn’t give a shit when he hears the chuckle of his brother to the side, excluded for once because Rin is getting hard just having you this close, having your ass on his lap as you wiggle around to turn to him. “You know I adore you,” he mumbles, and something in your eyes tells him that you absolutely do— the spoiled little one.

He won’t be able to stand up without drawing attention to the swelling cock in his sweats in a bit, but that doesn’t matter right now, feeling you sit in his lap so perfectly, obediently. You smile sweetly at him, before turning back to face Sae like you’re asking for some sort of approval from the eldest, as if proving— see, we do get along well. Sae only hums, pats your head before he sends Rin a sharp look, and leaves. Where to, Rin doesn’t care to ask.

You don’t get up for a few more minutes, pecking his lips gently when he asks for them, again and again and again until you finally get up. “You want some coffee, niinii?” you ask, and he gives his agreement while shifting his hard cock towards his stomach while you have your back turned, unknowing.

Must be blissful to be unaware of the sinners of this earth, waiting in line for the gates to open to them. He isn’t complaining though. At least you can’t hate him for the things you don’t know he’s committing. Can’t charge him for ruining you in his head.

+

Your days haven’t changed much. And neither have your nights, which is exactly why Rin knows to skip his evening run so he can lay in the same bed as you, pretend to be deep asleep when you nudge him. It doesn’t take long for you to roll onto your back and clench the plush of your pillow between your teeth. His baby sister, sliding your pretty hands along your chest, the peak of your tits down, down until you find fabric, and then under that too. He’s memorized it by now, learnt every slight twitch, gasp or breath. Learnt to watch you without missing any of the good parts, a study too intoxicating to ever stop.

You run your one hand over your chest as a slight whimper falls past your plush, perfect lips, and he stares at the curve of your cheek when you dip your fingers into your mouth, pulling them out glistening. You’re a phantom at night— ruining him to the core, his cock swelling between his legs as you softly ruffle the sheets. Not enough to wake him should he really be asleep, but plenty to make the pull towards your perfect fucking body so much harder to resist. He blows out a breath, and slowly slides his hand down for his own boxers, teasing the wiry hair going from his belly button down.

He doesn’t normally dare. No, his sins are usually contained to the drain of the shower when he’s alone, the groans muffled in his hand or your panties or pillow, whatever can keep him relatively quiet when you leave. But Sae is in the other room, while you’re in his bed. His bed, like you have been for the last two fucking years, driving him insane when you masturbate right beside him. If he only just rolled over, he could be on top of you, slip his hard cock between your wet, dripping pussy and find heaven. He bites his cheek when you circle a nipple, other hand back between your legs.

It’s unfair. Many things are, but the way Sae gave you to him on a silver platter, daring him to try something, must be the sickest joke of all. What a family reunion. The sinner, the savior, and Judas himself. His cock twitches hard, balls pulling to his body with the way you softly rock your hips back and forth, wiggling the mattress under you. He blows out another breath through his nose, biting back a hiss when his palm slides over the hot, flushed head of his cock, imagining your hand there instead.

You fuck your fingers with a pitiful little breath, rub your clit with the other and arch your back, and he instinctively bucks his cock into the ring of his fingers that’s not nearly tight and sloppy enough to resemble your pussy. But fuck, he might cum early. It’s too much. You’re breathing and whining like a desperate thing, like he’s already inside you, ruining you— like he’s imagined rendering you for night after night. The sick sound of him fucking his fist is just barely drowned out by the pleasure you’re lost in, head thrown back and legs clenching.

Your fingers move faster, and he bites his own pillow as he watches the tears fall down your temples, watches you get yourself to the edge. His spit soaks into the pillow when you move again, buck your hips into your own touch, and whine harder. The bed squeaks softly but you don’t care, rubbing hard and fast, feet brushing up against his leg. Rin almost spills his cum all over himself right then and there, staying completely unmoving for a second with his fist wrapped so tight around the flared head of his cock.

You don’t notice, still don’t fucking notice how hard he’s shaking as your wet lashes flutter and you whine out pleas. He can’t still, rubs his cock against the soft of the mattress, fucks into his palm, balls tightening and breath so obvious— until his undoing. Niichan— your voice travels the room, and there’s nothing to help him in this wretched room.

Hot, white cum shoots into his hands as he clasps one over the swollen head, other grabbing his balls in a sharp move that’s the farthest from subtle, listening to the symphony of your voice. You’re cumming, replaying in his mind like a broken record as he soils the expensive bedsheets and leaves them sticky with his cum, swallowing down a broken sob from somewhere deep inside. Niichan, niichan— the sound breaks him in two. His cock is still leaking when he manages to crack open his heavy, wet lashes, staring at the side of your face as it sheens with a glow that makes you look even more angelic.

When you slump back in bed with your face beaming out heat, your entire body spent too, you roll onto your side, and Rin doesn’t look away. There’s tears pooling at the bottom of his lashes, collecting in big, diamond rounds that roll down his nose and cheek. You blow out a last few breaths, before moving closer, ignoring the mess when you shuffle right up to him. To cuddle your disgusting, nasty big brother, delirious surely, because he can see the way you are seconds from dropping into sleep.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you hum and nose his throat, still sticky from sweat. His phone lights up in the dark, he doesn’t answer. Only ignores the laughter coming from the other room as he slips out of bed to go find some new boxers, wiping the back of his hand under his eyes once. And when Sae creeps his head into the door with a sickening grin, all he can do is listen as his emerald eyes fly over to your sleeping form. “She’s never going to marry you, y’know?”

‘Shut up,’ Rin says, begs, but his voice fails him and nothing comes out.

“She isn’t. So let me know when you’re done playing the family martyr. Before I change my mind about taking her with me.”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2021. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

#blue lock smut #blue lock rin #blue lock sae #bllk #bllk smut #tw.incest #tw.jealousy #🥧rin.chan #💫ch.rin #🥧sae.chan #💫ch.sae #🍯honey.pot

[danidrabbles]

OCTOBER 12: EXHIBITIONISM

Notes: I got so fluffy yesterday, and even though I loved that, I thought I should slip back into my online kinky writer persona. You know, keep up my reputation. So, it's AU time! Teacher/student AU, to be precise — age gap fans, come get y'all juice!! I'm excited to post this piece. I've discussed it with some of you (paging @highsviolets), and some of you have read it (paging @javier-pena and @frannyzooey). I'm still not sure if it really fits this prompt, but once again: My Kinktober, my rules 😊

Pairing: (professor) Din Djarin x (student) f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+!)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: teacher/student relationship, age gap, by default that also means power imbalance vibes, (sloppy) oral (m receiving), choking, deep throating, degradation, 1 "little girl". Help, I feel like I forgot something... I will add if I see anything more, or do let me know if you see something you want me to add.

--

“Breathe," he instructs gruffly.

He — Professor Djarin — Din (he prefers to be called by his first name — on most occasions) pulls away, and with a nod, you do as he instructs.

In through your nose, out through your mouth.

It's accompanied by a small wheeze, and he chuckles darkly, making you look up at him. His tall, broad frame dwarfs you, even more so from your spot on your knees, and already you feel yourself grow impatient, eager for more of him.

“Good,” Din murmurs, guiding himself back into you before letting go of his cock and brushing a stray hair from your face. “Let’s go again,” and he’s barely said the words before his hips begin moving again.

back and forth, back and forth, back and forth

Your nostrils flare as you try not to gag every time Din fucks into your wet, warm mouth. The head of his cock knocks against the back of your throat, rivulets of spit leaking from the corners of your mouth. It drags a deep, strangled groan from Din’s throat and his hand balls into a fist, pushing it against his lips to muffle the rumble of sound.

A hand at the back of your head forces you to stay in place, stealing your breath. Your own hand reaches up to curl around what can’t fit into your mouth, trying to pull yourself back, in vain, when it becomes too much.

Din lets you sputter for a second—he likes the brief panic in your eyes, you think—before taking pity on you, pulling his hips back.

You gasp for breath as his cock, slick with your spit, slips from your mouth once more. Thick threads of saliva bridge your lips to the tip of his dick, and your eyelashes flutter as a swipe of your tongue breaks your connection to him.

The professor's chest heaves under his button-up as he reaches down to fist his cock, stroking himself to the sight of you; the spit on your chin, the swell of your tits and the hard peaks of your nipples on display where he's rucked up your sweater and bra.

He'd done that after he dragged you to the university library when he finished the English class you attend, after he guided you to your knees somewhere between the bookcases in the back--people rarely got back here, but rarely didn’t mean never, and the fact that he’d risk it… it made you want him even more.

"You want to tease me, girl?” he’d growled as he pulled himself from his slacks. “Open your fucking mouth."

Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have brought a lollypop to the lecture. Maybe you shouldn’t have put on a show in the front row, slowly pushing the strawberry-coloured knob around in your mouth, rolling the treat over your tongue and hollowing your cheeks as you pulled it from between your lips with a wet smack.

But maybe this is exactly what you wanted.

"C’mere,” Din says now, bending at the waist and grabbing your chin. “Let me have a taste,” he adds, before sealing his mouth over yours. His tongue flicks out to lick at your lips, collecting the sugary taste of the candy and the bitter taste of himself, before opening your mouth with his and feeding it back to you with a push of his tongue.

Despite the things you two get up to, this makes your cheeks colour with something rosy. Arousal blooms between your spread thighs, making you forget the ache in your jaw, the burn of your knees, the tears pricking your eyes and streaking your face.

“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart,” he all but whispers against your lips. “Always my good little girl.”

With a nod you sit up straight for him, pushing your chest out as you do. "Only for you, sir," you rasp.

Din loves it when you say that, and the look he gives you after the title falls from your mouth—the corners of his eyes crinkling, his lips pulling into a smug, cock-sure smirk—makes him look almost painfully handsome; aged, sure, but only a little—just enough.

Just enough to still look incredibly sexy like this, his slacks hanging open, his underwear hooked under his balls, his tie crooked and his reading glasses dangling precariously from the pocket of his shirt that's unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest.

Just enough that he knows just how to please you, how to put you into your place, that the thought of how he fucks you makes your cunt throb with the need to be filled by him again—

Later.

"Please, professor," you say softly as your eyes fall back down between his legs. "Can I have more?" And with a wet sound, you open your mouth, unfurling your tongue for him and showing him what you want.

He gives you a soft sound from the back of his throat when he cups your cheek, strokes the apple of it. "Of course, pretty thing."

He wastes no time, feeds his cock back to you all at once with a thrust that pushes your head against the books behind it. With a harsh suck, you hollow your cheeks, looping your tongue around the thick of him until he pushes in far enough that all you can do is stroke along the underside of him.

Above you, Din’s hands curl around the dark wood, head hanging between his shoulders as he watches your lips stretch to take him. He pulls back with a hiss before pumping his cock back into your mouth, and growls and throbs when you gag.

"Come on girl, take it," he encourages. "You've done it before."

You did, god, you did. But your head is spinning now, you’re so turned on it hurts, and you give in to your instincts. With a fumble, you reach between your legs to press your fingers against your clothed clit. It makes you moan, the short flood of relief making your throat relax, making him slip all the way inside.

"Shit—That’s it, that's good, there you go,” he coos, hips jerking against your face and forcing your nose to press into the coarse, dark hair at his base. “There you f-fucking go.”

He’s everywhere; his scent, his voice filling your ears, the weight and taste of him on your tongue. It’s a lot—it’s too much—and as you desperately hump your own hand and continue to hollow your cheeks around his shaft, you come. It should be humiliating, the rush of slick wetting the fabric under your fingers, the desperate whine cut off by the tip of him—the tip of your professor’s cock—wedged in your throat, the possibility of someone catching you like this, willingly on your knees for him—but it isn’t. It’s all so exciting, forbidden, deliciously taboo, that it only makes your orgasm crest, and rise in intensity.

“Did you just… Fuck, baby, you did, didn’t you?”

The sound of his voice is taunting yet almost proud, and it makes another muffled sound rise from your throat, moaning at his words as much as at the lack of oxygen.

“You’re so fucking needy; desperate little sl—” Din cuts himself off with a choked out groan. “I’m gonna come,” he announces, pulling himself from your mouth and stroking himself furiously. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth, sh-show me your tongue, sweetheart, now.”

In your daze, the sudden rush of air filling your lungs, you catch his words a little too late, making the first spurt of his come land on your chin, but then you’re catching on, sticking your tongue out for him. The hot ropes of milky-white liquid land on the slick muscle, pooling in the middle. When he's through, you swallow him down with a sigh, collecting some of what didn't reach your mouth on your finger and letting it slip between your lips.

The man in front of you curses at the sight of you, another bead of come welling up, and lightning-quick, you latch onto the velvety head of his cock with a firm suck for a final taste of him. He pulls away with a warning sound, overstimulated as he slowly softens.

"Here," he says, reaching in the pocket of his slacks and presenting you with a handkerchief. "Get cleaned up."

As you use the cloth to swipe the sticky evidence of mischief from your face, your neck, he tucks himself back into his underwear, fastens the button on his pants, and straightens his tie. You think this is it, that you have to wait before having him again.

But then he's speaking.

"Get up," he says, a hand closing around your arm and hauling you up, spinning you with ease until you're facing the books.

You heave a soft moan as your nipples brush along the spines, and your throat burns with use when you dare to get a little louder as he presses you up against the shelves, his chest glued to your back. His free hand sneaks down the front of your jeans and his lips find your ear as his fingers slip between your folds,

"I wanna feel how wet that little cunt is from sucking my cock."

--

Thank you for reading! Tomorrow we have... maybeee... probably... possibly... Cockwarming 🤔 Who knows! Guess you've got to check in tomorrow to see if I stick to this choice 😌 Oo sign up for my taglist so you'll get notified!

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#kinktober 2021 #dani writing #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin au #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[monodipita]

i love you, but i can’t tell you without wanting to hurt someone

pairing: mikey (manjiro sano) x gender neutral reader

word count: 1,128

warning(s): yandere content, general dark themes

       "You know, [Y/N].  I think this is the longest Mikey's ever dated anyone," Draken casually remarked, folding his elbows as he leaned back, resting them atop the park bench. The spring sun beat down on your skin, but the sea breeze felt nice. "You should be lucky."  He glanced up toward you, which, in turn, you merely laughed.  "Lucky?"  You shrugged your shoulders and looked away in the direction that Mikey walked away in.  You stared at his back dreamily while your hands went under your chin. "I'd hardly call it that. Maybe just... stupid."  You chuckled.

        Willingly getting into a relationship with someone who stalked you... yeah, it was so stupid.  You hardly understood what that meant for you.

        That day was a figment of your past.  Times were better, and people were happier.  Mikey wasn't the monster everyone would slowly know him to become.  Maybe you could've avoided these atrocities if you'd broken up with him earlier, but why, you didn't know how that would happen. You were too scared to openly talk to Mikey about anything now, even if he adoringly stared at you with those empty eyes, even if his lips spilled out words that said, "you can tell me anything," with such confidence that if you didn't know any better, you almost would've believed him.  You couldn't believe him.  Blood was on his hands because of you... no, you couldn't believe him.

        "You're harmful to [Y/N], Mikey,"  Draken glanced over to him.  It was fall, and yesterday marked your third month of being together.  The same park bench, the same people...except for Mikey.  Why no one could realize just how possessive his hold on you was would be a mystery to this very day.  It changed him into a desperate man who would do anything to maintain his hold on you - and everyone, even you, was powerless to stop it. "Stop treating them like an object.  And don't even get me started on what I caught you doing the other day,"

        "Don't tell me what I am and what I'm not.  You don't speak for [Y/N]."  Mikey calmly replied while his dead eyes wandered over to his best friend.  Oh, God, it was that look.  The same look he'd given that person who bumped into you by accident while the two of you were walking on the sidewalk just a few weeks ago... what was he going to do?  You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing could come out. All you could think...please, please, don't hurt Draken.

        Mikey's silence struck a nerve with both of you.

        You were afraid of what was going to happen if you spoke against either of them.  Mikey was... unpredictable, and Draken was a respectable man who would speak up for his beliefs, no matter what.  Draken noticed, and scoffed. "Tch!  Look at you.  They're too afraid to even say anything, Mikey."  He turned to face him. 

        Mikey stared at Draken for just a moment, before he turned his head to look at you. You could do nothing more but turn your head away from him and rub your arm. 

        The mistake you made was now the burden you'd bear for the rest of your life. 

        "I love you, but I don't know how to express it without wanting to hurt someone."  Mikey admitted.  It was spring again, reminiscent of the first ever date you'd gone on with him. You stared at him in silence, unsure of what to even say in response to that.  Were you supposed to be happy?  Happy?!  This past year, you'd been living in fear of your life and the lives of others!  It didn't even matter that he was gang-affiliated, he was dangerous!

        "Y-you hurt them anyway,"  you uttered after a moment, before you looked away from him. "You're hardly a boyfriend.  You're more like a monster who uses me to hurt others..."

        ...oh fuck... it slipped!

        "..."

        Mikey's feet shuffled, and in your peripheral vision, he'd completely disappeared.  It was only a moment later when you felt cold steel press to your temple, causing your heart to flutter with fear.  You wheezed out, feeling tears spring from your eyes and fall in tiny rivulets down your cheeks. "Mikey," you weakly called his name. "What are you doing?"

        "Are you trying to break up with me?"  He asked.

        "W-what does that have to do with this?!"  You snapped, "you're—you're holding a gun to my head!"

        "I'll kill you if you ever talk like that again."  He was so calm with his words that it shredded your nerves more than the gun pressed to your temple did.  "I'll kill you if you try to leave.  I'll kill the person you're talking to, and then I'll kill you.  Do you understand, [Y/N]?  You're mine."

        Two years after the disbanding of Toman, and two years into your relationship now in the present, you were now nothing more than his lapdog.  You couldn't speak to anyone without fear that they'd get hurt because of you.  If you had to liken your situation to something else, you'd compare yourself to a doll in a glass case. A prisoner who donned lavish clothing, and never moved from their spot. Everyone could look, but no one could touch, no one but Mikey. 

        And in this time of being forced to stay by his side, you came to realize that it wasn't all that bad.  He willingly took you from a terrible place, a terrible family, and gave you the attention you didn't want, or need.  You had all you could ever want, and all you had to do was just ask him.  He was your best friend, and you were his...even if you were blind to everything around you, and what he was doing to find the money to give you these expensive things.

        You could feel his hands sprawl over your sides to reach your back before he pulled you onto his lap.  The rain outside started to pick up, making you realize you'd been daydreaming this entire time.  His hold on you felt... nice.  His hands stroked down your back while you instinctively curled up to him.  His touch... it was so nice. 

        "It's nice, finally having someone who can watch your every move, isn't it?  Under my eye all the time, having nowhere to go because I'm the only place you can go,"  He asked, his tone cheerful, his words still anything but.  You simply nodded your head and curled closer to him with your arms wrapping around his smaller frame.  "But I shouldn't have to worry about you," he chuckled, "you'll never leave my side."

        "No, Mikey, I won't," you purred weakly. "I'll never leave your side."

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #yandere x reader #yandere mikey #yandere #sano mikey manjiro #manjiro sano #manjirou x reader

[aizawaskittenwhore]

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦.

𝘧𝘵. 𝘪𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰, 𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘪 (+𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘴), 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘸𝘢.

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: 18+ 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵. 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴: 1.5𝘬

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴/𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢, 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺/𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 18. 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘪 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴. 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺. 𝘮𝘸𝘢𝘩.

“man, fuck you, the horse you rode in on, and your weak ass dick! just leave me the fuck alone.” you spit, arms crossed as you shoot the man in front of you a glare hot like jet fuel.

𝘪𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶:

izuku midoriya is one of the sweetest people to grace the earth

there’s no doubt about it.

but know he is not afraid to put yo ass in a fucking headlock and pound his way into you, voice thick and raspy as he asks you just who the fuck you think you’re talking to.

he’s grown up quite a bit since high school

and refuses to get bitched by anyone, especially his own girlfriend.

a saccharine smile inches across peony pink lips, spreading over porcelain teeth

“you uh... you wanna repeat that, honey?”

you know you’ve made a mistake

he’s got that look in his eye, ravenous and wicked

“look...izuku, baby, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to snap like that—“

“that’s not what i asked. i asked you...if you wanna repeat that.”

would definitely strap your ankles to a spreader bar, reveling in the way you continue to writhe against it

only to cry out in desperation once you realize that the more you struggle, the wider your legs go

or he’ll make you cry as you struggle to form a coherent apology, words choppy from the the remote controlled vibe is sending shockwaves through your heavily sensitive clit

he’d kneel above you, smile wide and innocent as he turns it up to the second most powerful setting, hard-on growing at the sight of your head lolling back while you try to appease him with sorry after sorry

“i-izuku—fuck, fuck! mmh— it’s too much....please, please, ‘m sorry! i didn’t mean it, ’m too sensitive—please just let me make it up to you baby—“

“all you gotta do is say the magic words sweetheart, and i’ll give you what you need.”

yeah, he’s one of those motherfuckers.

“remind me who’s pussy this is, and this’ll all be over with.”

“god, fine!! it’s yours okay! nobody else’s..now please, please fuck me izuku, i need you—“

doesn’t hold back for a second when he’s staking his claim all over your body, a calloused thumb roving over your clit gently, mindful of your sensitivity but edging you closer and closer to a fifth orgasm

happily smears strings of thick, sticky cum all over your stomach to mark you as his

and doesn’t hesitate to lick it off the supple, soft skin of your torso, the milky white substance congealing with transparent slippery saliva

he grasps your face firmly, fingers pushing your cheeks inwards and causing your spit slicked lips to jut out in a pretty little pout

“open.” he mutters before dripping the salty concoction onto your awaiting tongue, a throaty groan rumbling in his chest as he watches you happily swallow every last drop

“good girl.”

the aftercare is immaculate, izuku taking his time to wipe you clean so tenderly, lips pressing against each and every bruise, your body pliant as he whispers sweet reassurances into your sweat soaked skin

“much better now, right?”

you nod, eyes heavy as you sink into the warmth of his chest, hands clinging to him like he could disappear at any moment

“happy i could help you relieve some of that tension honey.”

“but talk to me like that again, and i promise you that’ll be the last time you call anything about me weak, especially how i fuck you. got it?”

prepare to be not only throughly sore the next day, but to have to conceal fingerprint shaped bruises on your hips and thighs

takes pictures of your fucked out face to have for future incidents where you decide you wanna talk like you have zero home training

and isn’t afraid to flash katsuki one or two whenever he gets to talking about how he could take you from him.

𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨𝘰:

“so that’s how you wanna act, hm? if you needed some dick you should’ve just fuckin’ said so instead of always runnin’ your damn mouth.”

he whirls you around, pelvis pressing into the small of your back, rivulets of sweat beading at the base of your neck from his close proximity

he’s such a glutton for putting little bitches like you in their place.

blade sharp canines dragging against the curve of your neck, pathetic attempts to maintain your resolve falling from unsteady lips

“the hell’s wrong with you—you already know i’m with izuku...i’m not doing this shit to him again—”

but you were already gone when his lips slotted against yours, body throbbing at the contact

now izuku was a good lover, a giver, a pleaser at heart

always putting your enjoyment above his

but eventually one grows tired of slick tongues and curved fingers, pretty whines and gentle kisses

you wanted “fuck you”s, spit flying along sick expletives hurled at your bowed, desperate figure, sweet sticky semen coating your throat after it was abused and stroked as though you were a piece of plastic.

and as luck may have it, katsuki was more than willing to provide.

yet today you’d had enough, his subtle touches when you passed one another had garnered izuku’s attention; you’d reassured the male that it was nothing to bother with, that the two of you were just coworkers.

at least when his balls aren’t in your slutty fucking mouth, thick bubbled spit dripping onto your home screen as you text izuku that you’ll be home late for “stir-friday” once again.

the best sex was on days like today, when you got just a little too reckless at the mouth

when you needed a not so gentle reminder of who’s leaving you breathless all hours of the night

takes his time with you, fingers teeming with a slight brine as they’re sloppily thrust into your mouth with a “shut the fuck up talking to me like you don’t know who the fuck i am.”

degradation? baby, you’ve met the man.

“wanna act like a bitch, that’s fine. just don’t complain when i leave you limping like one, got it?”

you’re shoved atop a desk, it’s contents forgotten as katsuki latches onto a tit and proceeds to leave mark after mark, striving to rid any trace of your lover

panties tugged to the side, fingerpads waltzing up the length of your—no, his pussy

kisses down your sternum and the plush skin of your stomach, flipping you opposite him before snaking his tongue between your southernmost lips, devouring you like a man starved

but doesn’t let you cum, not yet anyway

“katsuki—please, i need it, don’t fucking tease..”

hates when you whine because it chips at his hard exterior, he’d give anything to pull another cry from you

“beg for it then. you had so much to say earlier, eh? go ahead and put your mouth to better use, fuckin’ slut.”

spanks you while he eats it from the back cause he can

and don’t even get me started on his size kink

lives for making you feel small against his large stature and even larger ego

“damn, you’re tight...thought deku would’ve broken you in a bit more for me by now—”

his pace is angry and unforgiving like his mouth, leaving you no mercy when he finally takes his place between your thighs

“that’s it...take that shit. don’t run...come on, tell me who’s dick you go dumb for, say it—“

“yours! j-just yours, never ‘zuku. fuck! m’ so fucking close please, please—“

cant fill you up like he wants, but settles for painting your body with splotches of white, watching them mix with your now-purpling bruises

and when izuku calls your phone on the hour to ask when you’ll be home, that cocky fuck answers

“relax. your little girlfriend and i are at the office with some reports, she’s so damn uptight...been on my dick this entire time. “

“should probably loosen her up more, maybe she’d be less annoying.”

𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘪:

he secretly loves it when you get like this

while dabi loves the rush of tossing around some brainless slut with a thing for fucking mass murderers

pussy was much better when it came with a little resistance, a little push back before he got what he wanted

“dabi come on..let her be. i’m sorry sweetness, this guy botherin’ you?”

his counterpart, keigo, was a top tier scumbag with grade-A looks, words mingling with a dulcet voice that could turn water into wine if he pleased

sienna wings bristled against his shoulder blades as he leaned down, an arm coming across your chest casually, bent over the back of the couch

“don’t call me that shit. actually, both of you are bothering me.” you grit, a hand swatting away tanned nimble fingers that were slowly making their way towards a breast

“see what i mean kei? she’s being a fucking brat. can’t stand bitches like her, always thinking they’re too good for guys like us.”

dabi takes a seat to your left, cyan eyes raking over the curve of your hips ravenously, staples gleaming in the bar’s gentle yellow glow

he was going to have so much fun breaking you in.

“ i think i know what her problem is....somebody just wants a little attention, right? hell, look at how she’s dressed...”

keigo’s eyes have taken on a darker energy, a hand winding around the width of your neck and squeezing lightly

“i don’t want anything from either of you assholes—wait, the hell are you trying to—ah!”

taking advantage of your pliant state, dabi’s hands begin to roam over exposed skin, a scarred set of hands slithering up your top

his abrasive fingers tweak your nipples roughly, rolling them between a forefinger and thumb with a lustful glare

“come on...don’t you want us to make you feel good? tell us you don’t want us to cream you like a fuckin’ twinkie, and we’ll leave your bitchy ass high and fucking dry, just like this.”

you hate them, the last thing you want is for either of these douchebags to be what gets you off

but god do keigo’s lips feel like heaven on earth when they’re against your pulse point like that, and dabi’s profuse experience shows in the way he manipulates your body to make you sigh in ecstasy, fingers slipping past drenched lace with ease to tease your sensitive clit...

“we—we shouldn’t do this out here, someone might see...s-shit, ah fuck—”

“so what? don’t want everyone to see how much you like getting double teamed?” keigo taunts, tongue darting out to soothe the harsh bruise he’d finished sucking into the skin beneath your ear

“nah, i think we’ll take you right here. besides, it’s just us and the boss man tonight. ‘should let him watch though, maybe he’d learn a thing or two about what a good fuck really looks like instead of that hentai shit.”

“so...you in or not? my hand’s starting to cramp.”

you nod, the motion serving at the catalyst for a number of debaucherous things that would soon happen to your body

marking is an absolute must

keigo’s practically feral once he knows you’re his to play with, love bites littering the expanse of your tits, neck, even the inside of your thighs

dabi marks you too, but he’s not nearly as nice as keigo, leaving handprints all over your ass, each one accompanied by a harsh yet tolerable burn

you can thank his quirk for that

they’re sloppy and they know it, dabi’s spit creating web-like strings connecting your pussy lips together, the metal barbell wedged between tongue muscle retreating from beneath your trembling thighs

meanwhile keigo’s reveling in the way your spit coats his dick in an effortless gloss, a hand keeping your head steady as he drives into your throat with reckless abandon

the saliva making its way down through the valley of your breasts while you struggle to breathe, eyes watering in both panic and pleasure as the two use you like a toy

they take turns, metal and heady sweat flood your tastebuds when dabi takes on keigo’s previous stance

dabi certainly makes sure you give his balls special attention. it doesnt enhance his pleasure, he just likes seeing you get so nasty for him.

not so high and mighty when you’re gargling the dick of one of japan’s most wanted, are you?

keigo’s dick reaches depths you didn’t think possible, tip prodding your innermost spots and making you sputter pathetically around dabi’s length, eyes burning as you try to control the heat in your lungs

“nah nah nah, don’t get all teary eyed now—thought it was “fuck us and our weak ass dick”? hm? well this weak ass dick’s makin’ you choke like a two dollar whore, and keigo’s about to pump that sloppy cunt full of cum...still think you’re better than us?”

you’re tossed between the two men like a ragdoll, until your body’s spent and you’re bred so good that you drip with their mix of fluids every time you shift a little

the men don’t hesitate to compliment your endurance, praising you for being “such a good little fucktoy”.

which in dabi’s words, is the closest you’ll ever get to a “sorry for bothering you”.

𝘢𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘸𝘢:

let me tell you a thing or two about shota.

he has no time, or tolerance, for bullshit.

between his atrocious sleep schedule, nightly patrols, and his day job as a high school teacher, he doesn’t have the capacity for mind games

so when you’d snapped on him like that, he did what he felt like was the most logical thing

he left you alone. he wasn’t about to get into some childish argument all because he didn’t give you the reaction you’d wanted over a dress

aizawa’s not a reactive man by nature

so when you’d purchased the sultry number, seams tight and neckline waivering on indecent

he’d merely hummed at the article of clothing in approval, committing the sight to memory before going back to finish reviewing his lesson plans for next week

which to you, wasn’t good enough. you wanted him to exhibit some sort of lust, something that made you feel like you still had him in the palm of your hand

it wasn’t like the two of you weren’t having sex, no not at all. but you wanted to feel like he wasn’t just attracted to you, but craved, desired, was desperate for your touch every now and again

and when he’d given his...lackluster feedback, you exploded, the two of you briefly exchanging words before you’d said that. shota was in no mood to argue, so he excused himself from the room to continue his work

“sorry if i actually want to, you know, feel desired by my own boyfriend? god, it’s like you don’t even look at me anymore.”

that comment stung, even recalling your wounded tone made his heart ache

was he really not paying attention to you?

but, unsurprisingly, the feelings of anger didn’t abate. just what made you think you could play these games with him, the two of you were grown, you knew if you wanted something all you had to do was ask—it made no sense

steel pen tip digging into the hurried scrawl of kaminari’s essay....if you could even call it that, he rose from his desk, relieved his tense neck from the presence of hair by knotting it into a high ponytail

beginning to strip as he made his way toward your shower

you wanted him to look at you? alright. he’d do exactly that, and then some. just remember, be careful what you wish for.

“shota? look... i’m sorry for how i acted earlier. i should’ve just communicated how i felt instead of blowing up on you like that, i just get frustrated with how much you work and how we never see each other, and it makes it hard for me to—mmph!”

he meets your lips with a subdued roughness, hands splayed across your hips, water trickling across stiffened knuckles while he fumbled and scoured for any piece of you he could manage to grasp

“you said you feel like i don’t look at you anymore.”

“lets fix that. i have a proposition for you. if you manage to hold eye contact with me for however long it takes for you to cum, my body’s yours to do whatever you want with.”

“however...look away for even a second, and i’ll have no problem reminding you just how much you can take before you’re begging for me to fuck you. you know how...efficient i can be. sound fair?”

now something he’d alluded to, but never said about this little agreement? there was no way for you to win.

on days where his exhaustion levels weren’t at an all time low, he’d find himself lapping at the slightly acidic, rich nectar between your thighs for hours and hours on end

so what made you think you even had the resolve to maintain eye contact the entire time?

you lose, though that was to be expected

and shota couldn’t be happier about it

now while it’s practically canon that he’s into bondage, let’s switch things up a bit

honestly, he’s the type to love proving a point.

he’ll make you ride his dick, not letting you stop for a second even though he’s practically in your stomach at this point

bad at it? he doesn’t care. your knees are giving out? not his problem.

“sho-please, i can’t, ‘s too big...fuck—“

“damn, and to think i had ‘weak ass dick’ before. now you can’t take it? pick a side sweetheart, your desperation is showing.”

he’s not incredibly vocal in the bedroom as that’s just not who he is

but makes an exception when it comes to making fun of you

“come on, you can swallow more than that, right? tch. you’ve gotten lazy.”

is another one of those “take a photo for future reference” type of people. but he’s respectful of not only your privacy but his own, and keeps it in the hidden photos folder of his camera roll like a sane adult.

he had to learn the hard way about the importance of concealing scandalous materials that one time hizashi was using screen sharing to suggest a new learning course during a staff meeting

only for the blonde to scroll and several pairs of eyes in the room to be blessed (or cursed) with the sight of a rather ecstatic looking woman bent in a position that would make a gymnast blush

also likes to give you sloppy, shallow half strokes to drive you to the point of insanity before spreading your ass cheeks and molding your body to the bed beneath you

“you wanna know what i was thinking about when you walked out with that dress on? hm? i wondered... ‘how long it would take before we used it as a cumrag after i was done with you?’ i thought about doing this.”

oh, and by the way, there’s a mirror above your bed for a reason. but we’ll get into that some other time, won’t we?

#izuku midoriya x reader #bakugo x reader #dabi x reader #hawks x reader #aizawa x reader #deku smut #bakugo smut #dabi smut #hawks smut #aizawa smut #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #kittybutmakeitferal #thanks once again for 1k you nasties!

[spideyspeaches]

Heart made of glass ↬ t.h

A/N: Beta read by the lovely @hollandcrush​ !! <3<3

Request (Summary): can you please write one about Tom, who is on the filming process of cherry and has some emotional problems because he feels that his character is already part of his life, so he comes home very angry and in a bad mood, so he just snaps and creates a big fight with the reader and just says things that he obviously didn't meant, you know very angst, and at the end just very fluff.

Hope you like this anon! Lemme know your thoughts heh <3<3

Warnings: breakdowns, slight vomiting but it’s not graphic. I’m not in any way romanticizing or sexualising breakdowns. 

WC: 2k+ 

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

Tom was an ambitious guy. He took his roles seriously, no matter what his character was and who he played. It was an admirable trait, the way he both enjoyed his work and worked hard to earn a high place in such a place as Hollywood. 

You always took pride in how amazing and accomplished your boyfriend was, your heart swelling whenever you heard his name being mentioned in events and interviews. You enjoyed how he tried to diversify the movies he worked in. 

("I've been playing the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man for so long, it's about time I play someone different now." He once said in a Jimmy Kimmel interview. You were watching from the audience, smiling as the audience roared in affirmation. 

"Well looks like you took quite a big leap from playing a superhero." Jimmy said, smiling at the audience with his paparazzi smile. 

You knew the question was scripted, quite harmless, but you still noticed how his shoulder stiffened, his smile not wavering once. 

"Well yeah, I used to be a superhero and now I'm a heroin addict." He joked, winking at the audience as he ran a hand through his nearly hairless head.

He cried himself to sleep that night, burying his face in your chest as you shushed him. )

It always worked in his favour, with the incredible support his family and fan base provided. And he was always so humble about it. 

Filming Cherry, however, was way different than he thought it would. With filming Cherry came consequences that he didn't necessarily like. He knew what he was bringing on himself and his family when he was first introduced with the script.

(Contrary to popular belief, he didn't actually give out spoilers, it was just small promotional stunts that kind of took over as his reputation to spoil minor details.)  

The process was intense, getting into the mindset of "Cherry" was taxing, and people were beginning to notice it in him. He was more restless, tugging at his non existent curls when he thought no one would notice. 

He was more clingy, more appreciative of your body and you, letting you know that there was no sexual intent behind his acts of caressing your waist at random times. You didn't notice the change in his behaviour. 

He had always been like this, watching you with the most gratifying gaze a man could muster, his pretty brown eyes like globes of whiskey, staring at you with a muffled expression. You didn't notice. 

There had always been a cutting edge to his voice, you knew and adored it. Behind the British actor who played Spider-Man, he was your Tom. Your Tom who gave you forehead kisses and baked cakes with you and made silly playlists that reminded him of you and you of him, your Tom who worshiped the ground you walked on, your Tom, your Tom and your Tom.

(Sometimes you envied that he was an actor, so good at hiding any emotions he felt, it came easy to him, just another fake emotion like he was a face behind the camera.)

He was never aggressive towards you. Never. Even on tough days, he was soft, caring and understanding to the point where it made you mad, immediately making you feel guilty. He worked so hard and yet here you were, blaming him for being nice, never standing up for himself.

"Uh, Tom, Tom stop, wait." You grunted, pushing his shoulders as he scrambled away from you at your discontent. 

You held his face, his breath hitching, hyperventilating as he tried to get himself together. 

Ever since he had started filming Cherry, he had been away from you. And now that you were finally here, he had been all over you, making love to every inch of your skin, like it was a holy grail he had to find, caressing your warm skin under his fingers making you shiver as his nimble fingers wandered. It was the intimacy, sexual and quasi-sexual, that made you realise, that there was something wrong.

Sex- it had been a constant in your life other than Tom. But of course, you didn't live on it. It was but a fuel that strengthened your relationship, it was about discovery and showing your vulnerable sides. It was a reminder of the coffee dates and baseball matches. It was loving, gentle and raw, like a gentle breeze caressing your face.

But this, this was different. And you noticed. This, what you had been doing, it was fucking. It was aggressive and needy and it felt good, but at the same time, it felt different.

"Baby?" You asked softly, trying to meet his eyes in the dark lit trailer. It was late, way past filming times, the only time you got to see his vulnerable side. 

You should have been in his hotel room, but you were in his trailer instead. All alone in the all encompassing darkness, it made your heart stutter beats. 

"Baby speak to me. What's happening, who's doing this to you?" You ask once again, holding onto him firmly this time, his squirming frame making you loosen your hold. You didn't care that you were naked, he had already seen it all. 

Fiddling with the rough sheets, he huffed a heavy breath. And that was all it took for the dam to break. 

"Tell me how do you feel baby, you're starting to scare me." You urged. All you got in response was his muffled sobs. Pulling him forward, you let his head rest on your bare chest, rivulets of tears sliding down your warm skin, almost burning you like acid, his tiny hair tickling you, a very contrasting feeling. 

"I can't do it. I can't take it anymore." He sniffed, wrapping his strong arms around you, shivering at the contact. It was a cold night in Cleveland, and you were naked and he was crying. You were berating yourself for not noticing. 

"What can't you take anymore?" You hold him, tracing circles on his buzz cut hair, just the way you did when he had his curls. 

"I feel like I'm becoming him. I don't like it at all, I try and try but I can't." He sobs, shoulders hitching with each sob. You felt your heart break, the sounds of his cries sending daggers into your skin. 

How could you have not noticed? The lively sunshine of a man was almost an empty shell. The interviews with former drug addicts had been excruciating for you, pity, disgust, sympathy and every other sinful emotion swirling in your mind. 

You couldn't believe that you hadn't thought about Tom, of what an effect it would have on him. 

"Bub, listen to me, carefully," you said, shushing him as he continued to look at you, teary eyed and red nosed, snot dripping out of his nose,"you listen to me. You're strong and resilient and nothing like him okay? He's not you. You're Tom Holland. You're brilliant and brave and amazing okay?" 

"But I don't feel that way!" He said, his aggressive stance surprising you, "he's- he's…" 

"He's what?" You asked, a little too impatient. Muttering a sorry, you rub your palm on his cheek, kissing the soft, moist skin.

"I don't feel so good." He croaked, getting up suddenly, making a run for the washroom. You rushed after him, watching him as he heaved into the toilet. Rubbing his back, you muttered affirmations, curling besides him as he sat on the ground, his back to the cold wall. 

You got up to switch on the lights, feeling his hands tugging yours, a soft "stay" coming out of him. 

"Better?" You asked, feeling him now against your collarbone. 

"I shouldn't be this affected, this- this isn't fair. I'm overreacting, I'm sorry I worried you baby I swear I didn't mean to-" 

"Shh, Tom first of all, you're not overreacting okay?" You smiled, kissing his nose, moving towards his brows and his forehead, "It's perfectly reasonable. The role you're playing...It's not exactly picking daisies. Fuck you're playing a heroin addict Tommy, a broken soldier with PTSD, a breakdown was inevitable. It only shows that you're human." 

"Really?" He smiled, it looked more like a grimace, a plea for reassurance. 

"Yes, really." You said, booping his nose, eliciting a giggle from him,"now, you better go to bed mister, you have an early shoot don't you?" You playfully scolded, kissing his lips, laughing as he carried you bridal style. 

"Tomorrow will be better." You whispered, kissing his eyelids, already closed, chest moving rhythmically as you counted his pulse, making sure he was completely asleep before slipping on your clothes, covering him with the thin quilt. 

***

"Is everything okay on set?" You asked casually, watching the crewmates work tirelessly in the daylight. 

You were standing next to Ciara on a prop jeep, fiddling with the water bottle held in your hand. 

"Hmm, as okay it can be with two people playing drug addicts." She shrugged, looking at you with a small smile. 

"Are you okay?" You asked, turning to give her your full attention, remembering your boyfriend's breakdown yesterday. 

"It gets… intense at times. Some scenes are hard to play, but we're okay. Mostly." She answered, taking your water bottle and chugging the water. 

"I'm not a therapist, but you can talk to me, you know?" You smiled, holding her shoulder as she gave you a bashful smile. 

"It's been tough on Tom. He's more aggressive, nearly had a breakdown during a scene." She said. 

"Yeah, that.. that happened yesterday too." 

"It was time, a person can only hold so much right?" 

"Yeah." 

You pondered her words, wondering if you could do anything to curb this. 

"I think I need help." He said one day while you were eating dinner. Harry, who was sitting next to you, looked up from his plate, giving you a knowing look before clearing his throat. 

"I'm gonna get some water." He said, waving awkwardly at you and getting up. You took that as a cue to scoot closer to Tom, running your hands through his camel hair. 

"That's very brave of you hun, asking for help." You smiled, kissing his cheek softly. You felt him smile, sliding closer to you, holding you by your waist. 

"I learnt from the best." He muttered in your hair, kissing your forehead. 

You felt his love that day, felt the way he ran his smooth fingers on your waistline, sliding across your thighs with care and softness you hadn't felt in a while. He was healing. It was a process, it took time but it happened.

***

You were walking across the library, his hand in yours, your hearts beating in silence. 

"How was your appointment?" You asked, shivering in the cold air. You rubbed your palms together, bringing your jacket closer to your chest, huffing the cold air. 

"It was good, much different from what the media portrays. She even showed me this meme she thinks you would like, look." He said, bringing out his phone to show you the saved meme. 

You laughed at his eagerness, kissing his lips as a final gratification. 

"Well it looks like you're having a great time. You have another scene left to do today in the evening so we better scram." You reminded him. 

You always did that, remind him of his schedule, reminded him to take a breath when he felt like he was drowning. You reminded him of home and what he had to look forward to.

"Why can't we have a lazy day today?" He whined, kissing your neck, making you giggle as it tickled. 

"You know you can't do that hun, you already took three days off." You snickered, poking his sides. 

"Well that sucks. I just want to spend my day with my girl, is that too much to ask?" He smiled, kissing your forehead, one hand holding yours, swinging back and forth, the other holding a large cup of coffee in a tight grip. 

You reached to loosen his fingers, taking a sip, slurping loudly, making him laugh. You decided you liked this laugh much better, it was breathy and free, a melody to your ears. 

You noticed how he was more relaxed and back to being that ray of sunshine. Back to being your Tom.

Thanks for reading! also as a side note- here’s a similar fic @itsallyscorner​ !!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #spideygirl writes

[palbabor-writes]

oh my god! your writing is amazingggg. may i please have a creepy! shiggy, dabi or hawks whichever one is easier for you where they really like the reader so they do yk normal creepy stuff like stealing her underwear and humping her bed and one day they get caught and they thought she’d be disgusted but she’s lowkey into it and she’s just super sweet and praising and a HUGE SERVICE TOP. I think they just need some good pussy 😔 if you decide to do this then THANK YOUUUU

｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ you’re too nice nonnie & tysm. i’m glad you’re here!

warnings: general degeneracy, masterbation, handjobs, SMUT, panty sniffin’   

You make a point to leave your room unlocked.

Oh, you’ll switch it up, every so often, just so he has something to work for, but  you prefer to pressure him with a time crunch instead of a locked door. It’s always so much fun. You make a show of dashing up the steps, feet thudding heavily on the warped wood. Then, right when you’re on the threshold, gosh, how could you be so daft, so thoughtless! You’d left your supplies downstairs, again! You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders. Silly, silly, silly.

The display does what you need it to, namely, giving him the chance to slink away. He’s always whisper quiet when he creeps into your space, it’s a miracle you’d caught him. But, even super-villains find themselves on the back foot sometimes, and boy, was he clumsy about this. 

It wasn’t like him. That was the slip up. No, his one, original, mistake was a simple one.

He’d left evidence of his arousal, of his lewd, heated, heart thudding, want. It was tacky, sticky, absolutely dripping with the milky residue of him. He’d tried to bury it deep, pressing it down into the bowels of your hamper, likely praying that it would remain hidden and you wouldn’t question it further when you did stumble upon it, hopefully weeks later.

You didn’t like to leave your hamper open and you certainly never, ever, left it beside your bed. It had been another long day and, at first, you’d only given it a swift glance, replaying the events of the night before. Maybe you’d lugged it over, too tired to pace the small distance? You had been in a rush. It was plausible.

Kicking your boots to the floor, you raise a hand to lower the lid of your plastic hamper when you spot the cascade of clothing. Again, it’s a tiny, tiny, fragment, but he should know better. It’s your job to notice the small, the obscure. Retcon is your bread and butter and this is too much, too tempting to ignore. 

Fingers follow the hollowed space his arm has left behind and you hit the panties, seconds later. They’re warm, wet, and you clutch them into your palm and pull.    

Fuck.

The lace is soaking. Fresh lines of cum run in thick rivulets, falling down your upturned hand and along your wrist, dribbling onto your bare feet. For a moment, you can’t seem to process the image that’s before you, your mind whirring through the possibilities, the faces. Who...no...which one of them did this?

The next morning, you’re quiet. It’s not unnatural. After all, it’s freaking 7 am, no one at the bar is talking. As you sip on your chilled, canned, coffee, your eyes carefully size up the men who are lounged around you. 

Shigaraki is perusing a newspaper, the pallid hand of father obscuring his face, but you can still catch sight of the red glint of his eyes. He looks bored. He hadn’t even looked up when you walked in, his back bowed and head down, engrossed in his search.

Dabi is perched on one of the dilapidated couches, his long legs curled under him, flicking a bashed lighter, open and closed, open and closed. Like Shigaraki, he hadn’t lifted his gaze to you at first. He had, however, answered a question. Just the one, when you’d asked him if he had found any newbies, any potential recruits. He’d snarked his reply, his cerulean irises latching onto you with a cruel sharpness. No was his answer and you hadn’t pressed for any further elaboration.

Compress was shuffling a deck of cards. Spinner was ticking through his phone. Twice was chittering with Toga. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You finish your breakfast and tell them that you’re heading out. 

No one replies.

******

Unsurprisingly, it happened again. 

It’s a different pair of panties but the glisten of the cum is the same. So is the lowered placement, the bevel of the clothes, and the position of the hamper. However, it’s a little more calculated this time around. The lid is closed and there are no traces of his entry, no cuts or nicks on the door handle or key hole, no scattering of your things, no dip on your bed. There’s nothing. 

Alright. Two can play at this game. 

The hamper is moved, strategically maneuvered into the bathroom that your room holds. You’re careful to leave the lid propped. It looks haphazard, but it takes a precise click of the plastic to lock it into that position. You’ll be able to tell if it’s been moved. 

You tug your panties out of your dresser and count them, noting the colors, patterns, the imperfections in the lace. If you’re going to do this, you need to know what you’re working with. The inventory must be precise, each variant recognized and tallied. 

Every day, it’s a rinse and repeat process. Yank the flutter of fabrics out, spread them across your sheets and count. It’s tedious, bordering on annoying, but you wanna know. It’s like an itch. It sits right where you can’t reach and it tickles at the back of your mind. Besides, you’ve always liked a good puzzle. Although, this isn’t quite what you had in mind, you’ll take it and you’ll solve it, if it’s the last thing you do. 

Two days after you start this mind-numbing task, four pairs go missing. 

******

It’s late when you stumble back into the hideout, padding past the darkened bar and up the steps. The mission, despite its lower ranking, and pay, you think bitterly, had taken almost three days. Thankfully, the information you’d gleaned was worth it, but you’re exhausted. You’re wiping a sleepy hand across your face when you notice your door.

It’s ajar.

Instinctually, you fall to your haunches, tip toeing toward the crack, eyes narrowed, fingers curled into fists. The room is pitch black but there’s something, no, someone, in there. You can make out their outline. It’s a jagged cut that sits upon your bed and you can hear the tiny hitches and groans that they’re gasping out.

As your eyes adjust, you can see more. Your knees fall to the floor, digging into the wood and you steady yourself against the wall, eyes wide. He’s propped along your pillows and his hand is working over himself, using the friction of another pair of your panties to rub himself to completion. You can’t make out the exact shape of his cock but from the rapid fire tugs of his fist you can tell it’s long. It must be thick too, since he needs to adjust his pulls toward the tip.

He’s quiet, but you can still hear the catches and moans he’s making. Your name slips out too and the utterance makes your mouth go dry. So that’s who it is. Well, wonders never cease. 

In the months that you’d known him, he hasn’t paid you much mind. Even through the haze of this strange obsession, he hasn’t altered his day to day routine, hasn’t broken character, hasn’t spoken to you unless the situation absolutely called for it. 

Damn. It’s too much, it’s way, way...no. No. It’s not that it’s too much, you think, mesmerized by the sight that’s splayed across your sheets. It’s nowhere near enough. 

You want to march in there, yank your soiled panties off his dick and hear what kind of noises he would make for you then. Would he shove you off, or would he welcome your notice? Either way, he’s too close now.

His hips have started to rut upwards, unable to resist the rhythm he’s created. The moans have drifted into hisses and his back arches when he cums, those familiar ropes of white splashing across the pastel of your lace. He’s careful to catch the drops, pinching the end of his cock and shuddering at the overstimulation. As he sits up, you cautiously rise, unsteady on your wobbling legs. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when your door shuts. His footsteps recede down the hallway and you can hear him as he thuds into his own space, the click of his lock reverberating in your ears. 

******

Thus, the game of cat and mouse continues. 

Outwardly, neither of you reveal your hand, keeping your cards close to the chest, out of each others line of sight. Your door locks, unlocks, and you keep losing more panties. You’ve marked the one that will make the difference. It’s your new, favorite, pair. You haven’t worn them yet, but they’re a lush item, expensive, luxuriant, an excess that you don’t usually allow yourself. You’d purchased them the day after you’d finally caught sight of him. You couldn’t help it. 

Most people, you reason, would be horrified by this situation, but not you. Oh no, you’re so turned on you can barely sleep. You start to masterbate in the early evening, when you know the others are moving around, your fingers trailing past your dampened curls, a careful fingernail pricking along your clit. You’ve even left your door open, cracked, welcoming the attention of anyone passing by. Once, you could have sworn you’d heard him. The whisper of that gasp, imagined or not, had bowled you over, your thighs clamping around your wrist, your cunt pulsing around nothing, hungry, slathering, desperate for more. 

You want to just toss those panties on your bed and provoke the interaction. Goddamnit, how much longer is he gonna make you wait?

****** 

Not even 24 hours later, they’re gone. 

He’s getting reckless, too. Your hamper is knocked over, the dresser drawer that holds your underwear is a crumpled mess, and he’s deliberately left a vacant hole where the panties used to lay. It’s screaming for your attention and you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your breast. 

Finally.  

The next mission you’re assigned is easy, too easy. It’s mid-afternoon and there’s no reason for you to be back this early. Well, that’s an oversimplification. There is a perfectly excellent reason for you to be back, you’re just hoping the sliver of intel that was dropped for you will pay off. 

Apparently, while the rest of you were out pounding the pavement, he’s elected to stay behind. He had something he needed to take care of. 

“It sounded important,” Toga informed you, her voice lilting, rising with that sharp toothed smile of hers. 

“Why are you telling me this,” you’d asked her, biting your lip and crossing your legs, soothing the throb that’s pricking in your core. 

“He just told me to tell you, didn’t ask him anything more. You know how he is. He can be, prickly,” Toga winks, popping her head to the side, bouncing her golden locks. 

“Alright,” you reply, adding a mask of disdain and disinterest to your performance. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” 

Lies, lies. 

So many fucking lies, but he must know that you realize, that you know. Why else enlist Toga? He hated having to lay things out. No, he must know, he has to.    

The bar is empty and the upper floors are deathly still.

Your door is sensibly shut but you can make out his jerks, his gasps, and those choked whimpers that echo past the flimsy wood. Your hand catches against the knob and you take one, last, steadying breath. 

Here we go.       

When you swing the door open he startles upward, his white hair curtaining the flush of his cheeks. Those vermillion irises land on you and he vaults away, nearly tumbling off the side of your bed. His pants are still bunched around his thighs, so that hinders him from making a true getaway. As he’s fumbling with the dark material, you don’t miss the shake of his hands and the spread of that lovely blush.

Oh, this is too perfect.

Before he can finish tucking himself back in his pants, you’re dashing across the top of your bed, ignoring the discarded panties, ignoring the dark glare that he gives you, ignoring everything but that heated bulge that’s giving him so much trouble. 

Impatient, your fingers curl around his wrists and you use the millisecond of surprise that your swift action has gifted you. With a low gasp, he falls forward, his knees sinking into the softness of your mattress. One hand lowers to brace himself, but he’s careful to keep a finger arched away, preserving the permanence of your bed. Before he can get his bearings, you’re pressing him onto his back, straddling his lean hips and lowering those dark pants back down. 

His cock, badly concealed by the upper line of his boxers, springs out, curving proudly toward his muscled stomach. For his part, Shigaraki squirms under you, his scarred lip set in a forbidding scowl. His deadly hands lower to yours, but you ignore his unspoken threat, knocking his trembling digits away. Your  fingers lace around his cock, squeezing at the heft of him, stroking up the spidery veins and grooves until he’s dropping his defiant head back against your sheets. 

“Wh-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, his raspy voice halting over the question. 

“Who? Me?” you laugh, tugging a few more gasps from his shaking lips. There’s a pale strand of precum that’s leaking from his tip and you brush your thumb over it, gathering it against the pad and using it to ease your motions. His hips buck up and he shoves himself into your fist, a long string of curses slipping through his clenched teeth. 

“I don’t think you get to ask that, dear leader,” you tease, leaning over his prone form. You’re glad he’s forgone wearing that creepy hand. It hadn’t even come into your calculations of how all of this would go. “No, not with the way you’ve been behaving.”

“I-I didn’t...fuck–” 

“What? Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. I sent you on that– ah– that mission for a reason,” Shigaraki bites out, shifting away from your close inspection. You smile at his discomfort and cup your free hand around his chin, yanking him back to you, forcing him to look up. 

“That’s too bad, cus’ I finished early. Looks like I’m just that good, huh?” 

He’s seething up at you, his eyes gleaming in the low light of your room, but he’s not making any attempts to leave. He may want to, but it seems his body has other plans. His cock is swelling as you pick up your tempo, your fingers clenching and releasing as you go, edging him along. 

“You ever fucked a girl?” you ask, leaning back to admire the tense enjoyment of the man under you. The muscles of his stomach, coil and writhe, flexing each time you hit his tip and relaxing as you make the swift pass back down. 

“N-no,” he moans, jerking his hips up, silently demanding that you pick up the pace. 

“Did you want to?” you whisper, lowering to his face again, letting your soft lips trace along his temple. His skin is rough, but you like the contrast. Shigaraki seems to enjoy it too, his eyes slipping behind his eyelids as he turns toward you. When he doesn’t answer, you slow the hand that’s passing over the strain of his length. Shigaraki hisses at the shift and his eyes pop open again. They burn as they blaze up at you, clearly echoing his displeasure. 

“Asked you a question,” you scold. He’s quiet for a long breath, but, after a few tense seconds, he lowers his eyes and nods, his jaw tight. “Should I take that as a yes?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Shigaraki grumbles, flashing a quick glare your way. “Was that clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, one delicate eyebrow arching at his disgruntled expression.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he huffs, grimacing as you lift your hand from him, freeing yourself to yank your shirt off. 

“What do you want me to call you?” you ask, unbuttoning your jeans and easing them down the curve of your hips. 

“My fucking name.”

“Shigaraki?”

“No. Tomura,” he replies, his voice falling into that deep rasp again. He’s watching you closely and you grin down at his frank assessment. 

“Alright, Tomura,” you begin, testing out the unfamiliar acknowledgement. “Let’s make this good for you, hmm? What are you wanting to try first?”

He’s silent and you can hear the grinding of his teeth. “What’s better for you?”

Oh. Well, that’s not a question you were expecting. “For me? Uh, I guess I prefer to be on top. Let’s me control things and–”

“So do that,” he shrugs, finally peeling those dark pants off his long legs. He leaves his shirt on, but it doesn’t matter, if you’re riding him it’s not like you can’t tuck your hands under the tattered fabric.

“After acting like such a creep, you’re being pretty nonchalant about all of this,” your fingers wander along his sides and he shudders again, his neck bowing off the bedding. 

“You’re one to fucking talk. Think I didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Ha! Well, well. No wonder you took my bait so easily. When did you figure me out?”

“That night you sat outside your door and watched me,” his hands raise to your hips and he urges you to hurry up, grunting when your dripping cunt traces over his tip. “Then you left your fucking door open. Not just once, either, no, you did it for days. It was a whole fucking week of that shit. Didn’t even need to steal a pair of your slutty little panties to smell you then. You reeked. I could smell you from my room.” 

You laugh, helping him to press up and he glides into you, stretching you, radiating a satisfying ache along the slippery heat of your walls. His legs lift and his hands fall from your hips. Once you’re fully seated, your pelvis flush with his, you give him a few gulping breaths. 

“Ahh, fuck, oh– fucking damn it. Ohh, this feels nice. God, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, his voice falling into a hysterical edge. You bite your lip and raise up on your knees, making sure you grip him tightly as you go. Another mantra of obscenities drop from his lips and his feet brace against the bed, his hips rutting blindly as you begin that slow lift and lower.

“How’s that?” you query, moaning when he returns those broad hands to your hips. His reply is a sharp thrust and you’re tipped forward, forced to sprawl over him, fingers digging for purchase in his dark shirt. He grunts at the weight of you but he keeps his pace up, using the bed as leverage. 

You’re so close to him and you can’t help but reach for his face, suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. He doesn’t fight your hold, but he does let out a long groan when you tentatively kiss him. It’s slow at first and you’re very conscious of those dangerous hands of his. They’re still braced against your hips, but the four digits are starting to dig into your skin, sinking into the vulnerable dips until you’re whining. 

He’s unsure, so you help him along. 

You suck and nip at him, teasing him until he’s raising his head for more. Finally, one of those powerful hands detaches from your waist and he snatches at the back of your neck, insisting that you let him explore you further. After a time, you need air more than you need his lips, so you shake yourself free, pulling away and grinding your hips down as he ruts into you again. 

“Not bad,” you tell him, grinning when he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips, his eyes lifting to peer up at you curiously. “Want me to take it up a notch?”

“No,” he replies sharply. “I like this.”

You snort at his blunt response and give him what he’s asked for. You keep the drags of your lifts slow, enjoying how he throbs and swells inside you. Each time you rise, you roll your hips and he sighs at every minor clench that your pussy does. After a time, you can’t ignore the pulsations of your impatient clit, so your fingers trail downward, delicately rolling and grinding against the bud. 

Tomura tilts his head at this and his hazy vermillion snags your attention. “Does...does that feel good?” 

For a second, you’re unsure what he means, but when his hand ghosts over yours, you realize. “Mmhm,” you gasp, giving yourself a quicker tweak, delighting in the widening of his eyes when your cunt flushes another wave of arousal around him. It slicks between your thighs and pools around his pelvis, gleaming against the dark curls that rest there. 

“Lemme try,” he demands, batting your hand away and replacing your fingers with his own. He’s clumsy and he’s not expecting it to be that slippery, but he’s a quick study and he watches your face expectantly each time he tries something different. 

“Y-you’re doing so good, Tomura,” you praise, lingering on his name, pleased that he reacts so positively to it. “Just a little bit...oh fuck...yeah, right there is perfect.”

You’re not being facetious either, he’s honestly killing you with those earnest looks and careful prods. Each time you gasp, he presses just a fraction more, testing out his new skills and expanding on them. As a reward, you keep the positive reinforcement coming, calling out his name as you fuck him into you, loving how he keeps pulsating and groaning each time you sink down. 

A thin misting of sweat is beading over both of you, but you ignore the heat, too close to care that you’re starting to falter a bit in your rhythm. Tomura is panting also, losing some of that focus as he races toward his own release.

“Harder, ride me fucking harder, (Y/N),” he commands. The sight of him gasping and groaning out your name gives you an idea. You acquiesce to his demand but as you start those quick pumps your fingers reach behind you, searching for something that you think he’ll like even more. 

Ah-ha!

It’s an older pair, not as frilly as the one’s you’d saved for him, but you’ve been wearing them all day, so that scent he was complaining about should be nice and ripe. His eyes have winced shut, so the flop of your lace panties startles him. He tenses for a second, but once he notices what you’ve given him a wicked smirk curls his lips. Instantly, his hand leaves your clit and he presses the fabric to his face, huffing heavily against the crotch. 

“You fucking tease,” he groans, his tongue tracing along the seams, lapping at the thin residue that you’ve undoubtedly left behind. “Ahhh, yes. I think I would have rather had you sit on my face, but this will work, for now.” 

The threat in his voice makes you shiver and you rock forward as you lower, snagging the sharp edge of his pelvis against your clit. Tomura takes in another deep breath at the sensation, his hand still holding your saliva filled panties to his lips. Just a little bit more. Your fingers tweak and pull, rolling the way you need. The heavy sting of Tomura’s cock is helping too and your pussy greedily begins to tighten around him, earning you a sputtered groan from the man beneath you.

“D-do that again,” he sighs, shifting your panties down his face so he can watch you. Obediently, you flick at your clit again and that stimulation, plus the heady knowledge that Tomura is watching, memorizing every move you make, hurtles you over the edge and you can’t help but slump forward as your orgasm crashes over you. Tomura lets out a guttural moan, flinging your panties away and yanking you to his parted lips. His kiss is frantic, nonsensical, more bites and slurps than any kind of caress, but you fall into his arms, overwrought and too turned on to think. 

Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he resumes that steady pounding, his powerful hips canting into you, peppering you with jagged thrusts that leave you gasping. 

“What’s the matter?” he taunts, his voice a wild rasp in your ear. “Can’t take anymore? Am I too much for you?” 

You don’t trust yourself to reply, already seconds away from another shuddering release. All it takes is the feeling of him swelling and the heat of his cum to reduce you to a gasping mess again. This time, a thin line of drool escapes your lips. Delighted, Tomura snags his hand in your hair, tugging until you’re hovering over him. Gluttonously, he laps at your lips, sucking until you’re not sure who’s making the bigger slob of themselves. 

When he’s finished, he rolls you off of him, splaying you out on the bed. As the world falls back into focus, you catch sight of him, leering over you, his white hair cascading around the two of you. 

“I don’t think I’m done yet,” he grins, one hand cupping under your jaw. “Besides, you could have given me this weeks ago. I think you owe me a few back payments. Don’t cha’ think?”

notes: ahaha. this is basically a full fledged fic. whoops. 

did i have anyone wondering if i was gonna pick Tomura or Dabi?                                        

#asks #answered asks #pal muses #on why she can't write small #it's not hard #except when it is #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #bnha smut #drabble #kinda? #i refuse to do a word count

[asset35-maya]

CALYPSO 🐚 ☕️

Part 1/3

Part 2/3:

“You call this shit an espresso machine?”

“I wouldn’t, but Fowler does. The department’s on a tight budget.”

“Hmmpff.”

Gavin watched Nines tinker with the cheap coffee maker in the break room. The whole thing was so absurd it felt like an out of body experience. He hadn’t had a partner in years and was now suddenly stuck with a military-grade android who bitterly resented every second spent by his side. It was also the first time he’d met someone as temperamental, as foul-mouthed and as coffee-loving as him.

Nines smacked the machine. It produced a pitiful whine and a stream of muddy brown liquid. Gavin cleared his throat.

“We should head to the scene now. Two victims in a warehouse. One human, one android. Battered beyond recognition. I’d go by myself but I need you to scan their identities for me.”

Nines turned around with disgust and something that looked a lot like fear written across his features.

“That sounds awful. Why would I want to come see such a thing?”

“It’s… your job…?”

“No. I’m not a detective. I’m a café owner. Markus and Connor might have forced me to sign a contract with the DPD but they can’t force me to do things I don’t want to.”

“And what am I supposed to do with an uncooperative partner?”

“That is not my problem.”

Gavin was stumped. He wasn’t used to people talking back to him, especially not civilians… not that Nines was really one any more.

“Come on, man. I don’t wanna tell on you. Let’s just make this work. Getting you in trouble is only gonna push you and all your fellow tincans into more hot water. Then you’d have lost your little café for nothing.”

Strangely, he found himself appealing to reason and logic. Nines’ aggressive demeanour was so similar to his own that Gavin had been forced to switch alignment entirely. His colleagues were pleasantly surprised by the change… though now there was a new rabid dog in the station they had to avoid angering.

“Fine. But tell me where exactly to scan. I don’t wanna be looking at those poor bastards any longer than I have to.

And don’t expect me to lick any blood like Connor the great. That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Of course.”

//

\\

“Oh god. Oh RA9. Oh my…”

Nines took a shaky sip of his blue latte and dropped the cup back onto its saucer. Ralph hovered anxiously above him.

“How on earth do you look at things like that everyday? You barely batted an eye. And they call us androids inhuman.”

“Fifteen years on the job will dull your senses.”

“When did you stop getting queasy?”

Gavin lifted his own cup to his lips, not answering until he finally got a taste of the specialty coffee Nines kept raving about. He sipped and sighed in satisfaction. Calypso was everything it was talked up by the press to be.

“Right after a triple homicide by this dude I went to school with. He grew up exactly the same way I did. He had a nice family, nice job. There was nothing wrong with him. He could have been me, I could have been him. But how did the universe decide who’d be the cop and who’d be the killer? No phcking clue. No rhyme or reason for the way things turned out. And that realisation chilled me to the phcking bone, dude. There’s things scarier than blood and guts and that’s the workings of our own minds.”

Nines considered that for a moment and shuddered. Ralph hastily walked away, muttering to himself.

“Ralph does not like these talks. Murders and killings and bloody, bloody things. It reminds Ralph of the old days.”

Gavin watched him retreat behind the store counter with a raised eyebrow.

“Where on earth did you find that specimen?”

“In a haunted house.”

Gavin blinked uncertainly, not sure if he was being serious. Nines barked a laugh.

“Both of us were living rough after the Revolution. He’d been squatting in different buildings since he deviated and I was one of the new units Connor brought onto the streets from Cyberlife Tower. Didn’t have any clothes on. Didn’t have anywhere to go. I just ducked into the first abandoned building I saw. Needless to say I got the scare of my life, just as the poster outside promised.”

Nines’ eyes flicked over fondly to Ralph. The WR600 was now dealing rather enthusiastically with a customer. Gavin followed Nines’ gaze, sipping the heavenly coffee while his perception of the world went through another sea change.

//

\\

“I’m proud of you, son. You didn’t want to join us at first but you went above and beyond for this mission.”

Captain Fowler pinned a medal of honour to the front of Nines’ dress uniform as the audience clapped. Nines inclined his head but remained expressionless. He glanced sideways and Gavin couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, scarcely noticing the matching medal that joined the other ribbons and distinguished service awards on his chest.

Connor and Markus were waiting for them as they got off the stage. Nines shoved past both of them, ignoring Markus’ outstretched hand and the camera flashes from the media.

Irony of ironies, Gavin felt the need to save face. He stopped to shake hands and pose for pictures with the leader of Jericho and new Mayor of Detroit.

“He’s served well. He’s done his part. When can he go back to his little café?”

Markus smiled wistfully.

“Securing Nines’ public service was not just a bargaining chip in passing the Android Equality bill, Detective. It was a key instrument.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t just need to guarantee public safety from advanced androids, we need to recuperate the development costs. Cyberlife received countless government grants for RK R&D activities. I need to show tax payers that their money didn’t go down the drain.”

“What the hell kind of freedom is this?”

Markus dipped his head and Connor swiftly motioned for a journalist to join them.

//

\\

“Turn the car around! Turn the fuck around!”

“Okay okay! Hang on!”

Gavin was used to Nines’ temper but he was now seeing it accompanied by anxiety for the first time. His hands were splayed out across the dashboard and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. The LED on his temple sparked red in between its rapid cycles of yellow.

Weaving expertly through the traffic, Gavin pulled up outside Calypso Café. Nines leapt out of the police car before it fully stopped.

Gavin saw the source of trouble instantly. Two burly men tossing chairs and kicking tables. A third was berating terrified patrons and a fourth jeered at Ralph, plucking at his apron and smacking his damaged cheek. Gavin knew that anti-android sentiment still simmered beneath the surface of their society, but it had been a while since he’d seen it rear its ugly head… and so violently at that.

Nines barged into his beloved café and bodily flung the men out. They flew through the air and hit the pavement as if they weighed nothing. Gavin watched with muted horror, realising why exactly anyone would want the government to keep an eye on the RK900.

There was a sickening crunch as Nines broke the nose of the man who’d been bullying Ralph. But it didn’t end there. He kicked him down the entrance steps and leapt onto the man’s torso, pummelling his brutish face into the concrete.

Gavin could barely hear himself yelling for Nines to stop above the cacophony of screams from the vicinity. Seconds flew by and spatters of blood turned into veritable rivulets running down the pavement.

Not daring to intervene physically, Gavin pulled out his service revolver.

“Nines, get off him! Nines, it’s not worth it! If you kill him, everything ends! Nines! Stop! I’ll shoot if you don’t let go! Don’t make me do this, man! Please!”

He counted down and cursed when Nines showed no indication of having heard him. He fired a warning shot. Then two more. And then he pointed his weapon directly at Nines.

One bullet to the android’s midsection.

A burst of blue.

A staticky cry of surprise.

And Nines dropped to the side.

The other aggressors scrambled to scrape their unconscious ringleader off the ground and hurried away. Gavin made no effort to stop them. He flipped Nines onto his back and looked into the angry blue eyes.

“Wipe all the security cameras on the street.”

“Already did.”

Ralph helped him carry Nines into the vandalised café. Gavin ripped open the stained shirt and felt up the chassis for the embedded bullet. He took the toolbox from Ralph and began to work, guided by a lifesaving instinct that somehow applied to androids too.

“I should have been there.”

“What?”

“Ralph. I should have been there with you. I’d have never let those bastards into the store. I’d have never let them put their hands on you.”

“Ralph is okay. Completely fine! There is no need to worry about Ralph. Ralph is worried about you. So much thirium…”

“This should have never happened. You were there for me when I didn’t even have a stitch of clothing on my chassis, but I abandoned you to run Calypso on your own. You could have gotten hurt badly today. I’m so sorry, Ralph.”

Gavin plucked the bullet out and began working to stem the flow of blue blood. His hands shook with empathetic rage, and Nines noticed.

//

\\

“I honestly think falling back on your core programming is the right thing to do. It’s the same thing as humans playing to their strengths. It doesn’t mean we’re still trapped by our software instructions. It doesn’t mean we’re not deviant. It just means that we’re choosing to do something we’re indisputably good at.”

Nines’ grip on his thirium beer was so tight that his knuckles had turned white. The synth skin was stretched to breaking point, exposing the plastic chassis beneath. Gavin swallowed uncomfortably. He found himself wishing that he was an android too and could telepathically ask Connor to shut the phck up.

As usual, he was the only one who noticed Nines’ tension. Hank and Fowler and all their other insensitive colleagues were nodding sagely at the bullshit the RK800 was spewing.

“I mean, sure, there’s plenty of androids who choose alternative career paths, but I think that’s just an unnecessary hill to climb. If you’re up for the challenge, go for it by all means, but why? It’s never made sense to me. I can’t imagine being anything other than a detective.”

Gavin’s eyes flitted between both ends of Hank’s backyard as if he were watching a tennis match. Connor continued to babble and Nines grip on his drink became increasingly vice-like.

Then there was a splintering sound.

A spray of blue beer.

A scatter of broken glass.

Time seemed to slow down as Nines pushed himself off the fence he was leaning on and made his way across the yard.

And then Gavin had a fleeting vision of Connor being tackled to the ground and having his jaw ripped off. He’d heard plenty about preconstructions but he’d never expected to have one himself as a human. Or was that just what they called a premonition?

Gavin moved quickly.

He actually ran.

He paid no heed to the irritated murmurs and cries of alarm.

He pushed a hapless colleague out of the way and inserted himself directly in Nines’ path…

deftly avoided the attempt to shove him aside…

wrapped his arms around Nines’ neck…

and kissed him.

//

Part 3/3

#tw: physical violence #reed900 #dbh rk900 #rk900 #gavin900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #gavin x rk900 #dbh #dbh connor #dbh markus #dbh ralph #dbh fanfic #dbh writing #my writing

[foodieforthoughts]

Dirty Secret

Summary: Henry is promoting his new movie and is in her studio for a talk show. Both of them know it means there's going to be a little bit of fun for him and her behind closed doors.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (female receiving), squirting, penetration, sexual intercourse, bodily fluids, exhibition kink (I think hope this counts)

A/N: First Henry smut ya'll! I wanted him to be different this time, a bit mischievous maybe, and not soft!Henry. Thirst away!

Tags: @wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @luclittlepond @momowhoo @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @asyverson @singeramg @supersweetstache @demivampirew @cavills-cavalry @raspberrydreamclouds @ramblings-of-a-cavill-lover @fuckoffbard @filmforb @thiccgeralt @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @iloveyouyen

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Title: Dirty Secret

I straightened my dress as I walked through the studio halls. My ID laid between my cleavage, the card swinging over my breasts as I took my steps.

I had gotten his text. A simple, "Meet me after it's over." He didn't have to say where, because it was always his changing room. And he looked particularly mischievous today.

I hadn't missed that sly smile and the half wink he had thrown my way. Conviniently so, I had stood behind his hoard of fangirls, who had shrieked thinking it was for them. I shook my head at the thought.

If only they knew.

The concrete floors of the studio reverberated with the clicking of my heels. I had a little surprise for Henry today. I had planned on it for months since we had scheduled him for the talk show. My core was already aching for him and the crotch less panty hose, that he had casually mentioned about last time, making it uncomfortable for me to walk with the wetness between my thighs. I awkwardly smiled at an intern passing by me, headphones in her ears and a notepad in her hand.

With a sharp rapt of my knuckles, I entered Henry's changing room. He always preferred them to be at the far back, probably for all of his secret rendezvous' much like this one.

"Took you long enough," He sat on the couch with his legs wide and his tie loosely hanging from his neck.

I locked the door behind me and walked to where he sat, his eyes following every move of my body like a hunter looking at his prey. "Being the boss around here, takes me sometime before I can excuse myself."

Henry smiled as I covered the distance between us. I looked down at him, his coat thrown to one side hanging by the arm rest, two of his buttons straining on the vastness of his chest to be freed.

Sitting up, he ran a hand up my thigh, making it's way to my center. His eyes widened feeling my folds, naked and ready, surprised to not find my panties.

"Crotchless," I smirked, seeing the effect of my sex on him.

"Perfect." He remarked and lifted the hem of my dress up to reveal my wet pussy.

I shivered looking at him eyeing my aching folds as his prize, lust overtaking his brilliant blue orbs. He licked his lips and ran a finger over my slit making me jump a little. He looked up at me, smirk playing evil on his lips, and grabbed me by my hips towards his mouth.

A sigh escaped my mouth as his warm tongue ran over my cunt. I placed my hands over his shoulders as he began devouring me like he had been hungry for ages.

Henry was a master with his mouth, using his tongue, his lips with expertise. He held my folds open with his hands, running a finger over my hole. He sucked my clit, pulling the hood back, making my thighs tremble with each flick.

"Unnh...," I moaned, careful to not be loud. Even if his room was away from the bustle of the studio, there were people around. The probability of getting caught made me feel more aroused than I expected.

"Sweet as always," he mumbled against me. I felt his fingers teasing my pussy, running up and down and in circles. I moaned, like a sex starved whore, when he inserted two thick fingers inside me.

"So tight, darling. Every fucking time." He kissed the inside of my thighs over my panty hose, leaving a wet trail of my juices. His fingers began pumping in and out, slow but powerful, going deep with each thrust.

My breaths came out short and I groaned as he added another finger, spreading me out. I dug my nails in his shoulders, grabbing a hold of his shirt.

Henry kissed me above my trembling clit, nuzzling the trimmed outline of my hair, breathing in the smell of my arousal. His other hand travelled behind, slapping my buttock hard and squeezing it simultaneously.

When he hooked his fingers inside me, I groaned. Henry bit my clit with his teeth, smiling against my cunt, when I let out a yelp. His digits, long and thick, found the spot inside me, hitting it with each pump. I thrusted my hip against his fingers, the overwhelming feeling of the oncoming orgasm knotting inside me.

This felt different. This felt like I was on a verge of an orgasm and it was building up like a tornado, fast and thunderous. My nails dug into his skin making Henry grunt. He looked up at me, fingering me faster. He was knuckle deep inside me everytime.

My thighs trembled and my belly contracted but with a primal moan, I came so hard, squirting a sheer liquid out with a force. "Ooh!" It befell from my cunt, uncontrollable, wetting Henry's shirt but he kept pumping me until my knees buckled. I had to grab onto him from falling and felt my juices dribbled down my thighs like rivulets.

"I-I'm so s-sorry. I don't-" I blushed, warmth spreading to my ears. I apologized, with trembling voice, to Henry who was looking up at me like he just won the race.

"It's okay, love." He chuckled looking at his wet shirt. "That was a first, wasn't it?"

It was. Never in my thirty-five years of my life had I squirted. But this man, all blue eyed and curly haired, had reduced me to a puddle. He grinned at me, victorious and proud.

Regaining my breath, I pulled him by his tie to stand up. He gladly obliged, standing up tall in front of me. He looked down at me making me feel small even with the five inch heels I had chosen for today.

"Let's get you out of this," I muttered and started unbuckling his belt. His cock felt heavy against the fabric of his pants, ready to be released from it's constraints. He groaned, gruff and loud, when I took him in my hands and gently stroked him.

Henry pulled me to him, taking my lips in his. I could taste myself on him, rolling our tongues together, fighting for dominance. His hand snaked down to my swollen labia, running his finger slowly over my stimulated clit in circles.

Just when we were beginning to pant, getting each other off with our hands, we heard the muffled voices from someone outside the door. Both of us stopped, frozen in place, carefully breathing in and out without making a sound.

"Someone is out there," I whispered. Yes, I owned this place, but I really did not want to show up on the front page of a gossip blog with the headlines showcasing what a wanton whore I was.

Henry looked unperturbed, mischief glinting in his eyes. He slapped my pussy, making me jump and yelp, again. "It just means we'll have to be quiet." With that said he took my lips back in his and kissed me with a renewed fervour.

He pushed me back against the dressing table with the blinding white lights, placing my ass on the cool wood surface. He walked in between my legs, spreading them with his body. Quickly, he took out a condom from his back pocket and dropped his pants down to his ankles, pulling his shirt off as well and throwing it across the room.

I marveled at him. His chest covered with dark hair, travelling down his taut stomach and joining his dense and darker hair above his cock, showcased what a real man should look like. I bit my lip as I took his throbbing dick in my hand. He was thick and long, twitching in my hand.

Henry leaned down to kiss me, pulling the zipper of my dress down from the back. It fell open, my lacy bra covering my mounds. He pulled the cups down, my breasts bouncing with the force. His lips travelled down the side of my neck, making me shivered and moan.

"Guide me in, love." He said against my neck, as he sucked at my skin. Grabbing a handful of my breasts and squeezing it.

I tore open the silver foil and rolled the latex onto his throbbing cock before lining it with my entrance. With the anticipation coiling inside me again, I guided him in, just the tip, letting my juices coat his twitching member. He thrusted his hip shallowly, letting the tip enter my wet pussy. I threw my head back, letting go of his cock as it disappeared inside me. I grabbed onto his back, the muscles tightening under my touch as he sheathed deep within me.

He groaned as my warmth enveloped his pulsating dick. I could feel him teasing the opening to my womb, his entire length not even fitting inside me. He held me close to his warm body, the hair on his skin feeling fuzzy against my breasts, as he began pulling out.

"Uh," A sound akin to mixture of a moan and a grunt excaped his lips. Henry was a loud lover. The last time we were together, I had to cover his mouth with my hands to stop him from scarring the life of the kids running about outside. But this time, I was the one who seemed to be unable to stop myself from moaning and grunting.

The voices outside grew louder and sounded closer than before. And the noise of our love making only got raucous with every passing moment.

Henry covered my mouth with his hand, smirking at me, no doubt remembering the exact same thing I had done to him. With one hand supporting my leg on his waist and the other covering my mouth, he plunged in my welcoming cavern. I moaned against his hand, our eyes glued to each other. He looked majestic in the white light, his face now beginning to be layered with a thin sheen of sweat.

The table rocked underneath us, it hitting the wall with each of Henry's thrust. He began grunting louder, his breaths beginning to come out labored and short. I pulled his face to my neck, muffling his voice as he groaned against my body.

His balls slapped against my bottom with every thrust of his hip. The sound of our muffled moans, the squelching of my folds around him and our bodies slamming together enveloped us. With a carnal roar, loud and guttural, Henry grounded in me with fast thrusts. His voice sounded loud against my ear, making me clench around him. I pushed him over the edge, for his breaths came in fast, emptying himself completely. He panted against my body, my leg falling from his grasp and his hand slipping away from my mouth.

His cock twitched as he rode his high. I ran a hand up and down his back, making him shiver under my touch.

"Oh God," He said, pulling away and taking himself out carefully. "That was something else." He chuckled, regaining his breath and pulling the condom off and throwing it in the waste bin.

I hopped down from the table, my legs feeling wobbly on the ground. My panty hose stuck wet to my thighs, bringing a blush back to my cheeks. We hurriedly pulled on our clothes, Henry changed into completely different ones, and I struggled with the zipper.

"Here, let me." He offered. "How are the kids?"

I laughed out at his question. "You are not asking me about my kids after we went at it like that."

"One friend to another."

I turned around after he was done. He looked dashing even in a simple tshirt and denim. But it was the smile of innocence that took my breath away. "They are with their dad this week."

"So," He began to speak but I interrupted.

"You know the drill, Henry." I said before turning on my heels to walk out the door. Smoothing my hair back in place, I turned around to face him before opening the door. "Should I be expecting your NDA to arrive at my office too?"

Henry rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch. "Can't let the secret out, now can we?"

I nodded before striding back to my side of the world, already anticipating our next meeting three weeks from now.

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill smut #Henry Cavill imagine #Henry Cavill x OFC

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, this time properly tho, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking, riding crop, dom!hoseok, sub!reader, i wasn’t even meant to write the hoseok scene it just happened, anal, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sensory deprivation, edging, finger sucking, to whoever requested this woohoo here you go !, creampie, now get ready the FUCK for this, orgy : ), you’re welcome, oral (m receiving), more anal, more oral, handjobs, dry humping, Sexy Massage courtesy of taehyung’s golden hands, an atrocious amount of cumplay, mutual masturbation, sub!jungkook, dom!basically everyone else, i call this the koogy, yes i know that name sucks, no i won’t change it, enjoy

banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | ty sfhs bbs i’m so thankful that i got youniverse

DAY FIFTEEN

You wake to the feeling of fingers in your hair, plush lips pressing against your temple.

Eyes flying open, you suck in a breath to cry out in relief the moment you see Jimin’s face above you, but he quickly covers your mouth, a single finger over his to indicate you should be quiet.

He’s knelt up by your head, and so he appears upside down in your vision. Still, the cocktail of reassurance and concern in your chest brings tears to your eyes. Dried flakes of blood cover the underside of his nose and the skin on top is blooming red and purple, but there’s a strange calmness exuding him in his tender gaze and soft smile.

“Morning,” he whispers, reaching down to ruffle Taehyung’s hair as he curls into your side. “We need to wake Tae. I want to talk to you all before the others get up.”

You knit your brow in confusion, blinking away the last of your restless sleep. “We?” Sitting up gently, Taehyung’s head sliding down your torso to your lap, you glance around the room. It’s still dark, but there’s clearly no sign of the youngest.

Jimin reads your inquiring stare with ease. “I meant you and I. Jungkook’s still in Sejin’s van.”

You suck in a breath, heart hammering. “He’s not leaving, is he?”

Jimin lets out a breathy chuckle. “Jungkook’s in the van calling his roommate to let him know he isn’t moving back in yet. He’s not leaving us, Y/n.”

Your shoulders go lax in pure relief. “Thank god,” you gush, “and he’s okay?”

Jimin nods, face holding none of that icy resentment you saw last night. “We talked a lot. To Sejin, to each other. Jungkookie feels awful, and so do I, but we’ve come to an understanding, you know?” Jimin clears his throat, and leans over, gently rocking Taehyung’s shoulder to wake up. “But I need to make things right with you all, too.”

You nod slowly, worry returning as Taehyung wakes groggily, tearing up at the sight of JImin. While you’d love to assure Jimin that everything was fine, there were still rocks left unturned that you needed to deal with before you could move on.

“You’re here, Minnie?”

Jimin smiles at Taehyung’s look of sleepy disbelief, cupping the younger’s face. “I’m here. I want to talk to you and Y/n; let’s go upstairs.”

Taehyung’s brows furrow, a hand reaching forward to hover in front of Jimin’s face. “Your nose…”

Jimin brushes Taehyung’s hand off with a small smile. “I deserved it. I’ll live. Come on; before the others wake up.”

On your way upstairs, Jimin quietly answers Taehyung’s questions, the same one’s you’d had. The further away from the lounge you are, the less likely you are to wake up the others, but still the sound of water smacking the tiles of the shower in Jimin’s bathroom seems too loud.

Jimin’s shirt is stiff with dried blood on the front, and he winces as he tugs the hem over his head. “I figure we can talk in the shower,” Jimin explains, “we’ll feel better after we clean up.”

You and Taehyung share a curious look, Taehyung still slow from just waking up, but undress obediently.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jimin says emphatically, carelessly discarding his underwear and socks. He waits for the two of you, naked, the streaks of blood and black strokes of his tattoo even starker against his skin with nothing to hide it. “What happened yesterday was awful, yes, and I want to make my apologies to all seven of you, but it made me realise something about us.”

Slipping out of the last of your clothes, you feel your toes go numb from the chilly tile. Jimin glances over the two of you, both undressed, and takes it as time to get in. There’s not much room left once three of you crowd in there, but the spray of the water is a welcome warmth.

“I realised something while we were all fighting,” Jimin repeats. “I can’t stop the others from getting feelings for you. Jin with Y/n, Jungkook with Taehyung. And right now we can’t even act like we’re together in front of the others, and not all of us can be sexually exclusive because of the show. And it’s clear from yesterday that, well… Things are different inside this house. When we can’t leave, when we’re always together. When we don’t have any responsibilities outside of this building.”

Taehyung recoils, his back bumping into the shower rack. “Are you ending things?”

Jimin’s eyes widen, shaking his head hastily. “Of course not- Well, not really.” He tips his head back, letting the strong spray soak his hair and dislodge the blood off his chest. The water is dark pink at his feet, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care, all of his attention firmly on the two of you. “This isn’t a good time for a relationship for any of us. We can’t be committed or open, really, and it’s causing more pain to us.”

Your heart softens in sympathy. “I actually wanted to talk to you both about that too. I… I don’t want to end things, but if I’m honest, I can’t see this working as it is. I mean; how do we draw the line for cheating if we’re on a show where I have to be having sex with five other guys?”

Jimin perks up, relieved at your understanding. “That’s exactly it! And I have an idea,” he trails off when he sees Taehyung’s dejected look. “Pup, what’s wrong?”

“I just-” Taehyung sighs and shrugs, shifting to lean against the glass. “I agree with you both, I just don’t want us to drift apart. It’s hard enough to be close as it is.”

“Oh, Tae,” you coo, reaching out to interlock your fingers. “I don’t think any of us want to drift apart. But what we have now isn’t stable. C’mere.” Taehyung lets you maneuver him as you crack open a container of body wash, beginning to clean him off with a loofah.

Taehyung goes slack, though he continues to hold onto your hand with a needy grip.  “Minnie, what’s your idea?” he asks softly.

“A promise,” Jimin explains hesitantly. “That on the final day, once we all walk out that front door, that the three of us give a relationship a real go. We can be free while we’re in here, do whatever or whoever we want. But when we leave this house, I can tell the world that you’re mine. And that I’m yours.”

You pause the soapy swoops of the loofah on Taehyung’s chest, turning fully to face Jimin. “A promise,” you repeat, the word feeling sweet on your tongue. “Jimin, that sounds perfect.”

Beside you, Taehyung gives a boyish grin, visibly relieved at Jimin’s idea. “Like a blood pact!” He pauses to wince at the stained water that runs in rivulets down Jimin’s chest. “Well, maybe less blood and more pact.”

“I think it’ll be good for us,” you offer up, guiding Taehyung forward into the stream of water to wash the suds off. “But… what about the others that still- that still have feelings for us? What if we start getting close to other people?”

Taehyung gently tugs the loofah out of your hand, and you shiver when you feel the graze of the plastic thread run down your chest. Tae smiles and does it again just to drink in your reaction, before he sobers up. “Would it really be so bad to get close to other people?” he asks softly.

Jimin winces. “It could get messy, pup. Especially if we’re still keeping this on the down-low.”

“It’s already messy,” Taehyung points out with a frown. He hands the sudsy loofah to Jimin, letting his fingers naturally slip into your hair, massaging your scalp. Even as your mind goes hazy with the pleasure of Tae washing your hair, you force yourself to listen to his words too. “Jungkook lost it yesterday because he felt like the rest of us were excluding him, that because I liked you so much that he’d be left alone. That’s fucking awful, Jimin. My heart ached for you too, but it hurt so much to see him that upset over something that doesn’t have to be true. If we’re going to let ourselves be free on this show, then I want to show him that I’m there for him, too. He’s important to me.”

You close your eyes. Behind your lids play images of the hurt on Jin’s face, of Jungkook’s look of betrayal and Namjoon’s tears. Hoseok’s lack of energy, Yoongi’s resignation. Your two boyfriends - boyfriends to-be now? - just as devastated as the rest of them. Every snapshot replayed over and over, making you feel sick. You couldn’t let things get to that point again. “He’s important to me too,” you murmur, Taehyung shifting you so that the water clears away the soap from your hair. “None of us did right by him. I wanna spend some quality time with Jungkookie today and cheer him up a bit. Show him that we do care.”

“I’d like that,” Jimin says. “Him and I talked a lot last night, you know? He’s a pretty smart kid. I’m sure he’s beating himself up right now for losing control like that.”

The two guys finish cleaning themselves up, the water finally running clear as you wring your hair out. Stepping out of the shower to grab a towel, Taehyung sits himself on the edge of the bath, giving you space to get your own towel and start drying off. “Minnie,” he calls out unsurely.

“Yeah, pup?” Jimin says with an easy smile. Taehyung pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek, making the blue-haired man frown. “What is it, Tae?”

Taehyung looks down, his toes wiggling against the tile floor. “It’s great that you made up with Jungkookie, and I appreciate you talking to us, I really do. But you need to apologise to Hoseok.”

Jimin’s smile falters, a line deepening between his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You elbowed him right in the face, Min,” Taehyung says in exasperation, “you need to say sorry.”

You should bite your tongue, keep Hoseok’s business to himself. But your worry for the dom outweighs that instinct. “Hoseok thinks you really hate him now, Jimin,” you explain slowly. “He thought the two of you were playing up the rivalry for some good drama on the show, but now…”

Taehyung’s eyes are round, glittering. “Do you hate him, Minnie? Hobi-hyung is actually really nice once you get to know him.”

Jimin stiffens up, letting out a sigh as he lets his towel fall, stepping into some boxer briefs. “I just think he’s here for a good time instead of caring about the competition.”

“But do you hate him?” the masseuse presses. Jimin falls silent, getting dressed. Satisfied, Tae begins to dry himself off and dress too. “You at least owe him a conversation,” he finishes.

Jimin swallows, tugs a shirt over his head. “I do,” he admits, “and I’ll apologise.” He pauses with a sigh, eyes darting over Taehyung with a look akin to wonder. “You’re determined to make me a better person, huh?”

“I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for, that’s all,” Taehyung says lowly. “Anyways; the others are probably waking up by now.”

You finish changing quietly, your mind beginning to grow waterlogged with all the conflicts and relationships floating in your mind. Elimination was meant to be about the sex, sure, but things had grown so thorny that you knew that whoever you voted out tomorrow morning would have repercussions in everyone else. If you took out Hoseok like you were going to last week, would it make it more difficult for him and Jimin to smooth out their differences? If you voted out Jungkook, would he just spiral more, already so unstable? You could vote one of the older ones, but age didn’t mean it would hurt less. Yoongi would be so shocked coming off his win. Jin would probably think you were publicly rejecting him. To cut Namjoon off after he was finally finding his feet just seems cruel. And could you possibly vote off one of your boys?

“Are you okay? Y/n?”

You glance up, Jimin and Taehyung by the door, staring back at you. “Oh; are we going?”

Worry flits across their faces. “I just said we should head out,” Jimin explains, “are you alright?”

You push down your worries, taking a deep breath. “Stressed about elimination. At least I have another day to decide.”

Taehyung lets out a low sigh of empathy, stepping back in to link your arms. “Oh, petal,” he croons, leading you out into Jimin’s bedroom. “If you really can’t decide, you could flip a coin for it.”

“Tae,” Jimin chastises, though there’s no bite to his tone.

“I’m serious!” Taehyung insists, reluctantly letting go of you the further away you get from the privacy of Jimin’s room. “I hate seeing Y/n upset. It would be easier if she didn’t have to feel guilty about the decision, you know?”

Your heart sings at Taehyung’s thoughtfulness. “I think I’ll feel guilty either way, but I appreciate it, Tae. If I ask you for a coin, you know why.” He smiles at you, opening his mouth to reply, but your attention is quickly caught by the sight of a hunched figure sneaking in through the front door. You gasp. “Jungkookie?”

He looks a mess; eyes red, hair tangled and clothes wrinkled from a restless night. There are a hundred reasons you should be angry at him. He hit Jimin, he insulted you and everyone else in the house, he made Tae cry. But all you can think of is the devastation on his face when Sejin dragged him out of the room, the way his voice cracked on every apology.

Jungkook barely processes you rushing down the stairs before you’re colliding into him, the air punched out of his chest as you tuck your face against him and wrap your arms around his back tightly.

“Wha-?” Hesitantly, like he’s convinced you’re going to freak, he brings his own arms up, reciprocating the hug. “Y/n?”

You feel tears prick your eyes as you feel the tension leave his body, relief that you weren’t currently hitting or yelling at him. He presses his cheek against the crown of your head and sniffs back a sob, making you tighten your grip. “I’m so sorry, Gukkie,” the nickname leaving your mouth without thought.

He lets out a weak laugh of disbelief. “I’m the one that’s sorry,” he insists, voice still a shocked whisper. “I fucked up so bad, how do you not hate me right now?”

You feel pressure to your left; Taehyung joining the hug, arms around the two of you. “We all fucked up,” he says airily, like it’s of little importance. “What matters now is that we stick together and make sure not to do that ever again. We were so worried about you, you know? Sejin made it seem like you two might leave for good.”

You pull back just enough to take in Jungkook’s face as he gives the two of you a teary smile, before his eyes flit behind you to where Jimin stands. Eyes warming in understanding. “We aren’t leaving.”

You see Jimin’s hand reach out over you to squeeze Jungkook’s shoulder. Stepping closer, he gives the youngest a warm smile. “We should go in to the lounge. Both of us have some apologising to do.”

Jungkook swallows and nods, letting you and Tae go as the four of you make your way inside.

In the lounge blankets and pillows are still strewn over the carpet. While most of the guys are up in the kitchen, moving glumly, Yoongi and Jin are sitting on the floor with their backs against a couch, speaking quietly. They’re the first ones to notice you enter, the rest preoccupied with making breakfast.

Yoongi winces when his eyes land on Jimin, the doctor no doubt concerned about the blooming colour across the bridge of his nose. “Sejin said it’s not broken,” he says as way of greeting.

Jimin shakes his head ruefully.

“Then my sympathy for you is minimal. Come on; we should go to the table for this.”

This is unspoken but clear to all of you. The point where you had to make it right, assess the damages in the aftermath and do what had to be done.

Pulling the chairs out from the table in the space between the kitchen and the lounge, Jimin and Jungkook choose to sit beside each other, Taehyung scooting in close beside Jungkook, the two having stuck close together this whole time. Even in the solemnity of the situation, it warms your heart to see them almost back to their normal selves. Back to the time when they were like partners in crime. With the way Taehyung grins softly at what Jungkook says, the two leaning their heads in conspiratorially, you don’t doubt they’ll be back to their usual ways soon.

The squeak of the chairs has caught the attention of those in the kitchen by now, and Namjoon gasps at the sight of them. “Oh, Jimin!” he exclaims. “What happened to your nose?”

You have no doubt that the question slips out automatically without Namjoon even thinking about it. Jimin laughs, wincing when his nose crinkles. “I don’t know if you recall,” he jibes fondly, “but I got sucker punched in the face last night.”

Jungkook punches him on the shoulder lightly, though his strength still jostles the older man. “Nothing a good face mask can’t fix, hey?”

“I can’t stand you,” Jimin complains with a sigh.

“Thank god you’re sitting down then, hyung.” Jungkook grins cheekily, everyone else stunned into silence. It’s such a far cry from the screaming match last night that it’s hard to wrap your head around it.

As the rest of you sit - you at one end of the table adjacent to Jimin, Yoongi taking the opposite end and Namjoon and Jin following beside him, Hoseok is forced to sit directly across from Jimin. He watches the two of them cautiously, a bluish circle on his right cheek evidence of the altercation last night. Jimin’s smile drops when he sees it.

Yoongi waits for everyone to sit before he clears his throat lightly. As the calmest person yesterday, it doesn’t surprise you to see him speaking up first. “Yesterday was unacceptable,” he says lowly. “But the fault rests on no single person. We all made mistakes, so let’s just front up about it and try and move on. I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough pain to last me the show.”

“Can I start?” Jungkook asks softly, as the others nod in response to Yoongi. “I, uh, I have a lot to apologise for. But… I don’t apologise for telling you all how I felt. Because it really sucked feeling like the odd one out. I don’t want your pity now, I just want to be friends again, you know? I want to get close to everyone again and enjoy being here.”

“Oh, Jungkookie,” Taehyung coos, leaning over to rest his head on Jungkook’s shoulder. Instinctively, your eyes find Jimin’s, but instead of looking upset or irritated, he sends the pair a fond smile. No longer was it a bad thing that one of you was sharing affection with one of the other guys. Now you had the freedom to see it as a good thing; it was good that Taehyung cared for Jungkook, it was good that Jungkook was being cared for. Your heart feels full watching Taehyung be so loving of the youngest guy in the house.

Jungkook himself takes a bracing breath, grateful of the contact. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I took things too far. I was so wound up that I couldn’t think straight, and I know I need to work on not getting aggressive. What I did was so, so wrong. Telling Jin’s secret without permission and hitting Jimin? I’m so ashamed of myself. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your trust but I do selfishly hope you’ll give it to me anyway.” He finishes with a self-deprecating shrug, eyes locked down on his lap.

Jimin reaches over to take Jungkook’s hand in his, patting it. “You know you already have my forgiveness.”

Eyes around the table shift to Jin, who shifts, face impassive. He stays silent for a few moments, jaw working. “I forgive you,” he says finally, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not upset at you for doing what you did.”

“I understand, hyung,” Jungkook replies in a low voice. Before he can speak further, the oldest clears his throat.

“Speaking on that,” Jin states, his face slightly stiff with discomfort, “I need to apologise too. I… At the start of this game, I told you all that my door was always open, that I wanted you to see me as somebody you could come to for advice anytime… I shouldn’t have done that. Of course I want to help you, but it wasn’t wise or healthy for me to commit to that. I’ve struggled a lot in my career with putting my own feelings and wellbeing on the backburner in order to prioritise my clients, and I fell in that hole yet again. I can’t stay objective when my emotions are so clearly compromised, and we saw the consequences of that last night. If I hadn’t have gotten so involved, perhaps I could’ve de-escalated the situation.” He clears his throat, takes a breath, and glances around the room with a small smile. “So with all due respect, I’m resigning as the show’s live-in therapist. Come to me if you wish, but please do it as a friend.”

You return the smile broadly. “I’m really proud of you, Jin, that sounds like a good idea.”

He laughs sheepishly, ears pinkening. “Anyways, that was all I had to say. Anyone else?”

Jimin raises a hand. “I’ll take that up,” he says warmly. “First of all, I want to say sorry to all of you. Jungkookie; I know we talked for a long time last night but I want to say again that I was far too harsh on you, and defensive when I should’ve been sympathetic. Everyone else, I apologise that you had to deal with me like that, being so nasty. It’s easy for me to let my- I don’t want to make excuses,” he says with a grimace, “but my experiences and my time in the porn industry made me a very negative and jaded person for a long time. I’m trying to get better, but I let my efforts slip last night and I’m so fucking sorry. You all have been so patient with me, and I wanna do right by you.”

Across from him, Hoseok listens intently. When it seems Jimin is done speaking, he presses his lips together and looks away.

But then Jimin says his name.

Hoseok glances up with a shocked look as Jimin lets out a regretful sigh. “Listen, me hitting you was so wrong,” Jimin admits plainly. “I wasn’t really thinking, it wasn’t a personal thing at all. But regardless of my intention yesterday, I wanna be really clear now. I think you’re a dipshit and an asshole, and you eat so fucking loudly, but I don’t hate you. I never have.”

Hoseok gapes for a moment or two, lips moving silently. “I- Jimin, I don’t hate you either,” he confesses. “You’re a wanker and too egotistical for your own good, but yeah. I don’t actually hate you either. You’re just fun to wind up, Peaches.”

Taehyung stares between the two of them; Hoseok wearing a self-satisfied but relieved smile as Jimin sputters. “You two should kiss,” he breathes dreamily.

“Tae,” Jimin protests, scandalised, but soon the entire table is joining in cracking up at the two rivals. “Guys!”

The sound of everyone laughing freely suddenly hits you in the chest, and you have to blink quickly to stop from tearing up. You’d missed this more than you even realised. “Can we just- Elimination isn’t until tomorrow now,” you remind everyone, hands wringing, “so can we just enjoy today? Spend it together? Of course not all of us may be over what happened, I don’t know, but I just want to really be with you guys.” You bite your lip as you glance around the fond looks of the guys, none of them sheltering the resentment you probably deserve. “I haven’t treated all of you fairly, and I want to make it right by spending more quality time with you… If you want to.”

Yoongi, who’s been pretty quiet this whole time, winks at you from the opposite end of the table. “I like the sound of that,” he supports with a heartfelt tone, “but if I’m going to be stuck with you jokers for the day, I need some food in me.” He turns to the youngest. “JK, could I request your assistance in the kitchen. I need your G.I. Joe muscles to chop some vegetables for me.”

“I can help?” Jungkook asks hopefully, before getting out of his chair with such enthusiasm that it just about falls to the ground. “I’ll go wash my hands, Chef Min!”

You’re so caught up in watching them banter back and forth, making their way to the pantry, that you don’t notice a whispered message spreading until Jimin leans into your side easily, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

You jump, making him let out a breathy laugh. “We’re all taking extra special care of the baby today. Pass it on.”

You pull back with a bemused smile. “Is that so?”

Jimin rolls his eyes, but a smile quirks at his lips. “Taehyung’s idea. Are we surprised?”

Your eyes find Taehyung. He’s getting up himself, skipping over to the kitchen insisting that he’s going to help. “Not for a second.” Hoseok is to your left around the corner of the table, and you scoot over, placing a hand on his arm. The dom looks at you with wide eyes when you lean in close, though Jungkook is far enough away in the walk-in pantry that you just speak lowly. “Everyone’s gonna pamper Gukkie today, you in?”

Hoseok’s eyes crinkle prettily, beaming. “I’m game. The kid deserves it.”

You indicate to pass the message on to Namjoon, but Hoseok’s hand flies up to grip your elbow, keeping you close. “Hobi?”

His face is open, eyes pleading. “Spend some time with me today?”

Your heart warms even as guilt runs thinly through your veins. “Of course. We could go pick some board games?”

His beam returns, radiant. “Let’s go.”

As it stands, the one storage closet in the villa is filled with all the equipment you could possibly need. Larger cleaning supplies that didn’t fit in the laundry like a mop and broom, a small stack of games, some spare linen - and, as it seems, the collection of sex toys that the show provided.

Under the stairs, the closet is just big enough for you two to slip inside, you turning on a light and letting out a giggle at the set of drawers that houses the Bangasm collection. Each drawer is labeled with a plastic sticker - insertables, wearables, miscellaneous. Above, hanging on what looks like a coat hook nailed to the wall, are a number of riding crops and flogs.

“Far out,” you muse, “Monopoly and anal plugs, what a clo-oof!” The breath is kicked out of you as Hoseok grips you by the shoulders, whirls you around to face him and pushes you against the wall, his body caging you in. “Hoseok,” you gasp breathlessly.

He leans in, face cast in shadow from the naked bulb dangling behind him. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, lips barely brushing yours.

Your eyes flutter shut. “Fuck, yes it is!” You don’t even finish your sentence before he’s pressing his body against you fully, lips moving greedily against yours. You let out a satisfied hum, hand reaching up to anchor yourself, hooked on the nape of his neck.

You fall so fully into the kiss, going lax with every teasing swipe of his tongue that you struggle to keep track of his hands. It feels like they’re everywhere; running up your sides, tugging at your waistband, brushing over your jaw. You don’t come back to clarity until you feel one fisting in your hair, pulling your mouth away from him.

You moan wantonly into the quiet of the closet, but Hoseok tuts at the noise, slipping his thumb into your open mouth. With bleary eyes, you wrap your lips around the digit and suck automatically, making him curse.

“Are you gonna be quiet like a good little girl?” he questions. “Gonna let me fuck that pretty little ass of yours?”

Your eyes widen, making a strangled noise in the back of your throat even as your core aches.

He grins, wolfish. “Surprised? I thought I better give your pussy a rest. You’re lucky I’m so thoughtful, hm? Say, ‘thank you, Sir.’”

You open your mouth to pull back, but he keeps the pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue. “‘ankoo, thir.”

“That’s it, princess. Turn around now, hands on the wall.” Finally he removes his thumb from your mouth, giving you space to adjust yourself, but you can’t help but miss the feeling of fullness, of having something to suck on. You bite your lip as you crane your neck to glance behind you, but a dull bloom of pain on your ass makes you jump. “Did I say you could turn around?”

You shiver, the aching spot too small to be his hand. “No, sir.” It’s impossible to keep your head forward when you feel cold hands slipping your pants and panties down, letting them sit mid-thigh. You grit your teeth and stare ahead at the lightswitch.

“That’s it,” he repeats again. His voice is low, rhythmic timbre that has your mind smoothing out, giving over to him. “The walls of this closet are thin so you aren’t allowed to make any noises, got it? And keep your face forward.”

“Yes, sir,” you sigh out automatically, feeling a cold square of something run over you. It isn’t solid like plastic, but there’s a stiffness to it that makes your toes curl. The thought of it striking you again, without clothes to dull the impact, has your hips rocking back needily.

His free palm runs over your bared ass, slowly warming to your skin’s natural heat. You relax, sighing, and it’s in that moment of letting your guard down that he strikes you again, the sound echoing thinly in the small room.

You let out a throaty cry and jump away, even as you feel heat gather between your legs at the delicious sting.

“Shh,” Hoseok chastises, his hand now soothing the mark. “Now you know what it feels like. That’s a riding crop, princess. Never felt one of those before?”

Your head falls between your shoulders. You want to turn around so bad, and it makes him chuckle. “No, sir.”

“I’m sure we’ll be getting better acquainted with it,” the dom says airily, before you hear the crack of a plastic lid. The contents are immediately recognisable as the icy coolness of lube is spread down your center, Hoseok’s finger circling the tight muscle of your ass. “Relax for me, princess.”

You do your best to follow his command, willing yourself to go lax. The initial intrusion of his first finger feels so alien, invasive, that you let out a whine. Hoseok punishes the noise with a quick, light swat of the riding crop, and you inhale harshly through your nose, clenching around his finger as it slowly thrusts inside you.

“You’re doing so well for me, princess. I’m going to put in another finger now.”

Even with his warning, the added stretch has you trembling, knees struggling to support your weight. It feels right on the edge of how much you can take, not painful but so overwhelming, and you find yourself desperate for something to ground you. The riding crop… Taking your chance to seek out punishment, you crane your neck back to see him.

He’s not in the outfit you saw on him last Monday, but he’s still wearing mostly black, the only exception being a metallic belt cinched at his waist, glinting in the light from the bulb. The riding crop, one he’s no doubt taken from the coat hook, is an innocuous looking thin black rod with a squarish fold of leather at the end. His fingers grip the end gracefully, and the second he sees you glancing back, they tense and flick it, catching you on the thigh.

It hurts more there, but the pain feels like a warm anchor, and a dopey grin stretches across your face as you turn your head back. “Thank you, sir,” you sigh out happily, the consistent movement of his fingers inside you beginning to feel good.

Hoseok clicks his tongue, bemusement clouding his tone. “Is my princess a little pain slut, hm? I’ll spank you if you need it, baby, but if you turn your head around one more time, you’ll regret it. I don’t appreciate being deliberately disobeyed.”

True to his word, the hits begin to rain down more regularly. Each one stings for no more than a moment, his blows far from bruising, but still the ache has you muffling your moans in your throat, high on it.

So caught up in anticipating where the strip of leather would strike next, you barely even realise he’s moved up to three fingers before he’s slipping them out. Letting out an unbidden whine at the emptiness, you jump when a much sharper stroke lands on the back of your opposite thigh, your knee almost giving out.

Fingers curling on the walls of the closet, you pant out an apology as you listen in to the sound of his buckle and zip. Soon enough, the blunt head of his cock is pressing to your entrance.

Automatically, you tense up, resulting in a quick swat on the top of your ass. “Relax,” Hoseok commands gruffly, punctuating the word with another hit.

You barely manage to keep quiet as he sinks into you, so much deeper than his fingers could ever reach. Biting harshly into your bottom lip, you sink your chest further down, braced fully against the wall.

Hoseok seems to be just as affected as you, grunting as he bottoms out. “Fuck, so tight,” he growls, hands gripping your hips. The rod of the riding crop digs into your hipbone and you miss the feeling of it swatting you, even as your skin feels red hot. You moan out loud, hoping to incite punishment, but he just rocks into you and hisses at the snug fit. “God, taking it so well, princess.”

You moan again as he begins to thrust inside you, this time unintentionally. But still, he’s lost in the feeling of you clenching around him, and lets your breaking of the rule slide. With every slow stroke of his cock, your pussy feels empty, clit needy for contact. But the stretch of him in your ass has drool pooling on your tongue, hips rocking back against him in the hopes for more.

Wary of the thin walls Hoseok mentioned, but craving the sting of the riding crop, you let out quiet cries, even whining his name. The dom just chuckles, continuing his achingly slow speed. “Want something?”

Fuck. “You’re really going to make me beg?” you ask breathlessly. “You said we had to be fast.”

“You’re right.” Without ceremony, Hoseok pulls out of you. The absence causes you to immediately plead, feeling so empty without him. Luckily, your mindless babbling proves his point, and he slips himself back inside with one resolute snap of his hips. “If there’s something you want, you better hurry up and ask nicely, princess.”

You sob, back arching to feel him even deeper, his thrusts far too slow to get you anywhere. “Fuck, please spank me sir, I wanna feel it.”

“Since you said please,” Hoseok quips dryly, before his hips resume their pace, enough for your body to be bounced forward slightly on every upstroke. It’s then that he readies the crop and when he strikes, it’s without mercy.

One hand coming forward to slip his thumb back into your mouth - enough to muffle your cries but leaving sufficient space for you to safeword if you needed it - the other rains down countless hits on your sensitive ass and thighs, the skin on fire as each swat rings out in the small space. Paired with the smooth, constant stimulation inside you, the pain rackets your orgasm closer and closer, making you tremble and suck harshly on his thumb.

“Close, princess?” Hoseok asks with a breathy chuckle, and you nod frantically, moaning around his digit. Suddenly, he slows down to a teasing grind, and you hear the brittle clatter of the riding crop drop to the floor. Ignoring your disappointed cries, he runs his calloused palms over your sore skin. “Oh, look at you,” he coos, “I knew this ass would look perfect after a good spanking. Pretty in pink.”

It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap, but you’re so out of your mind from the edging that you turn around to look anyway.

You can’t even see your ass properly from that angle. The only thing you see is Hoseok’s predatory grin as he reaches the now-free hand out and flicks off the light. “I warned you,” his voice calls out lightly in the pitch darkness.

That brief moment of silence after he speaks is your only respite before he raises your chest so it presses up against the wall and fucks you into oblivion.

Unsure if your eyes are even open or closed, you can’t see a single thing, your heart-rate automatically rising as Hoseok replaces his thumb with two fingers pressing down on your tongue, keeping you steady as he rams you.

If his slow thrusts were mindblowing, the brutal pace of his hips now has you going crazy, unable to process anything other than the overwhelming, inescapable pleasure that runs through you viciously. Your ass stings every time his hips smack against it, and you feel drool running down your chin as you fail to properly suck.

It takes a single swipe of his fingers against your clit for you to jerk into a convulsive orgasm, shuddering and shaking wildly against him as he continues to rut into you without mercy. Even after your hands go tingly and your feet go numb, he continues to rub at the swollen bud, which can barely handle the pleasure it’s been denied for so long.

Too soon, that pleasure turns to pain, and not the fun kind. You sob, trying to wiggle away but the arm low over your hip keeps you in reach as Hoseok chases his own end. “S-suh-sensitive,” you stutter, barely noticing his fingers slipping from your mouth to grip your hip, giving him the leverage to fuck you harder.

“Princess is going to cum again for me,” Hoseok gruffly commands, and you cry, reluctantly turning over to the pleasure of a new orgasm approaching. How he brings you back to the edge so fast is beyond you, but you feel passive to the stimulation that electrifies your every nerve. And when he tells you to cum, you cum.

Like your body can’t handle all the sensations at once, your hearing drops away, your sense of balance or self-awareness. A burst of heat inside you signifies Hoseok’s orgasm, warm palms holding you steady as he lowers you to the floor.

Instead of dusty floorboards, your ass is met with a soft fabric, and you reach out, feeling the telltale smoothness of linen, what feels like a pillowcase. It’s the absurd thought of you leaking cum onto a pillowcase that brings you back from that floaty subspace, an exhausted chuckle bubbling out of your throat.

“You okay?” Hoseok checks in. “I’m going to turn the light back on; it’ll be bright.”

He’s right. The sharp light from the bulb - once seeming wan - stings your eyes, and you wince and shield them. “Fuck, Hoseok, you menace.”

He grins, though his eyes still furrow with worry. “Are you alright? I didn’t go too hard, did I? You responded well to it, so…”

Your eyes slip closed, starbursts behind your lids firing away. Letting your head knock back against the wall of the closet with a hollow thud, you sigh happily. “It was fucking incredible, holy shit.”

Hoseok chuckles, grabbing another pillowcase from the shelves of sheets and blankets. “Use this to clean yourself up if you want. I have something really important I need to ask you.”

You look back up with the serious tone in his voice. Frowning, you gingerly wipe the lube, cum and arousal from between your legs, wincing at the oversensitivity. “What’s up?”

Hoseok sighs slowly, turning away from you. “Pictionary or Charades?”

--

You have a few hours of innocent fun before things begin to turn.

As it turns out, the nonchalant Jeon Jungkook is a beast at any board game you can drag out from the closet, and he grins toothily every time things turn in his favour. He deciphers Namjoon’s chicken scratch drawing of a dentist that left the rest of you stumped, he seems to avoid every single owned property when you play Monopoly, he manages to come up with a 40-point word on Scrabble, much to everyone’s dismay.

It’s his choice for lunch as the game’s winner - though you suspect Jin was going to let him choose anyway - and so you have the pleasure of watching Jungkook’s cheeks fill with pork, tofu, potatoes, egg. Yoongi doesn’t even complain when he keeps talking through his mouthfuls, just handing the youngest a napkin when he struggles to chew it all.

Even Jimin seems content for the attention to be off him. While you were rendesvousing with Hoseok he must have ducked upstairs to put on some makeup, because he’s perfectly concealed the bruise on his nose, looking fresh and dewy even as he winces occasionally with the ache of it. He spends his time fawning over Jungkook like the rest of you, patting his cheeks and praising him in the games.

In the end, it’s Taehyung’s golden hands that signify the start of something a little less family friendly.

His offer for a massage is perfectly innocuous. Jungkook has a twinge in his shoulder from hitting the coffee table back-first, and then sleeping on the floor in the production van. He jumps at Taehyung’s generous suggestion, asking for the same massage oil as last time.

Whether he remembers it’s the oil that is safe to be used as lube, you don’t know, but by the time Taehyung returns with it, Jungkook is sitting on the couch with no shirt on, grinning eagerly.

Due to the unspoken rule to all be there for Jungkook, the other six of you remain. Or, perhaps, it’s the desire to watch the expressions on Jungkook’s face as Taehyung works away the toxins in his muscles.

Either way, you find yourself tucked between Namjoon and Jimin on one couch; Hoseok, Jin and Yoongi on the other as the two youngest take the middle one.

As the masseuse straddles Jungkook’s bare torso, perched on the back of the couch, you can’t help but be reminded of Jimin’s striptease. How much this felt like a performance just like that one.

Jungkook isn’t flexing, letting himself hunch over slightly to give Tae better access, but his body is still so perfectly proportioned. His abdomen ridged with muscle, his biceps curved to make you drool. As he tilts his head to one side and then the other, spine clicking, his hair brushes on his bare shoulders. You wonder if it’s normally this long, or if he just hasn’t got it cut in a while. You wonder if he likes to have it tugged. It’s the perfect length for it.

“This may feel cold,” Taehyung warns as he runs his palms together, the oil glistening in between. Jungkook sighs out when Tae finally puts his hands on him, spreading the slightly floral-scented oil over his skin.

“Feels nice, hyung,” Jungkook lets out airily, making Taehyung giggle.

“I haven’t even started yet. Stay still.”

Watching Taehyung massage Jungkook almost feels like watching live art. There’s a harmony in the way they unconsciously align their breathing so that their chests rise and fall in unison. A liveliness in the way Jungkook’s lips part and lashes flutter. Even a sensuality in those deep presses of Taehyung’s fingers, Jungkook’s flesh ripping under his touch.

In fact, it’s so enchanting watching those details in their faces and bodies that it takes you a few minutes to realise that Jungkook’s reactions are… perhaps more enthusiastic than the situation warrants.

His eyes are shut, head lolled back against Tae’s thigh as the masseuse begins to run his hands over his sternum, pressing out the tension in his chest. A guttural noise vibrates in his throat every time Taehyung’s fingers wander closer to his nipples, which are tight peaks, his breath shallow but quick.

“Deep breaths, Jungkookie,” Taehyung instructs quietly, guiding his head forward so that he can return to Jungkook’s back. Taehyung balls his hand into a fist, sliding it down the hollow between Jungkook’s spine and shoulder blade. The boy, with his head tipped forward, lets out a moan. Taehyung freezes.

Jungkook hisses, shuffling back to bump against Taehyung’s loosened fist. “Don’t stop, hyung. Feels so good.”

Taehyung’s eyes lift to the rest of you, who watch wide-eyed. He shrugs, silently asking your opinion, and Hoseok just gives a nod. Biting his lip, the masseuse continues.

Each swoop, stroke, and press of Taehyung’s fingers and knuckles wring open-mouthed moans from the shameless boy. Between locks of hair that obscure his face, you can see red cheeks and a satisfied grin. Dropping your gaze, you see the stiff outline that tents his sweatpants.

As you glance around the room, it seems the others are starting to realise too. Namjoon’s shyly hiding his own erection, Yoongi’s eyes are like two black furnaces as they watch the scene unfold. Hoseok, the first one to encourage it, licks his lips as he watches, clearly not satisfied from his time in the closet with you this morning. Your core aches at the reminder.

“A little lower, hyung?” Jungkook asks, his voice almost whiny as he makes his request. His breath hitches audibly as Taehyung begins to massage his lower back, just above his hips. The masseuse has to hunch down just to reach it, but he dutifully relieves the tension there, too. “Ah, thank you, Tae. Taking care of me so good.”

Beside you, Jimin sucks in a light breath, and you do the same. That, paired with his wanton moans and hard-on, is a clear indicator of what exactly he wants, and with the way Taehyung’s eyes widen, he knows it too.

“Do you just want hyung to take care of you, Jungkookie?” Taehyung questions lightly. “Or all of us?”

Jungkook whines at the words alone, his head lifting but eyes staying firmly shut. “All of you,” he admits lowly.

Beside you, Jimin lets out a pleased hum, his fingers winding into your hair. “Do you want to go help out our Jungkookie, little mouse?” He tugs lightly, your head tilting back willingly as he runs a finger over your lips. “Put this pretty little mouth to use?”

Your lips part, Jimin’s finger grazing over your teeth before he pulls away, letting you rise to your feet unsteadily. Patting you on your ass - probably not realising that it was as sensitive as it actually is - he sends you on your way.

The thought that Jimin was asking you to service Jungkook just makes you wetter, and you feel the whole room’s eyes on you as you sink to your knees between Jungkook’s lazily spread legs.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes, the masseuse smoothly running his palms up the expanse of Jungkook’s back before his fingers slip into his hair, guiding it to face down as he whispered in Jungkook’s ear, too quiet for even you to catch it.

Whatever he said makes Jungkook’s eyes fly open, unfocused before they land on you and widen. “Y/n,” he exclaims, groaning when your hand runs over his clothed cock, tracing the outline. “Fuck.”

You grin, remembering the last time you were between his legs. “Do you want my mouth, Gukkie, or my hands?”

He gulps, Taehyung sweetly tucking Jungkook’s hair behind his ear and pressing a kiss to his temple. “C-Can I have both?”

Your grin widens, exposing teeth as you grip him in his pants, making his breath hitch. “That’s very greedy of you,” you chastise, “it’s a good thing we’re treating you today.”

He sighs, lips twitching in a pleased smile once he realises he’s getting what he wants. Taehyung’s fingers run curved lines over Jungkook’s scalp, beginning to massage it as you pull back the waistband of Jungkook’s sweats.

He’s not wearing any underwear - the thought making you consider that perhaps he’d hoped or even planned for something like this to happen - and your mouth waters when you wrap your fingers around him. They don’t quite touch, and he’s not even the thickest cock in the house.

Precum makes his tip glossy, collecting in the small dip right at the top. You run your index finger over it, tapping it to watch the wet strings cling and stretch. Jungkook hisses, brows knitting as he bites down on his lip.

Though his weeping cock is a pretty sight, it isn’t quite enough lubricant to comfortably jerk him off, and so you lean forward, letting your spit drop off your tongue and run down him. He groans as you use it to coat his length, twisting your wrist just slightly under the head. There were many things that were new to you on this show, and so you’re more than ready to take advantage of something you’re well-versed in.

You hear a throat clear behind you; not the kind that seeks attention, but the quiet cough of forced restraint and composure. You can’t pin just who it is from the short sound alone, but the reminder that people are watching inspires you to put on a show.

Under the guise of getting comfortable, you shift on your knees to arch your back more, leaning in to press a kiss to Jungkook’s tip, blinking up at him innocently.

The camboy curses, head falling back into Taehyung’s lap. “You’re gonna kill me,” he moans, “that’s so fucking cute.”

You let out a laugh, Taehyung carding through Jungkook’s hair to break up the tangles he’s made. Jungkook watches you through his lashes, and you smile sweetly. “Is this cute?” Without waiting for an answer, you take a deep breath and wrap your lips around him, bobbing down enough to almost trigger your gag reflex.

His hips jerk as he groans, hands fisting at his sides. You continue to suck him off, tongue running the line of a vein on the underside of his shaft as your hand strokes what you can’t reach.

“So good, Y/n,” Jungkook praises, his hands slipping into your hair as he parts his legs wider. “Tae, ha-harder.”

Taehyung responds in kind, using his fingernails to scratch lightly, making the boy’s back arch. As you blink up through teary eyes, you can see the half-fond, half-aroused look on Tae’s face as he sits on the back of the couch, leaning in close enough that his chin almost reaches Jungkook’s head.

Doubling your efforts, you choose to close your eyes instead and focus on taking him deeper down your throat, swallowing when you feel his tip graze the back of it. With one hand on his base and the other gently rolling his balls, you feel him shiver helplessly, abs flexing.

The black-haired boy is delightfully vocal, and you use his melodic cries to guide you, Taehyung clearly doing the same as he tugs on Jungkook’s hair and massages his scalp. It’s no surprise to you all, then, when his moans suddenly reach a higher pitch and his thighs tense before going completely slack when he spills down the back of your throat.

You pull off him as he continues to pump out cum, the salty tang pooling on your tongue and soaking your lips, just before you swallow, you feel a hand on your shoulder and another pulling your face to the side as lips press against yours.

You let out a muffled squeak, opening your eyes briefly to see that it’s Yoongi who claims your mouth, tongue delving into your mouth and lapping up the last of Jungkook’s cum. You let your eyes flutter shut again and your jaw slacken as he licks up into you, sucking your tongue into his mouth shamelessly.

Above you, Jungkook - still panting from his orgasm - curses at the sight, his hand in your hair moving down to brush your cheek tenderly. “You two- fuck,” he swears, his voice cut off suddenly with a grunt.

You pull away and look up to see Jungkook’s neck arched back as Taehyung holds him there with two hands tugging his locks back as he claims the youngest man’s mouth. You can see glints of teeth as Taehyung nips at Jungkook’s lips, making them bloom dark pink as the camboy whimpers.

“Oh, Taehyung,” a voice calls out, and you don’t have to look over to recognise it as Jimin’s sultry timbre. “My muscles hurt, too. Won’t you give me a massage?”

Taehyung murmurs, pressing one final kiss to the corner of Jungkook’s mouth. “Sorry, Jungkookie, duty calls.”

Poor Jungkook looks like he’s been shocked awake when his head straightens up. With a drooling mouth, tangled hair and hazy eyes, he watches dumbly as Taehyung hops over him and over to Jimin, tugging him off the couch and back to the one Jungkook’s on, guiding him to get down in front of it so Taehyung can sit on the cushions.

As Jimin and Taehyung begin, Yoongi licks his lips and glances up at Jungkook. “Are you done, or do you wanna go again?”

Jungkook chokes, eyes like saucers. “Uh- y-you- I can go again.”

Yoongi raises his brow. “Do you want to?”

The camboy swallows and nods. “I want to. I want all of you.”

It’s Hoseok that comes over to join you first, combing Jungkook’s wild hair with his fingers. “What do you want from us, prince? Want to get fucked?”

Jungkook’s pupils dilate as he bites onto his lip. “Yeah, please. Will you fuck me, Seokie?”

Hoseok beams at the nickname, ruffling his hair fondly. “Can you lie down for me then? On the floor would be easiest, just on your back.”

Jungkook moves hastily with excitement, but as you give him space you can see how his neck cranes awkwardly off the floor to keep watching Hoseok. Shuffling forward, you pat his shoulder, getting him to sit up slightly so that he can rest his head on your lap. He blinks up at you with a toothy grin that you can’t help but return. “Better?” you ask, and he nods sweetly.

It doesn’t take Hoseok long to slip Jungkook’s sweats off, and he’s the first person in the room to be fully naked. Tucking his hands under his knees, he holds himself open for Hoseok, eyes widening when the dom pulls out a small travel-size bottle of lube from his pocket.

You raise your brow at him, recognising the click of the sound from the closet that morning. Hoseok shrugs. “What? Gotta be prepared.”

Jungkook laughs breathily at the quip, but it quickly morphs into a moan as Hoseok sinks a lubed-up finger inside him, straight to the knuckle. He’s softened slightly after his orgasm, but the stimulation quickly begins to plump him up again, his cock heavy on his stomach.

As Hoseok preps him, you glance up and over your shoulder. Behind you, Taehyung’s hands run over Jimin’s now-bare chest. As Jimin sighs in pleasure and arches, the masseuse’s mouth sucks an earlobe into his mouth, nipping at it and tugging at a small silver hoop that adorns it.

Yoongi watches them for a moment, before turning back to the couches, where only Jin and Namjoon remain. Calling them both over, only Jin stands up and joins you, Namjoon still too shy.

Jungkook whines prettily when Jin and Yoongi kneel beside him, caged between them and the couch. By now, Hoseok has already got three fingers inside him, thrusting them so loudly that the sound echoes in the room, the camboy squirming beneath him, fully hard again.

Wordlessly, he reaches out for the two oldest, one hand tugging at Yoongi’s jeans and his mouth falling open, tongue lolling out as he blinks up at Jin.

“Fuck, you’re a sin,” Jin curses, but hurriedly frees himself from his pants, tugging at his cock impatiently. You can barely breathe, the pressure of Jungkook’s cheek on your knee as Jin guides the tip of his dick into the boy’s awaiting mouth.

Brushing the hair back from his face, you watch those doe eyes tear up as Jin groans, hips slowly canting forward. He’s bigger than Jungkook, perhaps not longer but definitely wider, and you don’t envy how Jungkook’s jaw is going to feel after this.

Blindly, the youngest flails for Yoongi’s cock, only settling once the doctor slips his cock out and taps the length of it into Jungkook’s palm, letting him begin to jerk it lazily.

Hoseok waits until the three of them have reached their equilibrium before he begins to sink into Jungkook, keeping his cheeks spread as Jungkook holds one of his legs up and opened wide. You can tell the point that Hoseok’s cock hits his prostate as his back suddenly arches and his hand tightens on Yoongi, making the doctor hiss.

Letting out an apologetic whine, Jungkook drops his jaw wider and speeds his hand, doing his best as Hoseok steadies himself and starts fucking the youngest man.

You almost forget about those behind you until you feel an exploring pressure at your side. Turning, you see Jimin’s hand reaching out for yours. With a warm heart, you interlock your fingers quietly, and turn back. The small stolen intimacy takes your breath away, and you find yourself naturally tuning in to his songbird moans as Taehyung’s massage no doubt turns his body to jelly.

The moment you look back towards the boy in your lap with a bulging cheek and teary, euphoric eyes, you see Jin lean in. His lips join yours chastely, just a single testing kiss before he goes to draw back. Instead of letting him increase the distance, you latch onto his shirt with your free hand, pulling him in to meet your mouth again.

Even with his dick in someone else’s mouth, in the middle of the impromptu orgy - though with the way Jungkook eagerly squirms under the attention of three cocks you’re still not sure it was impromptu - Jin kisses you so sweetly.

With a thumb stroking your jaw, his plush lips claim yours with the patience of a god, every movement tender and thoughtful. It takes your breath away, makes you clench harder on Jimin’s hand and the cotton fabric in your other fist.

Jin’s mouth, the smile that stretches his lips and the moans from Jungkook’s ministrations that slip through, they make you lose track of time. No elimination, no cameras, no tears and bruises. You’re together, all-

Just as you recall Namjoon’s lack of participation, a sharp cry catches your attention, Jin and you parting to look behind.

Cross-legged in front of Jimin, Namjoon watches the younger man with wide eyes as one hand is buried in his pants, the other stretched out to wrap around Jimin’s cock.

With Taehyung rutting against his back as he massages Jimin’s scalp, the pornstar grins sleepily and licks his lips. “T-Tighter, Namjoon,” he pants, moaning again when his command is received.

With wide eyes, you watch Jimin reach down and wrap his own hand around Namjoon’s, the size difference almost comical. He guides the pace, legs parting and head tipping back into Taehyung’s hold.

Suddenly, Jin curses, and you glance back down to see Jungkook staring up at the two of you with pouty eyes, slurping more enthusiastically at Jin’s cock. Further down, Jungkook and Yoongi are helping each other out; the youngest jerks Yoongi off frantically while Yoongi thumbs at his nipples, making him squirm and let out muffled cries around Jin.

At the end, Hoseok watches you all carefully, making sure not to fuck Jungkook too harshly and risk him biting down. He plays lazily with the head of Jungkook’s cock as he gives steady thrusts, too loose to make him cum too soon but enough to keep the precum leaking onto his tensed stomach.

You feel Jin squeezing your shoulder, and you look back to see him eying you. “I could help you,” he offers, grunting as he begins to fuck Jungkook’s mouth in earnest.

Blinking in confusion, it takes you a second to realise what he’s volunteering his help for. Though the sight around you is undeniably erotic, getting to have a break while the others enjoy themselves is more than enough for you. “I’m good,” you decline with a grateful smile, eyes dipping, “though I would love to kiss you some more.”

Even as an endearing grin stretches across his face, he leans back in to claim your lips, no less sensually but certainly more needy as he gets close to orgasm. It’s addictive; feeling him groan into your mouth, teeth catching on your lips and tongue as he begins to lose his composure.

The hand you’re holding, tucked out of sight from the others, begins to tighten sporadically around your fingers, Jimin moans sounding more like pleasured breaths. As seven of you race towards orgasm, it’s him that comes first, the learned pleasure of masturbation mixed with the excitement of someone else’s hand clearly pitching him over the edge. He holds onto your hand for dear life as he rides the high, his loud moans triggering Jin, his hips stuttering and his mouth going still as he shoots his load down Jungkook’s throat.

Jungkook moans and gurgles happily, swallowing down every last drop before Jin pulls out. Mouth free, he rolls back fully onto your lap and gasps down lungfuls of air. The sudden rush of oxygen paired with stronger thrusts from Hoseok send him into a powerful orgasm.

Yoongi pauses his fucking into Jungkook’s fist as the camboy arches, eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax as he gives a loud cry. Drained from his first orgasm, his cum doesn’t shoot out like before, but pools steadily on his stomach, some of it dripping off his side onto the carpet.

Detaching Jungkook’s hand from his cock, Yoongi guides it to run over his own torso, slicked up in off-white before bringing it back. Once Jungkook begins to jerk him off in earnest with a hand covered in his own cum, Yoongi’s a goner.

As the camboy whimpers in overstimulation from Hoseok seeking his own edge, he milks Yoongi through his orgasm, painting Jungkook’s chest and stomach and mixing into the cum that’s already there.

Hoseok curses, hips stuttering, and - like some sort of chain reaction - him, Namjoon and Taehyung reach their ends one after the other. Hoseok with his cock deep inside Jungkook, Namjoon with a hand shoved in his pants and Jimin coquettishly licking the cum off his other, and Taehyung grinding against Jimin, slumping over as he cums in his pants.

In the silence that follows, the only thing you hear is the combined panting of the seven men around you, and Taehyung’s displeased groan as he shifts, a dark patch covering both his pants and the back of Jimin’s shirt.

“Holy fuck,” Hoseok breathes, “why didn’t we do that sooner?”

While some of the others express their agreement, Jungkook sits up with a self-satisfied grin, drips of cum running down to pool at the tops of his thighs. “Good job, team,” he cheers, “we should probably all go take a shower together to clean up. A long, hot shower.”

“You’re a menace,” Yoongi groans fondly. “You just came twice.”

Jungkook looks down at the cum smeared over his chest, then back up at Yoongi with an innocent blink. “Third time lucky?”

Behind you, Namjoon lets out a breathy chuckle. “I can’t turn down a shower,” he says, free from his usual shy demeanour. “But I don’t think I’m ready for a round two of that.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Understandable. Gotta let the dragon rest.”

While Namjoon sputters and then rest of you muffle your laughter, Jungkook nonchalantly stands up and shuffles into the kitchen.

You watch in disbelief as he grabs some paper towels and cleans himself up with a chipper bounce in his step. “Does anyone else feel like we got hoodwinked?”

Jimin rests his head on your shoulder with a sigh, tucking himself away. “Definitely,” he confirms. “At least if I ever want an orgy centred around me, I know how to act.”

Hoseok lets out a good-natured scoff. “You’ll be one short,” he jibes, “I wouldn’t kiss your ass if it was the last one on Earth.”

Jimin shoots him a level glare. “You haven’t earned it yet, princess.”

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both beautiful,” Jin coos smoothly, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a change of clothes and a nice movie to round out this fuckfest.”

“Ooh!” Jungkook cheeps from the kitchen, still strutting around naked like a showpony, even as his eyes glimmer in childlike enthusiasm. “Can we watch Frozen again?”

There isn’t a single person in the room that can say no.

——

“Ready?”

You grin at Yoongi, tightening your coat. “As I’ll ever be.”

Looking unbelievably sharp in a deep blue suit jacket and black wash jeans, the doctor extends his arm to you. “That doesn’t inspire confidence, but I’ll take it.”

Letting your hand curl around his arm, you make your way to the car by his side. He opens the door like a proper gentleman before slipping in on the other side. Without a moment's hesitation, his hand winds its way into yours as the driver pulls away down the driveway.

“Do I get to find out where we’re going?” you query with a gleeful smile.

“Of course,” Yoongi answers gracefully, glancing down at his phone, “in just over ten minutes.”

You groan with a pout, but you can’t help that smile from peeking out. “Good thing I’m patient.”

“Good thing you’re patient, because I’m doctor!” Yoongi grimaces the second the joke leaves his lips, shaking his head as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. “Fuck, I’m spending too much time with Jin-hyung.”

You shove him playfully. “I’ll sue you, Min Yoongi! That was shameful.”

“Shameful? A harsh critic, you are. Though I’m inclined to agree.”

There’s something hypnotic about the way the neon lights and streetlamps cast glowing patterns on Yoongi’s face as you drive through the streets of Seoul. You’re stuck at a red light now, and even the hellish shade doesn’t mar his soft smile and kind eyes. “You were really good yesterday,” you mumble without thinking.

He glances over to you as the car begins to move. “Hm? Oh, I don’t think so. But thank you.”

“You don’t?” you ask softly.

“People still got hurt,” Yoongi replies simply. He opens his mouth like he’s about to add something, but falls silent. You speak on and off for the rest of the short journey, but stay well away from yesterday’s events.

When the car pulls up on the side of the street, you glance outside. You’ve entered uptown Gangnam, parked in the drop-off zone of what looks like a very fancy restaurant. Yoongi instructing you to dress sharp suddenly made sense. “Out we get,” he says with a final squeeze of your hand, letting it go so that he can leave the car.

Once you exit the vehicle, it indicates and slips smoothly back into the flow of traffic, leaving the two of you alone on the sidewalk. Leading you into the restaurant, Yoongi looks totally at home in the upper class eatery. As you enter through a pair of gleaming glass doors edged in gold and wait in a tasteful entranceway for a server, he straightens his back and smiles in bemusement at your gobsmacked expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he jibes.

You gulp. “Maybe I have,” you utter under your breath, “my bank account just died.”

This is the type of place you’d only ever seen on a movie screen. The kind of place where you’d bump into Julia Roberts in the bathrooms or be served by a devastatingly handsome waiter who called you mademoiselle. Around the room, staff flitted from table to table in penguin tuxes, carting bottles of champagne and platters of lobster to the patrons, every single one dressed in labeled brands, not so much as a single lock of hair out of place in the whole room. As a smiling - and fuck, handsome - waiter approaches, you have the urge to hide your face in shame.

Yoongi just wraps an arm around your waist and leans in. “Who said you were paying?” he murmurs to you before smiling at the suited man. “Table for Min, 8pm.”

With a civil nod, the waiter flicks through a heavy leather-bound tome of bookings. “Ah, yes, Min booking for two, table thirty… seven.” He trails off, customer service smile faltering as he looks over at said table, and at the older couple that’s enjoying a glass of wine and some prosciutto at it. “Oh! Let me just…” With a hard swallow, he flicks through the book again, sucking in a breath with a concerned look. “My deepest apologies, sir, it seems like the table has been double-booked. When did you book in?”

Yoongi gives the man a strained smile. “First thing this morning.”

Your eyes lift in surprise. The waiter seems even more shocked than you, clearing his throat politely. “Uh… Forgive me, sir, but this restaurant is fully booked three to four months in advance. Who accepted your booking?”

Instead of blushing or huffing, Yoongi instead clicks his tongue at himself with an exasperated laugh. “My older brother owns the restaurant. Min Geum-jae. Must have set me up, the prick.”

You glance up at Yoongi in shock, but he doesn’t react, simply tightening his arm around your waist to keep you close.

The waiter’s eyes widen in recognition, before he coughs nervously. “Uh, I doubt that was it, sir. The Lees pay a premium to book table thirty-seven out every night. They usually come in much earlier, he probably thought it would be free by then. We can fit you in but, uh, it may be a while. They tend to pick our five-course meal.”

Yoongi runs his tongue along his teeth as he sighs. “Okay, that’s fine. We’ll go elsewhere; I appreciate your help.”

The waiter gives an apologetic bow. “I’m very sorry about the inconvenience, sir, I wish the two of you a pleasant evening.”

The air feels sharper outside, a northerly wind cutting through the fabric of your coat even as warmth radiates off Yoongi’s body. “Just our luck,” he bemoans, but you’re less than concerned about the restaurant.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,” you chime, “certainly not a hotshot restaurant owner.”

“You never asked,” Yoongi points out, before wincing at how it sounds. “Sorry, that came off poorly. I guess it never really came up. And it would have been a cool surprise getting waited on like royalty from table thirty-fucking-seven.”

You poke him in the side playfully, grinning as he pouts. “Listen, I know a place around here that may just have a table free.”

“On such short notice?” Yoongi asks dubiously. You just grin, holding your arm out for him to take.

--

“We look like idiots,” Yoongi mutters petulantly for the thirtieth time.

You shrug. “Better overdressed than underdressed.”

The doctor miserably dips his Chicken McNugget in a puddle of sweet and sour sauce. “You know, half an hour ago I would have agreed with you.”

“Come on,” you cheer warmly, leaning over to steal some of his fries, yours already long gone. “We can still have a good time. We’re out away from the stresses of the villa, we’re spending some quality time together. Your Frozen Coke hasn’t even melted because the air-cons are blasting so much. Look on the bright side.”

Looking undeniably out-of-place in his expensive blazer and perfectly styled hair, Yoongi levels an accusatory chicken nugget at your face. “We could’ve gotten an Uber and gone to an actual restaurant and had something an actual chef produced. Instead, you lead me here. That’s entrapment.”

You tilt your head. “I don’t think it is,” you muse, “and besides. All due respect to your big bro, but I but his meals were way overpriced. Did you see that one lady who ordered something and the waiter set it on fire? I bet that ran her up at least sixty thousand won. Maybe even eighty.”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi whines miserably, stuffing half a nugget in each cheek. “Jae-hyung tells the waiters not to charge me. Friends and family benefit, you know, since I don’t come visit often. You’ve actually put me more out of pocket by taking me to McDonalds. Do you know how embarrassing that is?”

You grin, reaching out to pinch his cheek. He swats at it with a disgruntled look that’s softened by his reluctant smile. “Cheer up, buttercup,” you chirp. “How about I treat you to a McFlurry, hm? The Oreo one.”

He blinks up at you with round cheeks and even rounder eyes. “That would make me feel better.”

After getting his anger out by viciously mixing the Oreo pieces with the soft serve, you and Yoongi manage to actually have a good time, joking around and feeding each other messy spoonfuls of melting dairy, feeling like two kids sneaking out after prom in your black tie attire.

It’s only once you return from discarding your trash in the bins that Yoongi sobers up, glancing over at you as you slide into the vinyl-upholstered booth. “Hey, Y/n?” he asks you softly.

“Mm?”

“I know Jin-hyung already asked you yesterday, but… Are you any closer to deciding who you vote out tomorrow?”

You flick him a pained smile. “You’re asking me this on our date?”

He furrows his brows, avoiding your gaze. “It’s just- I had such a great time tonight; even when things went wrong, you know, and… If it’s me you’re voting out, I understand, but I’d just like some warning in advance. You know.” He grimaces at the beat of silence that follows. “You don’t have to tell me, of course, it would just be easier to-”

“I don’t think it’ll be you,” you admit in a low voice. He glances up, eyes wide with surprise. “I mean, I haven’t actually decided for sure, but I don’t think I’ll pick you.” You swallow, actually feeling some relief in being able to talk candidly about it without the pressure of the other guys, or the cameras always listening in. “I really don’t know how I’m going to choose. At first, I thought I’ll just pick whoever will take it the best. Who won’t get angry or offended, you know? But then it wouldn’t be about the sex, so I try and think on it and see which of the times I had this week was the- the least best, and leave feelings out of it. But then feelings sometimes make it better. So it’s hard to pick a least best sexual interaction without those feelings. But then if I pick one honestly, with my emotions coming into play, then isn’t it just picking favourites? So I figure I should pick whoever wouldn’t feel like I was picking favourites over them, and I’m right back to where I started. I just didn’t expect the decision to be this hard.”

Yoongi listens to you intently, not saying a word until you finish with a sigh. Resting his elbows on the tabletop, he leans in with a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you run through the pros and cons? It might help talking it through.”

You take a deep breath and nod, heart warming at how much he cares. Perhaps he’s just trying to get insight on the other players, but judging how his eyes swim with emotion, you don’t think that’s the case. “Alright, well… Hoseok was first this week, so I guess I’ll start with him. Pros: he knows what he’s doing, I feel safe with him, I think he helps me push my boundaries and explore new things which is really exciting.” You count them off on your fingers as you go, mind reminiscing on both your time together with Jungkook last Monday, and the illicit closet encounter this morning. “But cons are that he never really talks to me that much, you know? Out of everyone in the house, I know the least about him. Sometimes I wonder if he actually cares about being here.”

Yoongi nods slowly, eyes glinting like he knows something you don’t, but he chooses to stay quiet and let you continue.

“Jin… pros are that he’s so passionate, he seems so mature and giving, and he has a massive-” you cut yourself off and glance around, checking for kids. Luckily at this time of night it’s mostly broke college students and tired businessmen. “Dick,” you finish with a hushed whisper, making Yoongi chuckle with a gummy grin. “And cons. He seems to play it kinda… run of the mill? Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but the most wild thing he’s done is take it outdoors, which when your prompt is poolboy, is not really negotiable.” You pause, mouth working but no sound coming out.

Yoongi seems to know exactly what’s on your mind. “And he has feelings for you,” he says softly.

“And he has feelings for me,” you repeat with a sad smile. “Which I can’t work out if it’s a good or a bad thing.”

“It’s probably a good thing if you feel the same way,” Yoongi offers.

You nod shortly. “Well. I can’t work that out either.”

The doctor shrugs. “If you can’t work it out, it’s probably a no.”

It makes sense when he puts it like that, and you hum in agreement. “I guess so. Anyways; I can’t remember who was next. I’ll do Namjoon. Pros are that he’s a fast learner, and so sweet, and once again is very well-endowed. The major con is his lack of experience. He’s cute when he’s shy, but I’ve seen glimpses of him taking control and I just wish he’d have the faith in this own abilities to be like that more.”

“Understandable. What about Jimin?”

You take a deep breath. “Jimin… Jimin is exciting and sexy and a force of nature. He’s a lot kinder than he lets people think, and I feel really comfortable around him.” Frowning, you continue to the negatives. “But he has a real temper, and a superiority complex. I know he doesn’t mean to, but he sometimes makes things uglier than they need to be.”

Yoongi lets out a low whistle. “I’m shocked and a little disappointed that you didn’t mean his ass as a pro.”

You grin. “I thought that was implied?”

“It deserves its own mention,” he insists with a wry grin, before sobering up. “Jungkook?”

You let out a low sigh. “Most of his cons are the same as Jimin’s. That competitive streak, the need to be better than everyone else. Jungkook has so much range though, he seems down for anything, and especially since the rest of you for the most part are so dommy, I really want to play around more with, you know, domming myself.”

“Domming yourself?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “I’d love to see that.”

“No-! I-” You break off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. “You know what I meant! I think it would be fun to be the one in control for a change. I just feel like more than anyone, Jungkook is so game for anything that I wanna keep playing with him.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing everything. “Our local masseuse is lucky last, then. Unless you want to evaluate me right to my face.”

You wince. “I don’t know about that,” you deflect, “I’ll do Taehyung. Tae is… He’s so insanely affectionate, and giving, and is so ready to dote on everyone in the villa. I feel really relaxed and happy when I’m near him, and he has magical hands which I am definitely not ready to give up.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. The things you worry about with Taehyung aren’t things you can share with Yoongi. Shrugging, you avert your eyes casually. “Tae seems to take everything to heart. He wears his heart on his sleeve but I don’t know if that’s so safe for this competition. I worry about him.”

The doctor lets out a light laugh. “Worried he’ll drop you for Jimin or Jungkook?”

If only you knew. “Worried he’ll get himself hurt,” you explain instead, letting out a long breath to rid your body of the tension beginning to accumulate. “Should we head home? It’s getting late.”

Yoongi slides out of the booth. “Do you feel any closer to your decision?”

“Not at all,” you answer immediately, making him laugh, “but it was still helpful to talk it through.”

“I’ll take it,” Yoongi says with a smile. As you slide your phone out of your pocket to call an Uber, he clears his throat. “I was thinking…”

“That’s a relief.” You squeak as he shoves your shoulder playfully.

“I was thinking that we should bring the kids something. I’m sure Jin made some dinner for everyone, but I bet they’d be so happy to have some junk food for the first time in two weeks. What do you say?”

You beam up at him, at the way he tries to seem nonchalant about his acts of kindness. “I say I better add that to your list of pros.”

“Come on, we better join the queue. My con is impatience.”

As Yoongi gives Jin a call to get the orders in, and you type away in your Notes app, your heart warms at the domesticity of it. At how much you were beginning to feel together again. And from the fond grin on Yoongi’s face as he recites the lengthy order to the cashier, he feels it too.

#ficswithluv #bts smut #ot7 smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #jin smut #yoonkook smut #hopekook smut #jinkook smut #taekook smut #vmin smut #minjoon smut #bts x reader #bts series #ot7 x reader

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Insanity

Prompt: Hi... I uh... I’m back, again anonymously.... to see if maybe... you could... write a thing? No pressure but if so... maybe a hurt/comfort?

Remus is used to dealing with feeling like he is loosing his mind on his own. Like he puts up an insane front so that the others don’t notice when he is loosing his grip on his sanity. Then he ends up laughing as he is falling apart and thinking that he has indeed found the real meaning of going insane. And he just laughs until it hurts and the laughing fades but the tears don’t stop. He’s thinking of doing something drastic like just running away to the subconscious so he doesn’t have to exist as a side anymore, but on his was he runs into Janus and Virgil or other people if ya want. Then they talk him down out of his insanity and realize remus needs a lot more help than they ever imagined.

I know this is a really long prompt and if you don’t wanna write it no pressure whatsoever. I just like your writing better than mine lol. Uh, thanks if you do and thanks for having boundaries if you don’t! <3

Thanks for the prompt! 

Read on Ao3 Part 2 (ish)

Warnings: as you can guess, this revolves not just around Remus, but on intrusive thoughts. Self-harm, suicidal ideation, psychosis, insanity. There is a happy ending where our boi gets comforted and grounded, but the way to getting there ain’t pretty. Take care of yourselves please

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Word Count: 3864

Sometimes the world just fucking sucks.

Sometimes the world just really fucking hates him.

Sometimes the world just fucking sucks.

 Remus doesn’t know why his brain decides that right fucking now is the perfect time to swan dive off a balcony into a wrought-iron fence, he just knows that the wind on his face cuts his cheek like ice because of how cold it is.

 He doesn’t understand the compulsion to stride to the middle of a volcano and dive into the magma just to see how the lava flows on the inside, he just knows that the burn in his hands from being even this close to a volcano is only matched by the burn in his head to just fucking go.

 He really doesn’t know how he ends up wanting to rip his brother apart, piece by piece, so he can see how every inch of his muscles work, he only knows that hat he’s got his arms tightly around Roman, it’s the most grounded he’s felt in fucking ages.

 Sometimes the world just really fucking hates him.

 The light switch would look perfect controlling the precise contractions of his organs. The bird that flies by outside the window tears his trachea out with its razor-sharp beak. The water bottle Patton uses would screw into his eye sockets until his corneas shattered.

 Remus knows to laugh them off. They can’t hurt him, they’re his! His ideas! They’re supposed to be disgusting, revolting, it’s a good sign if it’s him they revolt too. After all, he’s sure as hell got higher standards.

 On the other hand…is this what it fucking feels like?

 The idea of using a knife sometimes makes it feels like ants are crawling through his bone marrow. The steel glints way too harshly in the light as he picks it up and suddenly all he can see is blood, blood, and more blood, cuts in his arms, throbbing muscle, it hurts, why doesn’t it hurt that bad, make it stop, make it go away —

 Remus takes a deep breath and puts the knife down.

 He’ll walk past a window on a bad day and all he can feel is glass, sharp glass, in his skin, in his eyes, in his tongue, broken glass, inside him, cutting little nicks and tears and it hurts, it won’t stop hurting, why can’t he taste the blood, what’s happening to him—

 He draws the curtains and walks away without another word.

 The Sides are all there in the living room and his hands itch for his morning star, for a sledgehammer, something, anything to break them apart, put them back together, stitch them up in horribly beautiful ways, listen to their screams as their vocal chords break, why can’t he hear them screaming, why are their screams so loud—

 He smiles feebly and sinks out.

 Remus curls up in his bed and howls, the room collapsing in on itself, pressing against his lungs. He keeps screaming and screaming and screaming until he’s laughing. He laughs. He keeps laughing until his voice dies in his throat. He keeps laughing.

 Something has its wriggly little talons in his stomach and he can’t stop laughing. It hurts. He can’t breathe. He wants it to stop. He never wants to know what it’s like to laugh again. He never wants to stop laughing.

 He wants it to stop.

 He knows exactly what this fucking feels like.

 He can’t open his eyes sometimes because he can’t look at what he knows will appear in front of him. He can’t close his eyes sometimes because he’s too terrified of what will be carved into the underside of his lids. He can’t speak because he knows what horrifying thing will tumble out of his mouth. He can’t stay quiet because he knows what happens when all the voices stay trapped in his head.

 He can’t be because it hurts too much.

 He can’t not be because then it will stop hurting.

 The others don’t know about this. Of course they fucking don’t. They don’t listen to him when he fucking wants to talk to them about shit, why the fuck would they pay attention to the stuff he doesn’t want to tell them?

 Patton doesn’t give a single flying fuck about him. He made that perfectly fucking clear.

 Logan thinks he’s boring. That’s the most fucking offensive thing Remus has ever heard, and that’s fucking saying something.

 Virgil’s a scaredy-cat. And he’s gotten boring to terrify. Virgil’s afraid of fucking everything.

 Janus is so nuanced, it’s fucking annoying.

 Roman’s his brother.

 Remus growls and rocks himself faster, clutching the sides of his shirt until the fabric tears. He squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the pain in his ribs. The voices howl and cackle as the winds swirl around him. He ignores them as best he can.

 It’s fucking cold in here and it’s too fucking hot.

 They don’t see this part of the fucking mess that is Remus’s existence. They don’t see the un-fun parts of the crazy. They don’t see the reality of what Remus has to deal with.

 They see the sex jokes, the crude puns, the horrible images he plants in their funny little heads. What must it be like in there, it must be so boring.

 They don’t see the way he has to hold himself back from jumping onto every sharp object, throwing himself from every high height, digging his teeth into his own flesh and stripping it away from the bone.

 Remus growls as he shoves the pillow between his teeth. The cotton tastes awful but it keeps his teeth away from his own tongue. He’d tried that once, tried biting it off, maybe the horrible taste of battery acid would leave his mouth if he had no tastebuds. He just wound up on the floor of the bathroom, vomiting up chunk after chunk until his tongue grew back, twitching against the roof of his mouth. He started biting the pillows after that.

 It’s so fucking stupid, that they can’t fucking see this shit. He knows he can’t let them, he’s got fucking wires crawling around beneath his skin. He’s convinced of it. He can’t listen to Patton being condescending, he can’t listen to Logan flatly telling him he’s off his fucking rocker, he can’t listen to Virgil flip out at him, he can’t listen to Janus’s snide disapproval.

 He can’t fuck up his brother.

 So he just laughs.

 Long and loud and hard and obnoxious because if they’re listening to the laughter they’re not listening to him.

 There’s always going to be something they fucking want to pick on with him; they’re so fucking boring they can’t tolerate a little bit of difference. But if they start poking at his scars with their razor-long nails he’s going to rip open his skin and let the swarm of wasps inside him devour them whole. So he just laughs and laughs and lets them stare at him in disgust.

 Disgust is better.

 Sometimes his laughter is fucking hysterical, rising and rising and rising until they’re all screaming at him at the top of their lungs just to be heard. They say that he’s scaring them. Good. They should fucking be scared.

 Sometimes his laughter is just in his head. They say they can’t hear him but he’s laughing. He’s laughing and they can’t hear him. Could they ever?

 Sometimes he doesn’t realize it’s him. Someone will be laughing and they’ll all be glaring at him and oh, yeah, that’s him.

 Sometimes he just can’t shut the fuck up.

 Maybe it would be easier if he fucking could.

 If he could shut his brain the fuck up for two goddamn seconds maybe he could actually make this work. Maybe he could be palatable enough to be tolerated. What does being tolerated feel like? What does it look like? Is it red, like blood, does it run in rivulets down his arms?

 Is it dry, like the pillows? Does it just sit there in the corner, begging to be torn apart by razor-sharp teeth, or does it actively try to suffocate him as he wraps his mouth around words that won’t ever fit?

 Or is it empty, hollow, like the blood vessels in his heart? Does it make him ache when a strong breeze blows by? Does it taste like steel, ozone, does it burn his tongue as he tries to breathe?

 What does tolerance feel like, Remus wonders, because he’s all too familiar with isolation.

 He’s never really alone. The voices won’t leave him be. They scream and cackle and whisper and taunt him with their awful, awful words and ideas and images and sensations. But he’s alone in every way that matters.

 Except for the monsters.

 He and Roman haven’t told the others about the Subconscious. It’s the one thing they’ve both consistently agreed on. The others don’t get to know about the Subconscious.

 It’s not a nice place. It’s not even really a place. It’s a void, deep and vast, populated by things darker than darkness. The things in there are terrifying enough to make Remus’s skin crawl. They drag things down into the depths and rip them from the inside out, shredding tissues as they’re flipped inside out.

 Monsters live in there.

 Beasts. Creatures. Things.

 They whisper to Remus sometimes. Their tongues are soaked in fear. Not Virgil’s type of fear, a thicker type of fear. It oozes out of their gaping maws and coats Remus’s limbs until he’s stuck, drowning in a tar pit. Insanity.

 Sometimes he can struggle out of it.

 Not this time.

 The monster purrs in satisfaction as its shadows whip about the walls, crawling up to the ceiling, tapping their long, bony fingers against the very edges of the eye. His ribcage creaks, rent asunder by the sudden invisible weight. Dark passages yawn at the foot of his bed, around the fuzzy edges of the candle’s glow. Is there a candle in here? He’s not allowed a candle. Why is there a candle in here?

 The shadows creep closer, up the long winding staircase—staircase? Where is he? Is he moving? Are they moving him?—through the banister, dancing up the curtain strings. There is insanity here, delectable, soaking through the walls, coloring the soft breaths that sigh in the still interior. The shadows creep closer, luxuriating in the darkness, the unseen. Remus stands at the brink of madness, teetering, awake, dripping head to toe in insanity.

 A single candle burns atop the nightstand. He’s not allowed a candle. Its light flickers. His head pokes out above the sheets, fingers curled around its edge. He didn’t tuck himself in. He isn’t in bed. Yes, he is. The bed is standing up behind him. Now it’s lying down. He doesn’t know what’s real anymore.

 He dares not move, lest the shadows hear him and find him, and yet he dares not close his eyes. A chill reaches a long finger through the window pane and lightly strokes the space between his shoulder blades. He keens.

 The fingers lift his hairs to stand aloft, tugging them as if they are puppeteering his arms. They aren’t his arms. They never were. The chill cackles, diving to squeeze his legs, massaging its frigidity into his thighs. A knuckle comes up to trail along the soft skin under his arms, laughing as he curls up tight, trying to block the probing touches from snatching the rest of his warmth. He’s too warm. He’s too cold. The air atop him merely flutters, letting the chill dig and prod and one at him with its relentless talons. The insanity merely rumbles, soaking him to the bone. Is that what it wants? To steal his bones?

 As the insanity drips through the air, it fills his ears, sending the shadows along the walls, up the ceiling, down beneath the skin. The light flickers. The insanity pours into his eyes. The chill rubs it in, still reaching wiggling fingers toward the soft meat of his tummy, blowing the insanity into ripples across his pupils. It reaches two fingers into his mouth, sliding across his tongue. As he gasps, it wriggles back under his arms and cackles anew. The insanity simply hums, sliding across his skin, down to pool in the hollow of his arms, nestled against his chest. Crueler hands dig into the meat at the back of his knees, the undersides of his rear, delighting in how he shivers. He whimpers. A knuckle runs over the very edge of him and lingers, coaxing the insanity to its wiggling lure.

 The pit yawns beneath him, the monster voice luring him in, closer, deeper, come, down…

 He does the only thing he can do.

 He laughs.

 Loudly. Heartily. He laughs so hard it bends him in half, cracking his spine. The sound scrapes along his throat. It rips spittle out of him, flying off into the darkness. He laughs. He laughs. He can’t stop laughing.

 Spittle is joined by tears.

 He can’t stop.

 It won’t stop.

 They won’t stop.

 Nothing ever stops.

 “Remus? Remus!”

 “Jesus Christ, Remus, what’s going on?”

 “Come away from there, sweetie, you’re going to fall.”

 “Remus, come on, come here, listen to us, come on, you’re—you’re gonna fall.”

 Hands wrap around his arms and yank, sending him hurtling back from the edge. He falls into something soft.

 “Hey, hey,” comes the quiet growl, “hey, dude, it’s okay. Shh, shh, breathe, Remus, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

  Too late.

 “You gotta breathe, man. It’s gonna be worse if you don’t.”

 I can’t, Remus thinks frantically, I can’t breathe.

 He’s still laughing. There are still tears running down his face.

 “In and out, Remus, you can do it…”

 Virgil? Is that Virgil? Isn’t Virgil scared of him? Why is Virgil here?

 “There you go, Remus, it’s okay…” Virgil’s rubbing his arms. Arm? How many does he have? “It’s okay.”

 Something hits his chest like a thunderclap and he gasps.

 “That’s it, that’s it…it’s okay, Remus, it’s gonna be okay.” Something’s strangling him. No—no, trapping him. Also no. What’s happening? “You’re alright now, Remus.”

 “V—Virgil?”

 “Yeah, Remus, it’s me. J’s here too, it’s gonna be okay. We got you.”

 Remus cranes his head backward to look up at what’s holding him. Janus smiles down at him, concern written plainly all over his face.

 “Hey, sweetie,” he says softly, stroking Remus’s damp cheek, “you gave us quite the scare there.”

 “S-scare?”

 “You looked like you were hurting,” he says, not unkindly, “and that you were scared.”

 Something twists in his gut.

 “What would you know about being scared?”

 To their credit, neither of them fucking blinks.

 “I know that I care about you,” Janus murmurs, still cupping Remus’s face, “and that the thought of you falling into that pit scared me.”

 “I care about you too,” Virgil says, “and you were hurting.”

 “Everything hurts,” Remus hisses, yanking at Janus to get him to let go, “there are ants crawling around inside of me and monsters force-feeding me insanity.”

 Virgil shoots Janus a worried look. Janus reaches behind them to fetch a tissue box, silently cleaning Remus’s face.

 “It won’t stop,” he mutters, “it never stops.”

 “What never stops, sweetie?”

 “Everything.”

 Janus glances up. Then back down.

 “The others are worried,” he says softly, “they want to come see you. Should we let them?”

 He can’t hold back the scoff. “Why would they care?”

 “Because they care about you, sweetie, you’re important.”

 “No, I’m not.”

 “Of fucking course you are,” Virgil says immediately, “don’t say that.”

 “You’ve got a fucking funny way of showing it,” Remus hisses, “you don’t want me around.”

 “That’s not true!”

 “Patton.”

 “No, Logan! He doesn’t believe we care about him, let me go—“

 “Patton?” Remus turns his head.

 Patton…Patton is also crying?

 The other Side drops to his knees in front of Remus, reaching out to catch another set of Remus’s tears in his palms. His lip wobbles, curling around Remus protectively.

 “Of course we care about you, kiddo,” he manages, “you’re so wonderful.”

 “You can’t fucking stand me.”

 “I don’t understand you,” Patton corrects, “but I could never hate you. You’re so passionate. I love the way you love things.”

 Fucking pause.

 “You—you what?”

 “I care about you, kiddo.” Patton presses his forehead against Remus’s. “Please don’t leave.”

 What the fuck is going on? The monsters pull back, uncertain, but the ants have no such qualms. They burrow deeper into his bones, crawling through his muscles in searing agony.

 “Remus,” Logan calls softly, “Remus, can you hear me?”

 “Yeah,” he gasps, “yeah, I can hear you.”

 “Good.” There’s a gentle hand under his chin. “What’s the matter?”

 “There are ants in my bones and monsters trying to drown me in insanity.”

 Logan just nods. He fucking nods. “Why do you think there are ants in your bones?"

 “I can fucking feel them,” Remus growls, “they chewed through my veins. They’re in me.”

 “Where do you think they started,” Logan says softly, “can you show me?”

 Remus just lifts his wrists limply. Logan takes one in his hands, frowning in concentration as he runs his fingers gently over the skin.

 “There aren’t any marks here,” he pronounces after a moment, “no holes, no bite marks.”

 “There…there aren’t?”

 “Not here.” Logan holds his hand out, palm up in offering. “Where else?”

 He lays his other wrist shakily in Logan’s grip. He looks it over with the same attentive care, pronouncing no bite marks. No ants.

 “Are you sure?”

 “I’m sure,” he promises, rubbing his thumb over the back of Remus’s hand, “is there anywhere else you’d like me to check?”

 “Behind my ears,” he blurts before he can stop himself, “I—I can hear them.”

 Logan nods and stretches his arm forward. “Come here, then.”

 Has Logan always been this…soft? The gentle fingers pressing and stroking behind his ear, carding through his hair, have they always been so…kind?

 “Would you like me to take a picture,” Logan whispers after a moment, “to show you there’s nothing?”

 Remus nods. There’s a quiet click of the camera shutter.

 “See?”

 “…yeah. Yeah.”

 “Anywhere else?”

 “My back. My spine. It—it hurts.”

 “May I have a look, then?”

 Logan checks him over. Every single spot. He doesn’t once roll his eyes or huff that Remus is being ridiculous. He doesn’t scold him for it. He doesn’t pretend that the ants are real and he knows how to get them out. He doesn’t tell Remus that he’s going to be eaten alive from the inside.

 He just…checks. Patiently and thoroughly. His hands are warm. His voice is quiet.

 “I can have an x-ray ordered,” he says after he checks the last spot, “if you’re still unsure.”

 “N-no,” Remus manages, shaking a little, “I—I believe you.”

 Logan nods. He reaches out to cup Remus’s chin again. “Are you alright?”

 Is he?

 Has he ever been?

 “N-no.”

 “That’s okay.” Logan smiles—fucking smiles—at him and glances up at the others. “Can I show them how to check for you, in case it happens again?”

 The question shocks him to his core. He barely has the wherewithal to nod.

 Logan’s hands are back on his skin, turning and pointing carefully. He can feel their eyes on him as he works. Janus gently undoes the top of Remus’s collar so they can make sure his neck is clear as well.

 “Roman?”

 Remus’s heart sinks.

 “Roman, do you want to see how to—Roman, what are you doing?”

 Remus peers nervously over his shoulder to see Roman standing in front of the pit. From the line of his shoulders, he can see how tense Roman is. His hands are shaking.

 “...Roman?”

 He turns. His face is deathly pale. His gaze finds Remus and he swallows heavily.

 “…Re?”

 “Roman?” Remus swallows. Is that what his voice sounds like? “Ro?”

 “Were you…” Roman glances over his shoulder. “Did you…?”

 Shame.

 Shame bubbles up so fast it springs hot, guilty tears behind Remus’s eyes. He ignores the worried noises from the others as he slumps.

 A truly wounded noise comes from in front of him as Roman barrels forward, knocking his brother flat on his ass and wrapping his arms so tightly around him that Remus gasps awake.

 Warm. Real. Roman. Roman is here, Roman is safe, Roman cares about him, Roman is fucking here. He lets out a cry of his own and clings to his brother.

 “Not one of them is gonna touch you,” Roman swears, his voice shaking, “you hear me? I’ll gut them myself. They’ll have to get through me before they can even touch you.”

 “I know, Ro—I know—“

 “Swear to me,” Roman whispers frantically, “tell me you know I would never have let them take you. Tell me you know I’d’ve torn that place apart just to get you back.”

 “I know, Roman, I—I—“

 “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Re, I can’t take it.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re staying right here—“ Roman holds him tighter and it’s the good kind of sore—“right fucking here.”

 Distantly, he hears Janus chuckle and there’s another warm swirl across his back. He looks up from the crook of Roman’s neck to see Logan settling in, reaching out to give them a hug. Janus sits behind him. Virgil and Patton grab blankets and join the pile.

 It’s…it’s good.

 “Listen to us,” Roman keeps whispering, “not them. They’re not gonna lay a hand on you. We got you, Remus, we’ll keep you.”

 “Gonna keep me?”

 “Always, Re.”

 “R-Roman—“

 “Let it out, Remus, come on. We’re not going anywhere.”

 Remus cries.

 Sometimes the world just fucking sucks.

 But sometimes, as Patton ruffles his hair, as Virgil leans his head on his shoulder, as Janus rubs a hand across his tummy, as Logan starts talking very softly, as Roman holds him tight, sometimes it doesn’t.

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#sanders sides #fic #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #remus sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #dragonbabbles #self harm #tw: self harm #tw self harm