#I had to drag them to my desktop for it to work

[sometimesthereishorse]

12/05-2022 🦄 Horse: Deities in Harmony (Aromantic and Asexual unicorn) Requested by @lorebird & @get-outside-nekomatsu

Unicorn requests are closed atm! 💕

[gender-euphowrya]

refreshed, healed, content, thriving, ready to take on the world <- just reorganized his desktop icons

[hbdttg]

Part 1 / tag list below the cut

“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.

Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.

Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.

And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.

Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.

“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”

Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.

Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.

“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.

Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet.  “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”

“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.

“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”

“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”

“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”

“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.

“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.

And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.

Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”

Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”

‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).

While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.

Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.

Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”

Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.

He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.

Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.

Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.

Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.

Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.

—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.

He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.

So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.

…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.

“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”

With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”

Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”

“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”

Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.

“Why are you still going on about quitting?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”

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

tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~

Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.

[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]

@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface

@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed 

@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91

@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt

@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion

[dduane]

Firefox (for Windows) folks: A Way To Get Back Tabs From A Previously Closed Session

Normally I don't have hundreds of tabs open in a given session, but sometimes I might have ten or twenty or thirty of them open. I use them as a casual to-do list, shutting them down when complete. (shrug)

Sometimes, though—and I bet some of you have been there—Firefox will close down incorrectly, or close down secondary to an update, and all those tabs will be GONE when it restarts. ARGH!! —because these closed sessions aren't easily recoverable by using control-shift-T or whatever the command is.

This happened to me just this last week-and-a-bit. I closed the desk machine down before going to FinnCon, and when I brought it up again... zero tabs. Much cursing ensued.

But then I went hunting for a way to get tabs back from a previously closed session... and WTF? I found one.

So here's what you do. (NB: This presupposes you're working in Windows. I have yet to see whether the file structure we get into below works in a Mac. More on this later.)

First of all, bring Firefox up and load this page. This is a lovely tool called Session History Scrounger. (And all praise to Jefferson Scher who created it.) Its job is to parse the files in which Firefox stores session info—including info about your open and recently closed tabs.

Now: use the search box in W10 or W11 and enter the following:

%APPDATA%\Mozilla\Firefox\Profiles

It'll take you to a directory where you'll see files with names like these.

Find the one that was most recently updated and doubleclick on it. You'll see a directory structure something like the following:

Doubleclick into the sessionstore-backups folder. (Save the contents of this whole directory to some other safe spot: maybe your documents folder or desktop.)

Inside that directory you'll find files that look like this:

You may also find files that look like "recovery.jsonlz4" or "recovery.baklz4", which would be the windows and tabs in your current session, or a backup copy of those windows/tabs, respectively.

What you may have most interest in, though, is previous sessions—and in my case, the one that was running on 21 June, which I knew (though it was an upgrade, as you can see by the name) would have the tabs I was concerned about having lost.

What you then do with that compressed .json file (the "lz4" signals the compression Firefox is using) is drag it onto the empty box on the Scrounger page: or else use the "browse" button in the page's right hand column to find and load it. Then hit the page's "Scrounge URLs" button and let the page process the file. (NB: this process stays "within the page" and does not go to the network.)

It'll then produce you a list of all the tabs you had open, as well as those you'd recently closed. (Here's a bit of mine so you know what it looks like...)

...And that's it! Click on the URLs to bring them up and save them as bookmarks, or just open them as tabs so they register as "new" in your history. Or whatever.

So. If you're a Firefox user and feel inclined, please reblog this so others can find it. (And also, if it helps you and you should feel moved to do so... oh, I don't know: buy me a coffee.)

Cheers, all!

[wooziorgans]

1. through me || ljh

based off of this anon ask!

summary: after a particularly rough breakup, y/n has time to reevaluate his sexuality. and, well, you’ll never know if you never try; even if the guilt eats you alive.

pairing: idol!woozi x male soloist!reader

genre: best friends/roommates to ???fwb???

warnings: bi-curious reader. readers first time giving a blowjob. mutual blowjobs. soft dom jihoon but actually insane sub jihoon. praise kink. talking about sexuality. mentions of watching porn. implied bottom jihoon. mild homophobia. some internalized homophobia. reader has implied daddy issues. a bunch of svt members are queer in this. hardcore aftercare. slight given (anime) spoilers but not rlly. reader has a bad gag reflex. reader gags once. deepthroating. ass eating. rimming.

word count: 8.7k

masterlist | next

Your friendship with Jihoon was far different from all of the friendships you had with other people.  

Maybe it was the nature of your jobs; both of you were producers, you spent the most hours of the day writing songs and fucking around with the equipment in your respective studios to fine tune your work. Both of you were particular, neat, and to some, might appear downright odd in the way you functioned on a day to day basis. All of this being said, ever since you met Jihoon, neither of you had ever formed such a solid friendship with another person quite as quickly.

Seungkwan had quite literally ran into you on his way to Jihoon’s studio one afternoon five years ago. He recognized you from around the building, and after apologising profusely for ten minutes straight, he asked you to join him for drinks later that night with a few of his bandmates as a way to pay you back for your now Americano stained t-shirt. The one day you decide to wear a white shirt, and a coffee addict ruins it. 

“It’s fine, really. I have spare clothes in my studio. It’s really not a big deal.” You had said, laughing carefully at his obvious distress. You agreed to get food with him nonetheless, seeing as your friend circle was quite small since you had debuted as a soloist, and a self producing one at that. 

Jihoon didn’t join you for dinner that night, but he did meet you three weeks later in the hallway. You had greeted Seungkwan as you saw him in the hallway on the same floor he ran into you on. Rather excitedly, he waved back, pulling you down the hall with him. You and Seungkwan had ended up talking for hours at the dinner he invited you to, alongside other members of Seventeen. They had been so warm and welcoming, despite how hard it was for you to meet new people, and it was almost instantaneous how fast you clicked with all of them. 

You had, at this point, met almost all of the members; some briefly in passing, others more in depth, all with Seungkwan's help. The last remaining member was Jihoon, who you knew virtually nothing about other than that he also was a producer, and that Seungkwan said you would get along well. When Seungkwan pulled you into an unfamiliar studio, it was solidified. You ended up talking about music with Jihoon for hours, work abandoned on your desktop where you left it. 

Through Seungkwan, and subsequently Jihoon, you discovered that there was quite a large queer community inside of the K-Pop industry; one that you had found yourself in the middle of, despite having no attraction to men. 

That was until you had a rather big fight with a long term girlfriend over your best friend being gay. Jihoon liked to be upfront about his orientation, in case it was a deal breaker for any potential friendships, but seeing as you were being dragged around the Hybe building by Seungkwan, it was much easier for Jihoon to come out and tell you. 

It wasn’t an issue. You were a lot of things, but being like your father wasn’t one of them. You thanked him for telling you, but reassured him that it wouldn’t be an issue for you. It was an issue for your girlfriend though.

She didn’t like how much time you spent with a gay man; assumed that every single interaction with him was him trying to ‘convert’ you. It was ridiculous, but a persistent issue throughout your entire relationship. You tried to avoid conflict by not bringing her around Jihoon, trying to sweep the issue under the rug, until it all came to a head. 

Things had been tense in your relationship for a while, but one night while watching television with your girlfriend, the lead male actor had done some fan service and it left you feeling weird. Your girlfriend noticed the way your jaw tensed, and interrogated you until it suddenly blew up into a full blown argument. 

“So fucking what if I think other men are attractive? That doesn’t change the fact that I’m with you, or that I’m in love with you.” You had said, and that seemed to put the final nail in the coffin of your relationship. 

“Oh my god. He has fucking converted you.” She hissed, and all the months of reassurance, years even, seemed to be all for nothing. She called you nearly every single name under the sun, while simultaneously making your best friend seem like someone who came straight from the fifth circle of hell. It was non-negotiable for you. Insulting someone who understood you better than anyone else, who would’ve never judged you for the fleeting thoughts you had about men… it was over the second she opened her mouth. 

Two years down the drain as you packed a bag and told her it was over, tears streaming down your face at the audacity she had to talk about Jihoon like that, but also for the wasted years  you spent with someone like that. Someone so vile and full of hatred.

The queer community, as you had learned, was far more accepting and understanding than the straight community. Jihoon was an extension of that. When you showed up at his door, crying and out of breath from trying to contain your anger towards your now ex-girlfriend, he pulled you into his apartment, holding you tightly as he rubbed circles on your back. He let you in for the night, offering the spare bedroom he had in case his parents came to visit. 

You didn’t say much that night, just told him it was over. You spared the details about the fight you had being about him. That would’ve upset him immensely, and you couldn’t deal with him being upset at the moment. You stayed the night, and then you never really left. 

With the freedom of being single, you began to find yourself staring at more men, none of them were your friends, except for Jihoon. You had told Seungkwan while drunk one night that if Jihoon was a woman, you would be head over heels in love with him. Seungkwan had laughed it off, but as your attraction toward men began to confuse you, he was the first person you went to for advice. 

He comforted you, cooing softly at your internal turmoil, trying to understand the best he could. Seugkwan offered advice when necessary in your conversation, but told you he wouldn’t be much help because he had always known that he was gay. If you really wanted advice, he had said, then your best bet was to talk to Vernon or Seungcheol about it. And so you did, though it took you three weeks to muster up the courage to text Seungcheol to talk about something ‘personal and kind of serious but not really.’

Seungcheol had been a very intimidating figure when you first met him, but he was the one who would text you to get drinks after work, and your friendship solidified quite quickly. You were close with Jihoon, and that was all he needed to like you enough to initiate a friendship. You shyly confessed to Seungcheol that you had been, in the time since your conversation with Seungkwan, having provocative dreams about men; omitting the detail that most of them were about Jihoon on all fours, something you were quite ashamed about.

It had been about seven months since your breakup when you had your conversation with Seungcheol, and you and Jihoon were roommates. Things like this could ruin any regular roommate dynamic, but you and Jihoon weren’t normal. Seungcheol listened to your internal struggles, and reassured you that it was normal to feel some confusion, that you didn’t have to have everything figured out right now, but that you were definitely bi-curious from what you had told him.

Putting a label on things gave you a little comfort.

You had been thinking about your conversation with Seungcheol, and subsequently what being bi-curious even meant, for a while before you brought it up to Jihoon, and seemingly out of nowhere. One night, in the downtime of a new action anime you had started watching, you asked him how he knew he was gay. All he did was raise an eyebrow before telling you. When he was finished he asked the dreaded question: why?

Yeah, why were you thinking about suddenly kissing boys? Women had been fine this far along into your life, so what changed? The easiest answer to that question was the man who had asked it. Jihoon was pretty, this was something that was an objective fact, and you’d always been drawn to pretty things. 

The issue was that you lived together. Normally when things got weird inside your head, you’d run from the problem. This time you couldn’t just run; moving out suddenly wasn’t an option, Jihoon would know something was up, and you couldn’t explain why you needed to leave without sounding like a big fat liar. 

You told him that you had talked to Seungcheol and Seungkwan separately, and that you thought you might be bi-curious. You told him you had started to think about one of your friends a little differently, excluding the fact that it was him. Jihoon comforted you, while softly scolding you for not telling him sooner, but reassured you that you could tell him anything and he’d help you the best he could. After your conversation with Jihoon, he resumed the anime you had been watching and held you close, making sure you were okay with it first, and things changed slightly after that.

So all you did was give in. Living together with someone who hates skinship as much as you do is strange because it’s a double negative. You both tend to stay away from other people, but somehow that cancels out. or maybe it’s just the Jihoon effect. Either way, living together had resulted in a nightly ritual of watching anime on the couch together. 

It was how both of you decompressed before you lived together, so it was something you started doing in each other's company. Obviously you didn’t start getting clingy right away, but each night the distance between the two of you would get smaller and smaller until you ended up resting your head on Jihoon’s chest one night when you were extra tired. He didn’t say anything, just wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into him further. 

And so it became a thing. Shortly after, Jihoon started laying down with his head in your lap. This was your favourite way to lay, because it allowed you to play with his hair. 

Much like right now. Jihoon had never seen Given, and you were a little shocked to learn that. Not that all gay people need to consume all types of gay media, but for an anime buff as big as Jihoon, you were sure he had to have seen it, especially considering the plot. Jihoon was laying in your lap, long dark hair slotted in between your fingers. He preened like a cat when you massage a sensitive part of his scalp. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this.” You sigh, head leaning back against the couch. He hums softly, pushing his cheek against your thigh. 

“Not all gay people know every single piece of gay media.” He laughs quietly. On the screen, Mafuyu strums his guitar softly, glancing to Uenoyama for approval. “Is this why you wanted me to see this? Because he has a red Gibson hollow body?” Jihoon turns his head up to look up at you. You look away from the television to see his big, brown eyes shimmering softly in the low light of the evening. 

“No. It’s cute, and I think you’ll find the plot… decent enough.” You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. Jihoon just hums, turning his attention back to the show, and that’s it. That’s the end of the conversation for the time being. 

A few more episodes in, a flashback scene between Mafuyu and Yuki had your head tilting in curiosity. Jihoon must feel the shift of your neck, because he’s turning his head back up to you. 

“What’s up? Never seen softcore gay porn before?” He asks lightly. His tone is a little teasing, airy and careful around the subject. You’ve gotten to the point of being able to joke about it, even if your attraction to men is still quite sensitive. “I know you’re confused about things right now, but watching this kind of stuff with your gay best friend isn’t really gonna solve anything. You need to actually experience it.” He clicks his tongue softly, as though he’s unsure of what exactly to say next. 

You fill that decision for him by speaking next. “I’ve already seen the entire series, Jihoon. It’s not that, I just… I guess I’m a little curious about what it feels like. Not that I want to… um, not that I’m thinking about that stuff right now. I’m barely comfortable with the idea of touching a dick that isn’t mine.” You stumble over your words, blush creeping its way up your neck in the familiar way it always does with the subject. 

Jihoon laughs softly. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff, right? I thought we established that it was okay for you to ask questions.” His voice is still light, but it’s sincere. He wants you to know that you can trust him, and you do. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just, like— I’m just not used to it. I know that I find guys pretty, but I think I’m having trouble imagining doing anything with them. I don’t know if I could.” Jihoon hums in acknowledgment, his hand carefully slides over your thigh in an attempt to soothe you. It doesn’t work. 

“Even if I sort of always knew, it was difficult to start doing anything. I mean, I lived with twelve other guys for all of my experimental teenage years. I didn’t really have the privacy or the time to experiment. We were new to the industry, I didn’t really have a foundation to start. But when I did, I took it slow.” Jihoon squeezes the flesh of your thigh through your sweatpants softly. “The first time I sucked dick, I threw up.” He laughs softly, and you follow. The image is amusing, but then you dwell on it for a second too long, and the image of Jihoon sucking your dick flashes briefly through your mind. 

You shift in your spot to get rid of it. It works. “I don’t know if I’d ever be able to suck dick. That just seems like a lot.” You sigh softly. 

“How can you be sure if you’ve never even tried it?” Jihoon rolls over onto his back, head still in your lap as he looks up at you. You resist the urge to run your fingers through his hair in this position. “Thinking guys are pretty and actually doing things with them are two very different things. You don’t really strike me as the kind of guy to just start sucking dick, but you don’t have to do everything right away.” 

“I know, but isn’t it sort of expected? Like, women need foreplay, so isn’t some kind of foreplay needed with men too? Especially with… sex? Like you clearly have to stretch that shit open, and that’s a little scary.” You swallow hard. You know Jihoon’s watching your throat from the way his eyes follow the bob of your Adam's apple. 

“Well yeah, but I think if you explained your situation to someone they could take care of that at first. And you don’t need to bottom right away.” Jihoon pauses for a few seconds. “What about sucking dick is so scary?” He asks, voice a little softer. 

“All of it. Having something in my mouth.” Jihoon laughs softly. 

“Yeah. Your gag reflex is terrible.” He butts in. You laugh, though it’s a little strained. 

“What do I do if they cum in my mouth? Spit? I guess there’s also a little fear around not being good at it.” You exhale, and the illusion is broken. The one you carefully built up around Jihoon, even though he told you not to. The one that made him think you hadn’t actively been thinking about giving head instead of receiving it.

Jihoon sits up carefully. Your thighs miss the warmth of his head instantly. He’s looking right at you, big brown eyes somehow bigger than normal. “Have you ever tasted your own cum before?” He asks, and for a second you think, pray, that he’s joking, but he’s dead serious. 

“What?!” You ask, slightly exasperated. 

“I’m asking if you’ve ever tasted your own cum.” You stutter out syllables for a few seconds before finally gathering your thoughts to respond to him. 

“I- uh, yeah. Once. It got in my mouth by accident.” Jihoon hums, shifting a little closer to you. You know he’s not satisfied with your answer though. “It was really bitter.” He nods softly. 

“Was this before or after you moved in with me? If it’s before then it was probably your diet.” Somehow, Jihoon’s knowledge of fitness and sex always seemed to shock you. “You didn’t eat properly before you moved in with me. It should be a little sweeter now. Easier to swallow.” Something in his eyes shifts, and it’s dangerous. 

“Jihoon—” He cuts you off swiftly, not giving you the time to digest the double meaning of his words. 

“Do you think about kissing guys?” You nod weakly, shivering softly as his hand finds your lower thigh again. “Do you think you could kiss another guy?” Another weak nod. 

“I’ve kissed Seokmin before.” Jihoon laughs softly, ignoring your attempt to dissolve the tension. 

“I’ve kissed Seokmin. What about other guys? What about this friend you told me about?” He tilts his head, fingers ghosting up further on your thigh. At this point, you can already anticipate how the night is going to end, but you’d rather not focus on that right now. 

“Uh, yeah. Shouldn’t be too different from kissing women, right?” Jihoon nods curtly. 

“Right.” His fingers brush your inner thigh and you shiver softly. “All you need to do is find someone willing to help you out; let you try things in a judgement free environment.” Your cock twitches softly in your pants. 

“Finding someone is the problem.” You sigh, head lulling back against the couch. 

“You have me, though.” He almost purrs out. 

“Jihoon, I can’t—” You start before it's quickly shut down. 

“I know you’re curious. So do you want to try some things? You’ll never know if you don’t try, Y/N.” You nod softly, eyes squeezing shut as his hand finally reaches the top of your thigh. “We’ll keep it lighthearted, yeah? As far as you want to go, we’ll go. You can’t fuck me tonight though. I might not be clean enough for that right now.” The mental image of being balls deep in Jihoon’s ass is enough to get your cock twitching softly. Your sweatpants do fuck all to hide the slow growth of your erection as his hand moves higher up to your hips. 

You cross your arms in an attempt to maintain some semblance of self control. “Then can I kiss you?” You breathe out a shaky yes. “Uncross your arms, Y/N.” You do as he tells you, letting them fall to your sides. He shifts onto his knees, before he’s moving. 

“What are you— oh.” Jihoon pushes you back onto the couch softly, thick thighs straddling your legs as he sits down right on your lap. He laughs softly, gaze incredibly tender as he looks over your face, scanning for any discomfort. “Don’t look at me like that.” You laugh softly. 

“Like what?” He tilts his head again, hand creeping up your neck slowly. 

“Like that. With your eyes.” Jihoon throws his head back in a laugh, the air around you growing comfortable despite the nerves boiling in your stomach. His pale neck is on full display, and you briefly wonder what it would look like covered in hickeys. 

“Shut up. I’m trying to kiss you, and you’re pulling this shit.” He sighs out another laugh, his other hand running up your arm. His fingers play with the hair at the nape of your neck. 

“Sorry. I’m just nervous.” You breathe out, hands carefully moving to hold his waist. Your thumb rests on his hip bone, or where it should be. The fabric of his sweater makes it hard to pinpoint exactly where it is. 

“I know. That’s okay. If you want to stop, just tell me, but I’m a good kisser so you don’t have to worry about that.” His thumb strokes your jaw, before he’s closing his eyes; pretty, long eyelashes fluttering as he leans in slowly. You can’t help the way your other hand rests softly on his ass. He puffs air out between his lips at that, and you close the distance between both of you. 

Surprisingly, or more so surprising to you, Jihoon is a very sensual kisser. The second your lips connect, he’s taking it slow, letting the initial contact linger, before he starts moving his jaw slowly. 

You move your other hand to his ass, carefully giving a small squeeze as you try to distract yourself from the small voice that’s whispering softly inside your head that this isn’t you, that you’re not gay. Jihoon whines softly against your mouth, and it’s enough of a distraction to pull you back into the kiss, back into him. 

The flesh of his ass is soft. You expected it to be pure muscle, but it wasn’t entirely that. It’s firm, an obvious side effect of all the hours he spends in the gym per week, but there’s a layer of fat that makes it squishy. You know it would jiggle if you slapped it, and that makes you squeeze a little harder, the movement of your lips picking up in speed as you kiss him a little deeper. 

He whines softly as your hand slips up his back, under his hoodie and shirt to caress his bare skin. Jihoon is a good kisser, and when he whines again as you knead his ass, you take the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth. 

Immediately Jihoon is sucking on it softly, trying to elicit some kind of sound from you. It works as you grunt, hand on his back pulling his chest into yours in a quick motion that leaves both of you so dizzy. Your cocks brush each other in this new close proximity, and Jihoon releases his suction on your tongue to push his own into your mouth as well. 

Jihoon’s tongue is soft and velvety against yours. He kitten licks into your mouth, soft whines and whimpers falling into your mouth as your hands explore his ass and back. The feeling of his ass under your hand makes you a little light headed. It’s just so soft, even through the fabric of his sweats. 

Jihoon gives an experimental roll of his hips against your lap, bulge knocking into yours. Both of you moan out lowly, lips still brushing each other as you take a moment to process. Jihoon laughs softly, pulling away for a second to speak. “At least you’re hard. That's a good sign.” He jokes, one of his hands abandoning its place on your arm to run it down your chest. 

“Fuck,” You gasp softly, as Jihoon rolls his hips again. “You’re just so fucking pretty, Jihoon.” You breathe, and it’s so incredibly honest it makes Jihoon’s skin burn. He almost pulls away before he leans back in, pushing you further into the couch as he grinds against you. His fingers curl around the fabric of your t-shirt, pulling you closer to him. 

“Shit, baby, don’t say things like that.” He gasps into your mouth, before his head falls to the crook of your neck. His hips never stop moving, precum leaking from his tip, darkening the grey fabric of his sweatpants. 

You can’t see the spot on his sweats, but you can feel it start to seep into your own sweats. Jihoon places a hesitant kiss on your neck. “Baby?” You question, tone teasing as your hand slides further up his back. 

“Is it okay if I call you that?” He pulls his face away from your neck to ask the question. His eyes are searching your face for any discomfort. 

“Call me whatever you like.” The hand on his back reaches the back of his neck, and you pull him in carefully for another kiss. This time, the sensuality is gone. It’s hungry. 

You almost crave Jihoon’s small noises; crave the way he rolls his hips into you, crave (what you just realized) how fucking hard he is. The feeling of grinding against something with shape feels infinitely better. It makes your head spin a little at the realization; that you’d (at least right now) much rather have Jihoon on your lap than any woman. 

You lick into his mouth, arm slipping out of his shirt, down his back and up to his face to hold it. You kiss him like you’re starving, or maybe it’s because you may never have the opportunity to do so again. He moans into your mouth, fingers catching on your shirt as he tugs it softly. 

Your tongues fight back and forth in a perfect rhythm, sucking, nipping, biting at each other. You squeeze his ass a little harder, delivering a soft slap to it. Jihoon yelps into your mouth and you know you’ve got him right where you need him. Through your dreams about him, you’ve deducted that he might be submissive, and you can feel his control slipping away from him as you keep grabbing and kissing him. 

The hand on his face falls, and you test your luck by placing your hand on top of your dick, palm up, when he lifts his hips. On the down motion, his cock makes contact with your hand and he breaks. More precum leaks from his cock, leaving a slight sheen on your hand. You give an experimental squeeze through his sweats and he moans loudly into your mouth, teeth clashing into yours before he pulls away. 

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” He pants, leaning his forehead against yours as he lets out a breathy laugh. You place a soft kiss to his jaw, craning your neck slightly to reach the area. 

“Isn’t that the goal?” You ask, carefully giving a soft squeeze to his cock. He hisses softly, back arching. 

“Well, yeah, but I-I gotta teach you.” Despite his subtle protest, he still pushes his hips down into your palm. You pull your hand away, letting your thumb rest on the hem of his sweatpants. You carefully push the single digit under the band, nail brushing against his v-line. 

Jihoon pulls his bottom lip into his teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He goes to speak again, but for some reason can’t figure out what to say. 

“If you’re gonna teach me, then tell me what to do. Tell me how to make you feel good.” You push your hand further down his hips, to his lower stomach and into the hem of his boxers. You can feel the heat from his cock radiating against your fingers. He shivers. 

“Fuck. Gonna teach you how to suck dick.” Jihoon shifts, getting off your lap. Your hand slips back out of his pants, lingering on his waist. “Get on your knees for me.” He sits on his knees on the couch, before shifting to sit normally. 

You do as he says, letting go of him to slide off the couch and onto your knees right in between his legs. He moans softly at the sight of you in this position, hands itching to touch you. Jihoon shifts forward. You rest your chin on his lower thigh, eyes wide as you wait for instructions on what to do. He doesn’t speak, just runs a hand through your hair as he gets his bearings. “You’ve gotten a blow job before right?” Jihoon asks breathlessly. 

“Yes, I’ve had my dick sucked before.” You laugh softly, leaning into his touch. He looks completely fucked out already; face and neck flushed and you know it’s reached the top of his chest from all the times he’s thrown off his shirt after getting home from the gym. 

“Then I won’t give you much instruction. Just feel it out. You know what feels good, so just go based off of that.” He brushes your cheek with his thumb. You nod, shifting to get closer to his lap. Now on your knees, you can really see how hard he is. His erection is straining against his sweatpants and it’s big. Jihoon’s size is a little intimidating, especially for a first time, and it’s not even out in the open. You carefully run a hand up his thigh, back to the band of his sweats, fully ready to pull them off him if he lets you, but then you stall for a second. 

You move your face from its spot on his thigh, hovering right over his dick before you lean down and place a careful kiss to it over the fabric. Jihoon moans loudly, fist tightening in your hair. You nuzzle your face into his erection, giving him some kind of friction as you continue to work him up. 

He swears loudly, lips parting as his breath quickens. You have the benefit of the doubt here; you know what feels good, your favourite ways past partners have treated you before going down on you, and you hope Jihoon likes similar things. He looks so pretty like this, and you feel some precum leak from your tip as your cock twitches at the realization. 

You use both hands to push his shirt and sweater up. You place a trail of kisses up his cock to his stomach before you kiss the skin of his abs. Kissing almost pure muscle is different from the soft skin you’re used to. Somehow, you think you like it a little bit better when you sink your teeth into one of the ridges, sucking a mark into his abs. 

Jihoon moans, pulling at your hair, hips bucking up off the couch. His sweater stays in place pushed up his torso as your hands move back down to his sweats. He lifts his hips off the cushions to help you. You pull his sweats down, boxers slipping further down his waist but not coming off. You take the opportunity to palm him through his boxers once his sweats are at his ankles, fully getting a feel for how hard and big he is. He’s not as thick as you are, but there’s still significant weight to his cock. 

He’s hard and leaking, moans slipping past his lips as you continue to suck marks into his abs, trailing further and further down. you squeeze his cock, other hand toying with the hem of his boxers. His hips buck up again, a whine slipping past his lips. “Fuck, take them off please.” You laugh at the desperation in his voice. “It hurts.” He hisses, and you know, just by how tight they are on him that it does hurt, so you pull them down to his ankles. 

His cock hits your neck as it springs free. You pull away from him, sitting back on your knees, hands rubbing his thighs. He shivers again, hand still in your hair as he pets it softly. “Scary?” He asks, voice soft. 

“Yeah. I’m a little intimidated.” You laugh nervously, and he brushes your cheek again in reassurance. 

“Just take your time. If you’re not feeling it, we can stop. I don’t expect you to deep throat me with your gag reflex being so bad, but just feel it out.” You laugh again, this time less nervous at his word. He’s right about the gag reflex though. He’s heard you gag from holding your toothbrush in your mouth for too long. Sucking dick is uncharted territory. 

You lick your hand, wetting it to wrap it around his cock. Your hand shakes as it makes first contact with his cock, giving a slow, careful pump up his entire length. Jihoon closes his eyes as he moans, head falling back. “Fuck, sorry, it’s been a while since anyones touched me.” He lets out a breathy laugh, thighs shaking softly. You give another gentle stroke to his cock, milking the precum out of him on the upstroke. You can’t help yourself as your other hand falls down to his inner thigh, nails raking over the skin. He moans again, lip tucked in between his teeth. 

“You’re so sensitive.” You coo, pushing his thighs further apart. “Legs up.” You prompt. Jihoon opens his eyes, lids heavy with lust as he stares at you.

“Put your legs up for me, pretty. I’m gonna eat you out.” You lean forward, kissing his upper thigh. Your face brushes against his cock, which you’re slowly working with one of your hands. He swears again, doing as you say. His sweats and boxers fall off his ankles and onto the floor. Your grip on his cock releases for a few seconds as you pull his hips further to the edge of the couch. 

“Didn’t know you were into that.” He gasps softly when your hand wraps back around him. 

“I’ve eaten ass before, angel. At least I know I can make you feel good this way.” The pet name of choice does something to Jihoon; he whines softly, desperately at the suggestion. Settled where you need to be, you lean down, flattening your tongue as you stick it out. His hole is pink and tight, perfectly smooth like the rest of him. 

You knew Jihoon liked to shave, preferred to be hairless partially because of his idol image, but you now knew it extended to part of his personal care. There was not a single hair in sight, which was good for you. Part of your anxiety around men in general was the presence of hair. Getting your own hair in your mouth was something you hated, and so getting another person's hair in your mouth during an intimate moment was something that scared you more than it should have. 

You lean down further, licking a long strip over his entrance. Immediately, his hips are bucking up, cock pushing itself further up into your hand which had stalled its movements as you assessed the situation. His balls hit your face, perfect and round; full. He whines softly, every last strand of his feigned dominance dissolving with the first intrusion of your tongue. You repeat the motion several times, getting him nice and wet before you start circling his entrance with your tongue. 

Jihoon’s little noises pick up in volume and frequency, breathing growing frantic on top of you. He’s tense, something isn’t great for you to work your magic, so you pull away briefly. “Just relax, angel. You’re too tense right now.” You murmur into the skin of his ass. He exhales a shaky breath, relaxing his muscles as he leans back into the couch, now laying down with his weight resting on his arms so he can still watch you. 

With his body more relaxed, you go back to rimming him before you carefully prod his entrance with your tongue. The hand on his cock starts moving again, jerking him off slowly. Your nose presses into his perineum as you start to push your tongue into him and his hand is back in your hair, grip tightening as you start to fuck him with your tongue. 

You never did mind eating ass; if it was what your partner wanted, you’d do it. But eating Jihoon out has got to be the single hottest thing you’ve ever done. His moans are so breathy and desperate that all you can think about right now is making him feel good. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. So good with your mouth, shit.” He babbles, voice shaking as he speaks. 

You keep fucking him open with your tongue, flicking it up inside him, despite the tight muscles protest. His cock is leaking nonstop now, slick precum meeting your palm as you continue to stroke him slowly, going base to tip. Your lips suction around his hole as you push your tongue in and out, picking up speed. Jihoon’s hips buck once again before he's whining out a warning. You pull your tongue out of him, sitting back on your knees as you let go of his cock. His eyes are wide in disbelief at you ripping his orgasm away from him.

“What the fuck?” He blinks a few times.

“I still need to suck you off.” Is all you offer, before Jihoon’s placing his feet back on the floor, using the hand in his hair to pull you closer to his cock. His eyes flicker, darkening, appearing sharper as he leans down to kiss you, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth to taste himself on you. He pulls away, out of breath, leaving you slightly dazed at the shift in his demeanour. 

The brief display of dominance is gone when he sees you staring at his cock, lips parting slightly as you try and calculate your first move. “Take your time. I know it’s scary.” His hand in your hair pets it softly, moving a few pieces out of your face. You shift forward, taking it back into your hand, thinking back to all the times you’ve gotten head before. 

You start with what’s familiar, opening your mouth to pull one of his balls into your mouth. You never thought a dick could be pretty, but Jihoon is proof that this can happen. It’s perfectly straight, long and thick with a pretty pink tip. His balls are round and smooth; everything about his body seems to work with each other. You make eye contact with him as your lips wrap around his balls, tongue darting out to lick at the skin. He moans softly, hand pushing your hair out of your face. His own hair is covering parts of his face, a pure testament to how long it's gotten. 

You switch your attention to his other ball once you’re satisfied with your work, repeating the same set of actions. Then it’s time to get to the main star of the show; his cock, which is painfully hard in your hand. You pull off his balls with a sharp pop, taking a few seconds to psych yourself up. You start by licking a long stripe up his shaft, hands settling on his thighs. His hand in your hair releases itself to give you more mobility. Once you reach his tip, you place a soft kiss over his head. His precum coats your lips, and you lick it off hesitantly. It’s salty, but there’s an undertone to it that’s sweet. It’s not unpleasant. Jihoon moans at the sight of you fully tasting him, hand back in your hair with his grip much less tight. 

You open your mouth to take him in, breathing out as your eyes close to calm your gag reflex that you can already feel preemptively acting up. “Relax your jaw. It’s easier to open your mouth wider if you’re not so tense.” He suggests quietly. “It’s like singing vowels, relax the back of your throat and you won’t strain so much.” Musically speaking, it makes it easier to follow his instructions. You do as he instructs, opening your mouth as you use your hand to guide his cock into your mouth. 

Jihoon’s tip hits your tongue, the taste of his precum filling your mouth as more leaks out of his head. You close your lips around his tip, sucking softly on it, eliciting a loud moan from Jihoon. With your jaw relaxed, you take him a little further into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck. What is entirely unexpected is the way your mouth seems to water around him. The excess spit makes it easier to slide him further into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you start to slowly bob your head. 

Jihoon pushes your hair back from your forehead, lips parted as breathy moans slip past them constantly. “Use your hand to get what you can’t fit in your mouth.” You do as he says, stroking the bigger half of his cock that isn’t inside your mouth. “You’re doing so good, baby. You’ve got almost half.” If anyone else was to tell you this, it may have seemed a bit condescending, but it’s Jihoon and you know he's being sincere in his praises. You moan around him softly, the vibration completely unexpected. It makes Jihoon buck his hips before he stops himself. “Fuck, sorry.” He pants, a shaky laugh following his apology. 

Only after he praises you do you fully realize how fucking hard you are. You remove your other hand from his thigh to slot it inside your sweats, fingers sneaking under the hem of your boxes as you wrap your hand around your leaking cock. The relief is immediate, making you moan again around him. You go back to focusing on him, head bobbing a little faster, taking a little more until his tip is close to kissing the back of your throat. You quicken your own hand, squeezing once you get to your tip with each pump of your fist. 

Jihoon doesn’t stop watching you, and it’s only when your eyes roll back slightly that he realizes the reason your hand left its place on his thigh. “Are you touching yourself, baby?” He asks, voice shaky. For some reason, he can’t seem to stabilize it. You do your best to nod as you read the tip of his cock as you bob your head. His grip on your hair tightens again as he moans out a string of explicits. 

You take too much on the way down, Jihoon’s tip hitting the back of your throat, and you gag hard, pulling all the way off his cock. Jihoon immediately rubs your cheek with his thumb, wiping at the small tears that had gathered in your eyes at the force of your gag reflex activating. “Careful, baby. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” You laugh weakly, panting softly.

“Sorry. I didn’t think that would be so aggressive. I’m okay.” You reassure him, voice a little scratchy and face burning in embarrassment. He smiles, a little fucked out and weak as he wipes away the few tears left in your eyes. 

“Don’t be sorry. It happens.” He coos, eyes softening at the flush spreading over your face. You take a few seconds to catch your breath before your mouth is back around his cock, a new sense of determination in your movements as a way to redeem yourself from that embarrassment. Jihoon’s eyes roll back in his head again, more soft moans and whimpers slipping past his lips as he realizes how loud he's being. 

You keep up this pace, fist tightening around your own cock as you stroke the rest of his. Jihoon moans lowly. “Fuck, just like that. Just like that, baby.” He hisses through his teeth, eyes shut tight as he resists the urge to fuck himself into your mouth. “Shit, I'm close.” His fist in your hair goes to pull you off of him so he can finish, but you keep sucking, suddenly feeling the need to swallow his load. 

He swears again, thighs shaking as he tries to push his orgasm away for a few more seconds to give you time to pull off. When you don't, his fist in your hair pulls you down onto him. His free hand curls into the fabric of his sweater, gripping it harshly as he tugs at it. His hips jerk slightly, cock twitching in your mouth as the first drops of his orgasm hit your tongue. He cums into your mouth, high whines and moans slipping past his lips as his eyes screw shut. You keep sucking him through it, swallowing his load as it fills your mouth. Jihoon cums hard, cock twitching as you suck out every last drop. 

When he’s finished, you pull off, dropping your hand from his cock. You sit on your knees, giving him time to calm down from his high. Now with nothing else to focus on, your movements on your own cock quicken. With your lip between your teeth, you bite back the shame bubbling in your stomach from being on your knees, jerking yourself off in front of another man who’s dick you just sucked and ass you just tongue fucked.

Jihoon bounces back quickly, leaning forward to pull you up to the couch. You let him guide you up and onto the couch, before he’s slipping off the couch himself, sweater falling down to barely cover his ass as he falls to his knees. Wordlessly, his hands grab at your sweats, one hand rubbing your erection over the fabric. “You don’t have to.” You breathe out, though the way your hips jolt is a direct contradiction to your statement. 

Jihoon shakes his head softly. “Wan’ to.” His eyes zero in on the massive bulge in front of him, and he starts to pull your sweats down, boxers caught under his fingers to go with them. You lift your hips to help him out, cock slapping your stomach as it springs free. 

Jihoon’s jaw visibly drops at the sight of your cock out in the open. He spits in his hand, the sound lewd and unashamed. Jihoon wraps it around your head, squeezing softly. You watch him intently.

Generally speaking, you’ve never really paid attention to someone’s hand on your cock. That was before Jihoon, apparently, because you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from the way his slender fingers look wrapped around your thick, painfully hard, cock. His knuckles are blushed, nails perfectly trimmed, group ring glistening in the dim light of the television which has paused from the episode ending, and his spit. He gives you a few pumps before he takes you into his mouth. 

Jihoon gets about halfway before he pulls back up, tongue swirling around your head before he’s on his way back down, taking you even further. He does it again, this time opening his throat to take you deeper. You moan lowly at the tightness of his throat, hand finding its place in his long, dark hair. You push his bangs back, which are overgrown and in his eyes. 

Jihoon’s plush lips look so full with your cock in between them, red from kissing him and biting them to silence his moans. His big eyes are focused on you, and if there was anything that got you going, it was eye contact. He swirls his tongue around your tip again, cheeks hollowing on the way down before he takes you into his throat, all the way from tip to base. 

Your other hand finds his head, brushing back the other side of his hair, before you close your eyes and buck your hips up, swearing quietly. Your cock twitches as Jihoon tightens his throat around you. You hold his head there, leaving your cock all the way down his throat. “Fuck, angel, I’m gonna cum.” You slur, head falling back into the couch as your cock twitches again, the first drops of your orgasm sliding down his throat. 

Jihoon resumes bobbing his head, now not pulling all the way off like he was doing before. Another deep moan slips past your lips before your orgasm washes over you like a hot tidal wave. It’s probably the hardest you’ve cum in a long time, a result of the most mind blowing head you’ve probably ever received. Jihoon pulls back, getting your cock out of his throat to taste your release. He keeps sucking, milking your cock dry before he swallows every last drop. 

Jihoon pulls his mouth off your cock with a lewd, wet pop. He finds his boxers on the floor, slipping them back on before he sits beside you on the couch. Your face is red and burning with your orgasm, but also with a little shame. You quickly lean over to pull your sweatpants and boxers back up, avoiding eye contact with Jihoon at all costs. “Talk to me. What’s going on right now?” Jihoon’s voice is soft, careful as if you’re a shattered glass only hanging on by the force of gravity.

“Guilt, mostly. A little shame. Nothing you've done; I’m just processing.” Jihoon nods carefully, whole body tense at the way your voice is shaking, like you might be close to tears. You can feel that familiar knot grow in your throat, and you might actually cry.

“C’mon, it’s late. Let's go to bed.” Jihoon ushers, grabbing your hand to pull you up off the couch. You follow him silently, television forgotten as he leads you down the hall to your bedrooms. 

You pull away from him as you reach your room, but his grip on your hand tightens. “Wh–” You sputter, before he interjects swiftly.

“You just went through something that’s gonna be really rough to acknowledge later. I’m not gonna let you do that alone; you’re staying with me tonight. Unless you really do want to be alone.” Jihoon’s thumb rubs a soothing circle into the back of your hand, and you know he’s right. You let him pull you into his bedroom, let him pull the covers back on his bed, let him pull you under the covers with him. You watch him roll over to turn the lamp off before he’s curling himself into your chest, hand finding the side of your neck to rub your nape softly in reassurance. 

It’s unspoken, the comfort he’s giving you right now. You lean forward to press a kiss to his lips as a thank you for understanding just how confusing things are, how jumbled your thoughts are right now. “I’m sorry. Things feel kinda funky inside my head right now, but I think I’m okay.” You kiss him again, arm wrapping around his waist. 

“I wish I could help more.” He sighs, reconnecting your lips after his statement. “Do you feel any regret?” He asks hesitantly.

It’s your turn to kiss him again. “Regret? No, no. I think I’m just reevaluating a lot of things right now.” Another soft kiss. “Scared at how much I actually enjoyed that, yes.” Another one. 

“You did really well.” Another. “Scared the shit out of me when you gagged though.” Jihoon laughs softly, fatigue starting to set in. You kiss him again as a small apology for scaring him.

“You think so?” You ask, suddenly embarrassed at his praises. Another kiss.

“You did good.” Jihoon delivers a weak, playful punch to your chest, before he kisses you again. 

“I can’t fucking believe you deep throated me.” You laugh quietly, slightly exasperated as you recall the way he had you cumming in mere minutes. You kiss him softly.

“I don’t really have a gag reflex.” He giggles softly, yawning. Another kiss. The conversation continues like this, alternating between words and kisses until both of you are too tired to do either. As Jihoon’s breathing evens out, you feel your chest tighten in a way it never has before. He nuzzles his face into your chest softly, hair pushing its way into your face. His shampoo overwhelms your senses and the tightening gets worse. 

This, objectively, changes everything. You can’t exactly place the tightness, but it’s familiar in the same way Jihoon is when you come home to him every night. Maybe it’s the warmth of your orgasm, or maybe it’s the warmth of Jihoon himself as you hold him in your arms as he sleeps. Whatever it is, it’s an issue for the morning. You’re too tired to pinpoint it, and so you let yourself succumb to it, drifting off surrounded by overwhelming safety. 

a/n: yes this is named after a hozier song. i've seen/am seeing him twice in the last year, once last tour once this tour (in two different cities). he is the epitome of gay yearning so... yeah. part two?? part three??? part four??? i have so many thoughts abt this anon ask that im considering making it a full series maybe.

[psiroller]

My Boy (We Don't See Each Other Much)

a third fic request from unkat has reached me for some gamer au shenanigans. cool, i thought, nice low stakes goofin off fun time au. lets put some military industrial complex in there

cw: institutionalized homophobia, vague references to USAmerican military operations in the 2000's, gamer lingo

The raid was a resounding success by their guild's lax standards. Chilchuck managed to pull a rare light armor piece he'd been looking for, finally catching him up to the modern game; he was surprised by how much damage the standard grinding mobs were doing to him now, even if his defense was always going to be lower than the tanks and fighters he partied with. Laios landed the biggest critical hit he'd ever seen; the broadsword Chilchuck nabbed for him off the Auction House was working well for him. He was clearly still riding the high, humming the victory fanfare under his breath as he took inventory and milled about with Senshi, comparing the ingredients they’d collected, trading amongst themselves. It was late, though, close to Senshi’s prep hours. Marcille was fighting against the cozy lethargy that followed a glass of wine and swiftly losing. Falin had already logged out to take a shower and head to bed, stopping by Laios’ door for a hug goodnight.

Laios went right back to the desktop after he shut the door. He pulled his headset back on and heard the familiar sound of Chilchuck’s raspy inhale and then a long, satisfied exhale.

“Chilchuck!” Laios said, too eagerly. “You’re still up?”

“No, I’m fast asleep,” Chilchuck drawled. Laios snorted and threw a rock at Chilchuck’s head. It passed through harmlessly; neither of them wanted the hassle of dedicated PVP. Maybe Laios wasn’t as keen on roleplaying as Marcille and Falin were, but the roleplaying server had been a lot kinder to him than the standard ones he usually played on.

“You were right about the sword,” Laios tittered. “I really have to start doing the math instead of just looking at bigger numbers—uh, focusing on how sharp the blade is, I mean.”

Chilchuck coughed through a laugh, leaning away from the mic so that it didn’t blow Laios’ eardrums out. “I think some of the guides are a little out of date,” Chilchuck said, relaxed enough to drop character. Marcille was still nearby, though the AFK symbol appeared under her name; the elf she played nodded off, ears drooping.  “Critical chance used to be calculated with this really convoluted system that also included timers, so there were only so many crits you could get in the span of a few minutes,” he went on. “They updated it recently so that you roll for a critical every hit.”

“Oh, thank God,” Laios said. “On a timer? How long did raids use to take?”

“Oh, upwards of four hours.” Chilchuck said casually. Laios sputtered. “I know, I know. I guess people had more free time back then… though with how people run multiple raids a night now, I guess it’s down to how committed you are.”

“So critical hit percentage is the thing I should focus on, then.”

“For your build, yeah.”

“Why does everyone recommend focusing on damage per second?”

“It’s a recent change, I think it got pushed out just before you signed up. They’ve tweaked it a lot, so people tend to get confused on how it works now, as it gets buffed and nerfed. Attack and attack speed used to be connected to the same value, so there are other ways you can focus on dealing damage instead of just right clicking the dragon and watching one of twelve timers tick down.” Chilchuck smiled and took another drag. “I think they’re trying to freshen things up a little. I like the changes.”

“Really? Everyone in the forums talks about how much they hate it.”

“If they’re old enough to be using the forums, they’re old enough to hate their favorite thing changing,” Chilchuck laughed.

“But not you,” said Laios. There was a warmth there that Chilchuck didn’t see a reason for.

“Eh.” Chilchuck’s ears burned under his headset. “Maybe a little bit. They don’t make shooters like they used to.” There was a pause. “Oh, right, you don’t like those.”

“Just the super hoo-rah military ones,” Laios breathed. “I can do Team Fortress 2. That one’s pretty fun.”

“Oh! I play that with—a friend, sometimes,” Chilchuck stammered. “Do you… I’m still kind of wired. I got a day off tomorrow. Do you—”

“Yeah!” His mic clipped. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Wait, you don’t have a test tomorrow or anything, do you?”

“… No.”

“I don’t like that hesitation.”

Laios huffed and puffed and logged out of Dungeon Divers with little warning, but usernames were exchanged and soon Laios’ avatar (a dragon, what else) popped up in Chilchuck’s scant friend list, nestled between Dan and May.

“I didn’t think you’d be cool enough to play TF2,” Laios teased.

“Cool people play TF2? I thought it was all screaming toddlers.”

“There are a few of those, yeah,” Laios admitted.

“I played the original game. It was a lot different. I don’t really keep up with it these days, but…”

“No worries,” Laios chirped. “I’ll take care of you.”

Chilchuck felt something zip down his spine. “I’m not that bad.”

They played three matches with the usual late night crowd, and it was a miracle if Chilchuck could stay alive for longer than a minute or two, let alone get a kill. Laios, on the other hand, clawed up every scoreboard and sat at the top. He started with Sniper; Chilchuck followed him while waiting for his respawn timer to run out, flicking between first and third person views. He watched as opponents’ heads would pop like grapes the moment they touched Laios’ reticle, faster than Chilchuck’s eyes could tell his brain to move his fingers.

“Okay, maybe I’m pretty bad,” Chilchuck admitted. “Compared to you.”

Laios missed a shot and sputtered. “I’m concentrating…!” A Spy knifed him, and Chilchuck could hear Laios whack his mouse against the table in frustration. Chilchuck laughed.

“Relax, that’s your first one this round,” he teased. “Your reflexes are crazy. Maybe I’m getting too old for twitchy games like this.”

“The mechanics have changed a lot and all the tryhards are on,” Laios conceded, breathing out the annoyance. “I’ll switch to Heavy. Wanna be my Medic? I can keep more of an eye on you.”

Chilchuck sniffed at his demotion to pocket healer, but then at least he’d be getting assist kills. “Alright, fine.”

Many assist kills were had, and all was well. It was fun to watch Laios’ brain work, bobbing and weaving and jumping around. He played like May did, hyperfocused on the movement mechanics; Chuck’s wrists weren’t any good for that anymore, so he usually hung back to support anyway.

“So why TF2 and not Call of Duty?” Chilchuck asked between matches, lighting another cigarette in search of the now-elusive nicotine buzz. “Seems like you’re really good. You could probably go pro if you wanted.”

Chuck heard a rustling against the mic. Sounded like Laios fiddling with the thing, maybe rubbing his face. He heard a scratch of stubble.

“Eh. I just—don’t like the military aesthetic very much, or something,” Laios mumbled. “I, uh. I served, and it’s a little…”

Chilchuck coughed. “You served? As in, served in the army?”

“Yeah.” There was a chuckle from the other line. “What? Is it that surprising?”

“Well, you just never…” Chuck scratched at the nape of his neck. “You never said anything that made me think… I don’t know what I thought. You didn’t seem like the type.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Laios snorted. “I was a good shot, but not a good soldier, if that makes any sense?”

Chuck wet his dry lips and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t lock into the next game, and the queue dumped them out. Laios didn’t reset it.

“So you objected? Conscientious objection? Is that what it’s called?”

“That’s what it’s called, but uh… it takes a while to get that done if you enlisted voluntarily. You have to plead your case for it. I thought about it, but I didn’t get the chance.”

Chilchuck swallowed dryly, then tapped some ash out into the ceramic tray Patty made for him many Father’s Days ago. “So you were kicked out?”

“Discharged, yeah,” Laios sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back, too. “Other than honorable.”

Chuck winced. “What did you do?”

There was that rustling again. “I, um. If you don’t ask, I don’t have to tell you.”

“Oh, uh. Sorry, I”—Chilchuck’s eyes went wide—"ohhh.”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously? They booted you over a thing like that?”

Laios laughed weakly. “It’s in the regulations.”

“Still? When there’s, like, five wars going on?”

“Yep. I got a little pamphlet about it and everything. It’s rarer these days, and most people now get let off with an honorable, but…” Laios sighed. “My case was a whole thing. I didn’t fit in great with the rest of my platoon to begin with, and I maybe… I maybe misread some signals. You get bored out there, you know. Lonely. Got a little too close to my bunky…” Laios cleared his throat. “He let me down easy, but I guess he said something to somebody. I don’t think he’d go straight to the brass, he told me he wouldn’t, but someone must have overheard and that counts as credible evidence, so…”

Laios popped his lips with a click of his tongue. Chilchuck was frozen, ashes falling from the end of his cigarette into the crevices of his already dirty keyboard. The cigarette had almost burned down to the filter; money burning up in unsmoked nicotine. “I was probably going to leave anyway,” Laios said, to fill the silence. “I didn’t like being out there. If anything it kept me from being stupid and going AWOL. But if you talk to the VA—or my dad, heh—I  might as well have.”

Laios wheezed. Chilchuck blinked some smoke out of his eyes and stubbed out his cigarette.

“Hang on, you were on active duty and they’re hassling you at the VA over healthcare?”

“Oh yeah. Anything less than a general discharge is going to get you some hassle. I’m still on general health insurance, lowest tier. I’m not on TRICARE.”

Chilchuck pinched the pressure point between his eyebrows. “There’s gotta be a way to appeal that.”

“There might be. But I’ve spent about 40 hours of my life on the phone with them since I got back, and I’m not keen on spending anymore.” Laios made a blech sort of noise, disgusted, a little childish. “I hate phone calls. Besides, they gave me some money for college, so it wasn’t a complete wash.”

“Small miracles,” Chilchuck mumbled.

“Yup,” Laios breathed. He drummed his fingers on his desk, loud enough to reach the mic. Then there were a couple rhythmic bongo slaps against the table, nervous. “Ready for another game?”

Chuck looked at his watch. It was 4:32 AM.

“Sure. Night’s still young,” he said, for lack of anything comforting to say. “Play Heavy again.”

“Okay,” Laios said, and there was a smile in his voice. So that was something.

[givemeonereason]

Meditations: First Flight

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Rating: Cotton Candy

Dragon Ball Masterlist Givemeonereason Masterlist

Plot: You meet up again with Piccolo. Is that a good or a bad thing?

A/n: I back burned this one for a little while (like two weeks) I wrote a portion of his and lost it due to Tumblr crashing on me. I was PISSED. Creators work so hard on their stuff and things happen. No ones fault in particular. A lot of the time you have to just step away for a moment and then get back to it.

╒══════════════════════╕

The day is dragging on…

You stare blankly at the black pen you’ve been twirling between your fingers. Ink smudged into your middle finger, exposing the intricate lines of your identifying pattern.

You look to the time on your desktop computer, 4:48 pm.

Kami, could the last twelve minuets of this day be over!

You set the pen down on the desk and sigh.

I just want to see him….to see if he’s even there.

My…the green Martian guy from that “Nam” place.

Not Mars!

You tap your finger against your forehead.

Stupid.

You look out the window towards the hill. His white, flowing cape catches your eye.

I remember now, Namek.

5:00

You hurry out of the office towards your compact car. You dropped your work bag and purse in the trunk. Just your small lunch bag with you as you started up the side of the hill.

“Hello.” You stood near where he sat.

There was no answer. His eyes remained closed. You almost would have mistaken him for a statue had he not readjusted the position of arms against his chest.

You walked over to his side. “Piccolo?”

“Not now, Nail.”

“What?”

His eyes shoot open when you touch the shoulder pad of his cape. You jump at his suddenness. “Gosh, don’t do that. You scared me half to death.” Your hand pressed against your chest.

You took a breath before sitting down beside him. “What is the nail about?”

His eyes are closed again. This is going to be a difficult question to answer. “Not what, but whom.”

You scrunched your face in confusion. Do you even want to know at this point?… “Okay, whatever Yoda.”

The crack of a soda opening broke him from his concentration once more. “Oh, I brought you one if you’d like.” You pulled out the carbonated beverage from your lunch bag and set it down onto the grass beside you. “I also have corn chips. Please help yourself.”

He looks down at your tribute beside him. “I do not eat, nor drink this. However, thank you.” He looked to you nodding his head in thanks.

“Oh. I had no idea.” An over loud crunch as you bit down into the chip in your hand. “What exactly do you eat?”

“Nothing. I only need water to survive.”

“Nothing!?” You’re shocked. He is an alien, what exactly did you expect? Only the best prime rib, rare…or juicy bugs?

Yuck!

Crunch.

“Could you please be more quiet?”

You tried chewing slower, moving your mouth in what felt like slow motion. A damn chip going down the wrong pipe.

You coughed!

Coughed!

His tone is irritated, “are you okay?”

You got the tickle out of your throat and took a sip of your soda. “Yeah, it’s just the wrong pipe is all.” You swiftly changed the subject, “so I tried looking up some info on Namekians online and it didn’t come up with anything.”

“Where Namek used to be, there wouldn’t have been technology to know of its existence. Only the Briefs were able to locate it.”

You turn excited, “you mean the smartest family in all of existence?”

He rolled his eyes, closing them when he felt the pull of his eyelids. “I don’t know about all of time….”

You didn’t hear him mumble that under his breath. You looked towards the sky riddled with white fluffy clouds. “Space is a mystical place. There are so many galaxies out there, planets with life that we don’t know about.” You look to him. “I’m sure you know about so much life out there, right?”

He’s looking out at the water of the lake in the valley.

Small crunch, crunch.

“How did you…”

Surely she knows about King Piccolo?

“I was hatched from an egg that my father regurgitated.”

“Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhha?” You choked on another chip and began your second coughing fit.

I knew she would react this way.

Piccolo, she is only human. It was is if he could hear Kami calming him, bringing him back to his center.

He gritted his teeth and hunched over where he floated.

You cleared your throat from overly coughing, putting the bag of chips down. “I don’t think I should eat any more chips right now. Imagine, that would all I be known for, asphyxiating on chips.” Gesticulating as you speak. “She died doing what she loves most, eating!” You tried pretending to heartily laugh, but it ended up making you actually laugh. And then cough, again. “Okay, I should really stop.”

She’s just a human.

You noticed his silence when you became more lax, leaning back against your palms firmly on the grass. You intently studied him. His brows furrowed, the rich green of his cheeks deepening in the afternoon light. His headdress wrapped tightly around the to of his head, making his pointed ears push out more on the sides.

All things considered, He is quite a beautiful creature, is he not?

You shook your head, trying to shake the thought from your mind.

You noticed the purple of his gi when his cape fluttered to the side as a squall of air passed through. The wind making him look ethereal. You watched with widened eyes as the shifting draft whipped your hair into your face. You pushed the strands away.

If you could just get closer.

You looked away, blush heating your cheeks.

“Hatched from an egg, huh?”

He said nothing, remaining still, and effortlessly floating statue.

And curiosity got the better of you. You got up and walked over to him, standing slightly of to his side. You looked closer at him. His sharp jawline against the oversized shoulder pads. Surely, his shoulders weren’t that wide. You reached out, but he caught your wrist in his hand, only opening one eye to look at you suspiciously.

“I….I….I was….” You couldn’t get any words out. His grip was tight enough to send a pang up your arm. “You’re hurting me.” When he let go you pulled your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin at your wrist.

He doesn’t apologize. He just goes right back to shutting himself out.

She’s only human.

Despite the roughness you received at his hands, you didn’t move away. You simply turned out towards the view in front.

Why is he being this way?

Maybe I should just leave him alone from now on?

I just..

I don’t know why I came back again here today.

“So, are you evil? You sit here so peacefully, but are you some sort of bad guy?”

Please don’t be a bad guy. Please.

Your heart flutters when you hear the deep tone of his voice. You didn’t realized how much you needed to hear him speak. “That’s not for me to say.”

You shut your eyes.

Please, don’t.

“Do you believe me to be malevolent?”

“No.” You are unwavering, standing there firm in your opinion.

I just know, I can feel it.

He placed his feet on the ground. He’s looking at you, your eyes closed, fists closed.

He sighs deeply.

Don’t.

In an instant he grabs you by the waist, pulling you at his side. A small upward push and he takes off flying in the air.

Everything was so quick, but when you finally realized you were several hundred feet off the ground you screamed. It was guttural, ultimate fear. The wind blowing into your face as he flew took your breath away. You turned as much of your upper body you could and pushed it into side of his abdomen, hands white-knuckled, gripping onto his gi.

You heard the deep reverberations in his chest. “What of it now? Do you really believe me to be good? Are you honestly that gullible?”

You pressed your face tightly against his chest, your body shaking. You can barely breathe. You feel as if you might pass out.

Piccolo is seething. His grip on you tightening. His teeth clenching.

Piccolo…Kami is calling out to him.

I don’t understand these people! She barely knows me and yet she trusts that I would not harm her, nor anyone else?

Piccolo…

How can humans be so weak?

A draft swept up into his face, the sweet smell of your perfume catching him off guard.

He stopped flying. Citrus and floral notes rushing through his senses.

He looks down at you in his arms. Your shaking body against his, tightly gripping onto him with all your might. Whimpers vibrating against the exposed skin of his chest. Your hair whipping about as the wind rushed around you both.

She’s…she’s weak….no, soft. She’s soft.

He looked about the ground below to find a place to land. Slowly, he floated down, placing your feet down onto the dust covered ground.

You couldn’t hold your own weight, dizzy, you fell down to your knees. Your hands pressed against the dirt catching your fall. You scrape your fingers against the dust and grabbing at some debris and balling your fist.

The ground. The ground. The ground.

You’re shaking uncontrollably, tears welling up in your eyes and spill over down your reddened cheeks. You can’t help but sob, crying hard, defeated and frightened.

Piccolo shifted, his hand very lightly reaching out towards you.

Soft.

I’m sorry.

When you catch your breath you look up at him, your eyes red and glassy from crying, your nose running. You're hunched over, fist clenched. You could hit him if you had the strength. As if that would help anything.

“You’re fucking crazy you know that!” You coughed, your voice ragged from being unused. “You can’t just do that! You can’t take people and fly off like that. Normal people don't fly!” You start to cry more, wrapping your arms around yourself, lightly rocking back and forth.

He crouched down at your side, hesitating when he reached out to gently brush the hair that was sticking to your wet cheeks away. You shivered at his touch. Holding your arms tighter against yourself.

His voice was low, full of sorrow. “I am sorry.”

You turned your face away from him, skin still hot from anger.

“I was out of line. I acted on my own anger and irritation.”

He wiped away a tear rolling down your cheek. "Please, forgive me."

In one scoop he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. Floating above the ground where he stood. He placed you down into his lap. You curled so gently against him, gripping at his gi.

He's seething with anger on the inside. His eyes closed, but his mind was ablaze.

How can....why would I? Why do I even care about this?

Something so trivial as a human woman, and yet I care about her feelings.

I care about the way she views me.

This ultimately doesn't matter in the slightest.

The light shivering pulled him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes and looked down at your frame in his lap, holding onto the obi around his waist.

With a swift pull at both sides, he wrapped his cape around you as much as he could, gripping you closer against him.

You sunk deeper into his lap, relaxed. Your soft breaths and light snoring have a soothing rhythm, falling into a peaceful slumber.

Shifting in his lap, grabbing onto his forearm, your nose rubbing against his skin sending a shiver through him. His head falling forward when he caught the smell of your perfume once more.

Just a little while longer.

We can stay like this.

━━━━━━»» ««━━━━━━

He nudged you awake, the daylight fading into the western sky. You groaned, pulling his arm tighter against your chest.

Though he has such a strong voice, this came softly. "You have to wake up. I need to take you back before it becomes dark."

You rubbed your eyes, blinking, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

He feels your eyes on him, looking down, his face relaxed in the twilight glow of the evening. "Do you think you would be able to trust me? I need to take you home."

You sit up and look about you, there is no way you would be able to call for a ride here.

"I don't want to fall." Your body shook from the thought of what happened earlier.

He picked your chin up to look at him. His eyes widened by his own actions. He pulled his hand away, his voice returning its strong cadence. "I had no intention of dropping you."

Without protest he slips his arm under your legs and firmly holds your waist in bridal style. Your grip on him just as tight as before. No looking down. You pushed your face into his shoulder. He smells like nature; this beautiful mix of deep woods, dew on grass, crisp morning air and something else you couldn’t quite pin down.

Piccolo flies to the top of your work building, placing you down onto your feet near the roof access door. “I will find a new place to meditate. I do not want to frighten you any longer.”

“No!” Your voice came out louder than you would have liked. “You really don’t have to.”

He shook his head and turned away.

“I just didn’t like the flying. It really scared me.”

Don’t go.

Please.

His back was still to you. He turned his cheek slightly but not enough to look at you. “Goodbye.”

No.

“Please don’t leave yet.”

He was already flying away.

“Come back!” You screamed after him.

“….I forgive you.” You stand there watching him until he’s out of sight.

Can we just start over?

My green alien man, who can fly, with me.

Next time I won’t be so scared.

“Piccolo…”

╘══════════════════════╛

© 2023 givemeonereason

Don’t steal other people’s works! Respect creators!

Reblogs and likes appreciated :)

Tag List:

[joels6string]

hello, darling.

okay, important thought incoming that I'm hoping you're ready to elaborate on.

let's imagine Joel has the most dreadful day. he just needs to get lost in his lady...presumably for hours. what would that look like for him? how can his lady help his brain shut off?

of course this is intended to be filthy...'cause duh.

I would love to elaborate on this. I even sat at my desk for this. Let's even go AU into a non-Cordyceps-infected world. He's still my favorite old man though.

NSFW 18+ blowjob, thigh riding, face riding, sub!Joel, creampie

Outbid again. Despite the reputation for quality work Joel and Tommy had within Austin and the surrounding community, it all came down to money. And other people could do the job for cheaper.

He was stewing in his office, his head in his hands, the books laid in front of him while the accounts were pulled up on the old desktop he should have replaced years ago. He'd skipped dinner, mumbling something about not being hungry before holing up in the room beside the dining area, but after two hours you knew it was time to drag him out.

As your arms circled his neck, his head leaned into you, finding a home beneath your chin as your fingers dove beneath the collar of his shirt. The familiar smell of sawdust and leather mixed with his cheap shampoo that lingered in his long, gray hair had your eyes closing in contentedness, his skin warm and his heart thudding rhythmically in his chest.

"Come upstairs," you cooed, pressing your lips to the crown of his head as an added incentive, a heavy sigh following.

"I gotta move money around," he argued, "Mortgage is comin' due, Sarah's semester...we need food."

"And it'll be waiting for you in the morning."

"I can't-"

But he would. You pulled yourself away quick enough to where he wouldn't catch you, spinning his chair around and sinking to your knees, your hands grateful he'd switched into sweatpants as you shucked them down just enough to release his cock.

"Christ," he whined as you pulled the spongy head of it between your lips, his head falling back against the headrest as he stiffened against your tongue.

While your throat opened and your nose buried in the thick thatch of curls at the root of him, your fingers worked on his buttons, undoing as many as you could reach before you explored the soft stretch of his stomach. His focus on work and finances was replaced by the way your neck was bulging around his girth and the drool bubbling at the corners of your mouth, his long digits threading into your hair as you bobbed, glucking loudly for him to enjoy.

"God damn," he praised as you held him completely sheathed, gagging slightly but fighting through it as he whined, hips pulsing as his balls began to twitch with the need for release.

But it wasn't time for that, not yet. He needed to forget.

Gasping for air, you released him, his grip in your locks immediately pulling your mouth to his, your spit-soaked mouth gliding with his as he tasted the pre-cum on your tongue. The buttons you couldn't reach before were quickly undone, the hair on his chest soft as you raked your fingernails through it, your core grinding down on his thigh as you straddled him in the small office chair.

This always worked him up, using him for your own gratification, and as you ground down against the thick muscle between your legs, he watched on with awe. With his mouth agape heaving with shallow breaths, his fingertips dug into the plush skin around your hips, pushing you down and pulling you faster than you could move on your own, you were shaking within minutes, your panties damp as you collapsed against his chest in an attempt to catch your breath. There was a small window of time you had to regulate, control over the situation not something you were willing to relinquish.

The loss of your weight had him groaning as you pulled him up, dragging him up the stairs and to the bed where a simple push on his chest had him lying flat. You stripped slowly for him, his fist working over his throbbing shaft as he watched through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Listen to me," you instructed as you threw your leg over him, your soaked slit pressing down onto his flush cock and mimicking the motions you'd abused his thigh with just moments ago, "Focus here. Nowhere else."

"Yes ma'am," he whimpered as you began to crawl up his body, settling your slit over his face and lowering down onto his waiting tongue.

His mouth worked just as efficiently as yours had for him, his lips suckling at your clit alternating with his tongue prodding into your dripping entrance. He was loud, groaning and growling every time the taste of you heightened, his face soaked as you mewled pathetically above him, your hands pressed into the wall in an effort to keep yourself upright.

When he flattened his tongue for you to find your own pleasure with, your entire body shook as you moved over him, his reminder to you that he'd gladly suffocate here making you laugh to yourself as he pulled you down onto his face even more. He hooked and flicked the tip at just the right moment, his lips pursing and applying pressure efficiently enough to have you screaming again, your inner thighs drenched in spit and your arousal as you slid back down, notching him at your entrance.

Your body welcomed him easily, your movements lazy as you marveled at his dazed expression. This was right where you liked him, unable to form a coherent thought, drowning in you and the ways you could make him feel. His eyes were pinched shut as the pressure in his stomach built, he was too keyed up to last long but he was giving it his best efforts. With your nails digging into his pecs hard enough to leave indents as you slammed down over and over, he couldn't help the moans he usually kept from spilling free.

"Not yet," you begged, feeling your third ascent into the clouds building, "Not yet, baby."

"Okay," he gasped, teeth sinking into his lower lip, his sputtering cries the most divine indication of his loss of control as a tear born of frustration and concentration alike dripped from the outer corner of his right eye, "For fucks sake...please."

The begging was what you were after, and he continued pathetically until your cunt strangled him, your body falling onto his chest as his arms wrapped you up, his release finally spilling deep inside of you, hot and heavy. You stayed pressed to his sweat-soaked skin, his chest erratically rising and falling as his lips pressed to your forehead in thanks.

"No more fucking numbers," you scolded as your heart rate began to slow, his gravelly chuckle vibrating through you.

"It can wait," he agreed, "Bath or shower?"

[sillysapphillean]

I've recovered enough from the horrors of academic writing that i'm able to write for my own enjoyment again so here's a Runaways snippet. A little insight into how i'm writing Andrew on meds in this. Also me unveiling the stupid fake name i picked for Jean, one with intentional big potential to be mispronounced in the most painfully american way.

This was entirely written on mobile so formatting might look stupid on desktop.

Canon typical CWs for violence + mild dissociation

`Neil Josten and Louis DuBois. Louis and Neil. Josten and DuBois,’ Andrew rolled the names of the two men they were here for around in his head while idly plucking at the netting of some random highschooler’s racket. It wasn't that he was particularly interested in the two teenagers or their sob-stories, he honestly couldn't care less, but it helped keep the boredom at bay. The same way keeping his hands occupied kept him from chewing his fingernails any shorter.

He was here because Kevin had insisted on coming, so Andrew had to follow. Not because Andrew had chosen to come. Kevin was obsessed with that striker – something about the way he played – and felt the need to be here to make sure everything would “go smoothly”.

To Andrew, the only thing that had stood out as mildly interesting about the recruits was the reason they were here for two and not just one, the reason why they were getting another fucking backliner. He did not care about the ramifications for the team but he did care about the additional new idiot in his proximity. But it seemed inevitable with how fixated Kevin had become on Josten.

“A package deal” is what their coach had pitched them as. Can't have one without the other. Which worked out great for Josten, considering he only qualified for Wymack’s recruitment criteria by association. Of course he was still willing to take it, considering it meant getting both the striker sub they needed and a new broken pup to save, even if they were not the same person.

Andrew had not been amused when Coach had drawn a comparison to his, Aaron and Nicky’s own recruitment. He could still feel that ball of tension in his gut and at the base of his head, even now as he was just thinking about it. A coiling feeling just out of reach, no real tangible emotion, just physical reaction. But it felt just a little bit closer as he half listened to the raised voices sounding through the door.

Apart from Wymack predictably matching the volume, there was only one loud unknown voice. A lot of “we” and “us” and “he” besides the “I”s. Someone certainly liked speaking for others. Or just one other. Controlling boyfriend?

Andrew didn't care but thinking about it was like reaching for that tension at the base of the skull, like hooking his finger into a rubber band rooted there and pulling, straining it even further. Irritation? Annoyance? Anger? Still not quite an emotion but closer.

The door to the locker room banged open, slamming into the wall with even more noise and in stormed two men. Or rather, one stormed, seeming to drag the other behind him. It looked almost comical, someone Andrew’s own size dragging a man almost two feet taller behind him like that. So it must have been Josten speaking for DuBois.

Zeroing in on where the smaller man’s fingers held DuBois by the wrist, Andrew wrapped his own around the racket and pulled that rubber band until it snapped. A violent release of tension, a swing of a racket, an impressively quiet gasp of pain and chaos erupted.

“Are you fucking insane!? You could have broken his hand! He needs it to play!” Kevin was screaming at him immediately. Predictably mixed with the anger was fear and Andrew watched Kevin clutch his own hand like he was the one who had been struck.

But there was a new voice as well, DuBois finally opening his mouth to curse Andrew out in what he assumed was french. The frenchman’s focus swung between glaring daggers at Andrew and cradling Josten close, trying to check on his wrist.

Andrew watched the scene, feeling nothing. He’d gotten some release but it wasn’t particularly satisfying or entertaining, and now he had no tension to prod at anymore. Lazily swinging the racket up over his shoulder, he drawled: “He’ll have to sign the contract for it to matter at all to you if he plays or not.”

Andreil first meeting. Yay?

Tagging @bisexualfagdyke

[louroth]

Well, well, well. Would you look at what the cat dragged in. (it's me, Lou!)

The time is here, and oh man, do I have a lot to say! Ever since this post was posted on my personal tumblr, on the fifth of may, I have been working like a machine on all things OUROBOROS. I had originally planned for this to just be a progress report/ announcement on what I will be working on now that I am free of the shackles of work, but, somehow, I managed to finish all bullet points, and more. So, let's get into it!

First off, the title.  Ouroboros becomes all capitalized OUROBOROS. Idk. It's neat. Next!

Art. Whew. I didn't think I could draw like this anymore- drawing has been more of a struggle than writing has been, forever, always- it was something I really strived to become good at, for a time. And I gave up. Only to pick it up again when I started ouro, and ever since I released that pressure, something just clicked and I have been churning out art like never before. I don't know if this is a fluke, a stroke of luck or if all that hard work I once did slaving away with menial art practice… but I'm grateful nonetheless. (A note on official RO art: I lost my ipad pencil somewhere on the lawn, lmao. I haven't been able to get a new one yet, so there is a slight delay here.) I am hoping that I get to make some commissions too, in the near future. Visit the forum to see some works in progress (amongst them, Yor's RO portrait!)

Onto the hellscape that is coding! I have been growing more proficient with CSS and html with the help of the ones that run so that we can walk; I have studied and researched and tested and tinkered until my eyes crossed, finding my way into this medium with the incredible guidance of the giants of whose shoulders I stand on. I will talk about this in detail on a later date. So I think it's finally time to reveal that yes, I am working on a twine version of ouro. I will develop it in tandem with choicescript; the porting over from one to the other isn't the herculean task I thought it would be.

Why am I doing this? Because I need to have a save system. I am continuing to write the whole alpha draft in choicescript in hopes that CoG will announce the ability to have a native save/checkpoint system, but if that doesn’t happen, I can’t publish this story without one. Unfortunately, I am not willing to code in a savesystem in choicescript myself, because this will be a large game, with far too many variables for that to be sustainable. Trust me, no one is more disappointed by that fact than me. If it comes to the point that twine publishing will be what I do, I will set my sights on writing a smaller game for hosted games. 

Now the meatier announcements!

New Socials!

Tumblr: You are looking at it!  This is the new, exclusively OUROBOROS blog where I will share all announcements and sneak-peeks, and future updates. I worked together with the dev of the theme and made it oh, so pretty and functional. Please check out their portfolio here, if you are ever in the market for sprucing up your (desktop version) of tumblr. They were a pleasure to work with. Amongst other things, it has a gorgeous header (again, only if you visit on web and not mobile) where I am showcasing fanart and official art. Go check it out! This month, I am showcasing a truly breathtaking art from KAIRELART, and you can find the full art here, or follow the links in the “FEATURED ARTIST” tab in the top bar.

I hope you enjoy this new haven for OUROBOROS! I will be answering questions once a week (saturday) and ramping up as I adapt to this new schedule, more on that further below.

My old tumblr, honeypeabrain, will revert back to being my personal blog. Feel free to keep following me there, but know that it will be inundated with shitposts, crass humor and the occasional poetry dump and personal post. You’ve been warned!

Discord!

By the good graces, this was ROUGH to set up. Working with discord bots is akin to wrangling code, and it was well and truly, a war. But with the help of many, it is finally all done and ready for anyone to join and talk to me and others about OUROBOROS and anything else between heaven and earth. 

I will also greatly appreciate if any future bugs and feedback are submitted through here, so I can keep easier track of it. Come join us! (18+ ONLY.)

Patreon & Ko-Fi

Yep! Ko-fi is just a place to toss me a coin if you wish to help me towards the goal of new PC parts to make testing easier, or to just show appreciation for those that have it to spare. Patreon however, already has a multitude of posts and will be a hub for exclusive NSFW sidestories that you get to vote on, loredives and extensive sneak peeks, Q&A’s, polls and weekly dev logs. 

Right now, there are only two tiers, but I expect it to grow as my story does. I have many plans, but I am going at a steady pace. 

Amongst tiered content, there is a (free) NSFW story with female MC and Idren to read there right now, if you want to check it out! I am mgoing to post it on tumblr and the adult thread here over the weekend.

NOTE: I stupidly didn't realize that patreon had a review process after I pressed launch, which I did just a few minutes ago. Sigh. I am going to post the short on tumblr and the adult forum thread as soon as I get to it.

It is not mandatory by any means, so if you do choose to support me, you have my eternal gratitude as these places will be the sole source of income for me.

Onto writing:

The best news out of this whole bunch is that I have worked so hard on editing and writing, that in the past month I have all but finished a two chapter update! I have a chunk of about 5-6 thousand words left to write, and I am going to buckle down over the weekend to see it through. I wanted to have it done so badly for today, but I lost three days of writing time last week due to still being weighed down with work. I hope it isn’t too disappointing to have to wait until monday for the demo update! I am going to post a link to an as-I-write updated demo on Patreon and Discord, if you want to see the ugly face of raw wip drafts. Otherwise I will post the demo update here on Monday with a comprehensive post!

And now!  the biggest news is… from now on, I am writing full time!

This is what I have been tossing and turning about every night ever since Easter. It started as a silly idea while talking to some friends and family about how I was looking for a change in career. And then, little by little, that idea whittled down to a plan, carefully carved by my partner and his whispers of a happy future, a finished dream project, and something to be proud of until the day I wither and die. 

Somewhere between then and now, I grasped a tiny sliver of bravery and held on for dear life. 

I quit my job as a teacher, and instead of accepting a cushy office job, I started behaving as if OUROBOROS and writing was my work (for all the moments I could afford). I have researched and tried different methods from week to week, and although I was still tired from work, I felt like I was onto something that could build into a sustainable future. 

I have no doubts that this journey will be bumpy and long, but sometimes all it takes is to take that first step, and do it with determination. It might all crash and burn and fail in a spectacular way, or with a whimper, but then I will know that I have tried. I will know that I gave myself the chance to be who I want to be, work on what means so much to me. 

And that’s it. I think the hardest part of formulating this post (I’ve written about 50 versions of it!) is getting to the point; the kernel of what makes it so special to me. So, in my heart of hearts, what I'm trying to tell you is that I'm gonna give it my all- and while I know the road to having a sustainable career in writing is rough and ever winding, I do know for sure that I am ready for a challenge, to pour my heart and soul into it until the day I rush out of the office screaming IT IS DONE. IT IS DOOOOONE!!! 

If you decide to join me, I will treasure your company like a lantern in the dark. Hand in lovable hand, let’s fucking go.

[mechstims]

How I make stimboards!

hi! i had a couple of messages asking how i make boards, so i thought i'd make a pretty elaborate breakdown on my methods!! ive been doing this since... probably around 2016/2017 ;w;

may be slightly image heavy and long! but... lets get into it!

Step one: Decide your theme! this part is super easy lol just figure out what your theme is! characters (or objects or whatever) usually go in the middle of the board. if you're using someone elses art PLEASE dont forget to link the source!! directly, not just pinterest!! I try and use official art as much as possible.

Step two: Plan your colours! I use a 3x3 grid for this if im making a traditional sized board!

here it is empty and a filled in example! feel free to save my empty one if you want lol you can just edit it in paint. keeping it balanced is for the best! it makes it more pleasing

some more examples of colour schemes! balance is key!

Step three: finding gifs and setting the board up

DO NOT USE PINTEREST!!! AND DO NOT PUT YOUR SOURCES DOWN AS PINTEREST

and for the love of primus dont put "credit to the gif makers" or "credit to the owners". please.

okay. now ive said that lets get into it. id say tumblr and tenor are two of the places i use the most. its as simple as looking up the type of gif or the colour you want. example would be: pink stim, red stim, food stim, slime stim etc!

dont forget to save the sources!!! try your best to go back to the source as much as possible. this usually means clicking through stim boards which is VERY annoying. but go back to the original gif poster if possible, unless the gif or blog has been deleted :(

this is much easier on PC. i just drag the gifs into a little grid directly on my desktop with the coloured grid above it as a guide for sources i keep a .txt file open to save the sources. the "x" marks spots where i havent filled in a gif yet

lol sneak peek to the skids board im working on for a request >w>"

pro tip: if you're using multiple of the same kind of gifs, make sure to put them on opposite sides for balance.

example! if the yellow square is a slime gif make sure to put it like the grid on the left. the grid on the right is unbalanced and makes it look awkward

does this make sense? basically, balance is key.

also dont be afraid to colour shift if you cant find stuff in the right colour :p speaking of! to crop gifs into squares, edit, change size and colour shift use ezgif.com!

Step four: posting!

upload all your gifs, make sure theyre in order and add sources! the easiest part! to add sources simply highlight the text and click the "inline link" button!

make sure to tag! you can copy and paste these tags if you want a baseline!

stimboard#stim#stimblr#stimmy#stim gifs#visual stim#stim blog

i also tend to add the colours and character names, as well as fandom tags!

i hope this is helpful to anyone whos just learning to make boards!

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 2

Ao3 | 3.5k words | Sweetheart's POV

Things go from bad to worse, and all of it's Sweetheart's own doing. - Fooliverse Sweetheart faces off with that first shade. They already know Milo, but things are a lot more complicated than they might have been, not least because of their own stubbornness and pride. Hopefully that pride won't get them killed. Hopefully.

TW: violence, mentions of sex, the Department, illness, arguments, general toxicity

Jet had a handful of not so kind words for you when you finally showed up to work the next day, first for being late and then for not seeking medical attention the night before.  

“If you are unable to handle a single threat independently,” Jet had seethed, emailing medical about your impending visit as he spoke, “then you might consider a change in title.”  

You didn’t say a thing in protest. You ignored the orders to report to medical, and instead made your way back to your desk in the bullpen, pulling up the open case file on your shitty, ancient desktop computer. You added new notes to the shade’s file, new findings on its abilities and appearance, and drafted an email to a magical expert on Death. Unfortunately, that expert lived in Tanzania, so you would have to find someone who could translate your message to Swahili, and his back to English for any of it to matter.  

You missed lunch entirely, too focused on the work in front of you to glance down at the desktop clock or the silver watch your father had given you last Christmas that you wore invariably. You only recognized that it was nearing one in the afternoon when a hand tapped your desk, drawing your attention away from your investigation for the first time in hours.  

Dr. Collins was an intimidating man. You weren’t afraid of him, per say, but you certainly didn’t want to end up on the bad side of his death glare. When you looked up, recognizing his Department emblazoned white coat and the irritated crinkle in his brow, you shifted your gaze from his silver eyes to the bridge of his alkaline nose.  

“Investigator,” Collins’ drawl clipped his words particularly aggressively, “care to tell me why I received a memo that you were reporting to my office hours ago only to find you at your desk, looking like you just got dragged back from Hell?”  

Doctor Sam Collins was one of the rare vampires employed by the Department’s medical division. He oversaw the onsite infirmary, headed the magical/medical research in the Department’s underground labs, and liaised with D.A.M.N. concerning their healing courses. The only reason he was afforded those positions, of course, was because of his incredible power pre-turning.  

I was a wolf, Milo had said. You wondered if Collins had that same sort of grief in his voice when talking about his power.  

“Probably because I was, Doc.” You shrugged, stretching your back for the first time in hours. A series of loud, obtrusive cracks echoed out through the nearly empty room. When had everybody else left? You checked your watch. Lunch. Right. 

“I told you you’d find them here.” An indignant huff from behind you. You whipped your head around, your neck popping audibly at the sudden movement. Cam was standing at the entrance of the bullpen, his hands on his hips. You’d never seen him look annoyed before. His face was usually blank and serene.  

“You were right.” Collins shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re lucky your friend has a good read on you, Investigator. I was fixing to sick your supervisor after you. And I’ve worked with Jet long enough to know how unpleasant that would be.”  

You groaned, your head falling back to rest against your stiff office chair. God, your head was pounding. Your throat felt like something had clawed its way out of it. Your stomach was still uneasy. Your muscles ached.  

“You look terrible.” Cam said, suddenly much closer to you. You jerked at his nearness, nearly toppling out of your chair. The Doctor’s unnatural reflexes saved you. All of the annoyance leaked from him at once as he knelt to begin examining you. His hands were cold when they rested on your forehead, tilted your face this way and that. You wondered if it was a result of his vampiric condition, or if it was because he was a doctor.  

“Double whammy.” You muttered, your eyes slipping closed.  

“You’re delirious.” Collins replied. Healing magic sparked around you, warm and bright like sunshine. You let it wash over your skin, not fighting against Collins’ assessment or Cam’s gentle, soothing touch.  

“Are you making me calmer?” You asked Cam, more accusatory than anything. He huffed, offended.  

“I wouldn’t without asking.” Cam assured you. “I think... you’re just too tired to fight back.”  

“Something got its hooks in you.” The Doctor added. Cool hands hovered over the skin of your neck. “I’m gonna touch, just for a second. Let’s take care of these bruises.” 

“Bruises?” You croaked, just as Collins’ hands slid around your neck. His magic swelled around you, and you swung out, pushed at his shoulders to try and get him away. Your heart began to race, your body suddenly awake and alert. You stood, pushing your chair away and stumbling back from Collins and Cam.  

“Easy!” The doctor said, his hands extended in front of him like he was surrendering. Cam had a strange, sad look to him. Pity. Your stomach turned.  

“I’m sick.” You snapped, shaking your hands out at your sides. You were suddenly filled with anxious energy. “The flu.”  

Cam said your name, so soft and cloying. You knew that tone. He was talking down to you, treating you like you couldn’t handle this. You could handle this.  

“I should go home.” You said. “Since I have the flu.” Doctor Collins squinted at you. Those silver eyes nearly pulled you in. Your hand twitched to your phone. You should call Milo.  

“Let someone take you.” He ordered. “I’d do it myself if the damn sun wasn’t still up. You’re lucky you work on this side of the building, or I wouldn’t have been able to come up and see you in person.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his body sagging a bit. He looked exhausted all of a sudden. What a waste, you thought. He can’t help me.  

“I’ll be fine.” You said, shaking your head. “I’ll get an Uber or something.”  

“Please wait,” Cam said, stepping forward, a hand outstretched towards you, “let me take you home.” 

“It’s fine, Cam,” you sighed, “you’ve gotta get back to work.”  

It was raining by the time you stepped outside, and the late-summer, early-fall chill left you shivering and soaked. You hadn’t bothered with a jacket when you came stumbling into work, and you hadn’t bothered to snag the umbrella you kept in your desk’s bottom drawer for days just like this. Summer in Dahlia meant sudden rainstorms and that damp sort of air that hurt to breathe.  

Well, breathing hurt in general, at that moment. You stalked down the sidewalk, soaked through, and tried to decide where you were going.  

Home was in the opposite direction, but you refused to turn back and be seen as wandering from the Department’s windows. You kept moving, calling up your known paths through the city, trying to remember where you could double back.  

A car pulled up beside you, low to the ground, shining, and blood red. You ignored it, crossed your arms over your chest, and kept moving. You had learned by this point in your life not to give catcallers the time of day.  

“Hey Sweetness,” the voice of this particular catcaller got your attention. You stopped short, turned. Milo’s car halted its crawl. The sedan behind him honked impatiently, but Milo paid them no mind. “Whatcha doing out here in the rain? Not that I’m complaining about the wet shirt part.”  

“Asshole.” You whispered, but you opened the passenger door and deposited yourself inside, dripping all over his leather interior. 

“Woah,” Milo said, his voice suddenly concerned, “you weren’t kidding about the flu. You look like shit.” 

“Gee,” you rolled your eyes, “you flirt. You sure know how to make someone blush.” 

“Hey,” Milo put his car into drive and peeled off of the curb, merging dangerously fast with traffic. He swerved skillfully between cars going too slow for his liking. Your stomach lurched. “I’m expressing concern over here.” 

“I don’t need concern.” You hissed. “If everybody would stop pitying me it would make my fucking day.” 

Milo’s mouth snapped shut. His anger was palpable. Good. You preferred anger to whatever else he was cooking up. Anger you could deal with. Anger was familiar. 

“I’m taking you to my place.” Milo said after a long silence. “I’ll… make you soup. Or something.” 

You sighed, resting your head back against the seat. Your head pounded. You didn’t fight sleep when it pressed against the back of your eyes. 

When you woke, you realized that Milo must have carried you inside. You were in the center of his sinfully soft, sinfully giant bed, tucked into his billion thread-count sheets. You sat up and groaned as your migraine made its presence known. You couldn’t have at least slept that off. That would make your life a fraction easier, and that wasn’t allowed. 

When you got your legs under you, shaky knees and all, you found yourself clad in an oversized tee and boxer shorts. They smelled like Milo, even if you couldn’t imagine him wearing something so casual and you knew he didn’t frequent underwear at all. Or maybe he just went commando when he knew he might get lucky. Either way, he’d gone through the trouble of pulling these out for you, undressing you, re-dressing you, tucking you lovingly in bed. The sentimentality of it all made your stomach flip. 

You could smell something cooking and followed your nose down the stairs and through the twisting halls of Milo’s giant house. Said giant house included a kitchen that gave you a stab of jealousy when you first saw it. Milo wasn’t using it, not for much, anyway. He had an extensive bar cart in one corner, his giant, state of the art fridge was stocked entirely with blood, and his walk-in pantry had one corner filled with sugar snacks. He seemed to only keep food for his fuck buddies. You shivered at the idea of anybody else utilizing those. You would have to start keeping track of them, just to be sure. 

Milo was standing over the stove, a brand new wooden spoon in one hand, his phone pressed to his ear in the other. 

“Davey,” he hissed, “I’m not asking for a lecture. I’m asking how to make it just a little more palatable.” You could hear a deep voice rumble on the other side, but couldn’t make out any words. “Jesus Christ, I should have never called you! I’m not gonna make a fucking bone broth when Cambles so helpfully provides soup in nice little cans.” His eyes flicked to you, whether it was your heartbeat or your snickering that gave you away. He extended one finger to you, as if to say I’ll deal with you in a minute. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, you pretentious asshole.” He hung up. 

“House member?” You asked, crossing to the large island that filled up the middle of the spacious kitchen. There were plastic bags from some pharmacy or another littered around it. You poked around, nosey as ever. Generic painkillers. Three cans of chicken noodle soup. A dozen Gatorades of different flavors. A smattering of cold and flu medicines. Cough drops. He must have grabbed anything he thought might help. Cute. 

“Old friend.” He corrected, turning back to the little pot on the stove in front of him. “Davey doesn’t believe canned soup is a valid form of food. I thought he might have a few ideas on how to improve it. Turns out all he was interested in was telling me off for even buying it.” 

“I can eat canned soup.” You shrugged. “It’s all the same stuff.” 

“Exactly.” Milo huffed. He turned off his burner and started to pour the soup from the pot into one of his sleek, black ceramic bowls. Even his dishware looked expensive. “You get it.” 

He walked the bowl over to you, handed you a spoon, and directed you to one of the stools pushed up under the island. You sat down heavily, snagged a green Gatorade, and downed the soup like a starving man. 

“There’s more.” Milo said, sitting next to you. “And some stuff in the pantry. I just grabbed a buncha’ shit. Don’t know what you like.” 

“You didn’t have to do all that.” You shook your head. Milo refilled your bowl before you could blink. You didn’t protest. 

“Well, you looked like you needed it.” He shrugged. He was trying to act casual, but you could feel him observing you, taking in every detail, like he was waiting for you to keel over. 

Funnily enough, once you scraped your bowl and went to stand, your knees buckled. He caught you, of course. He bundled you into his chest, your cheek pressed against the exposed skin of his peck. Stupid, silken shirt unbuttoned to his navel. Stupid pretty silver necklaces, cold without any body heat of his own. Stupid little shake in his chest as he steadied you. 

“Easy, Sweets.” He said. “Just- will you take it easy? Let me help you.” He was exasperated. Frustrated. 

You pushed back, stumbling away from him. 

“I don’t-“ you shook your head, pressed your hands into the kitchen island and braced yourself. “I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit.” Milo spat. “You look like death warmed over. I can help! Let me help!” 

“I don’t need your help!” You shouted. Your voice rose out of you, anger and stubbornness filling you with newfound energy. “I can handle this! I don’t care what bullshit they put me through, I can handle it!” 

Milo was quiet. He held your gaze. You held his. Your brain screamed to look away, but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even tranced you, but you were trapped. 

“Did-“ he pursed his lips. “What did D.U.M.P. get you into?” 

He read you like a book. You gave too much away. 

“Where are my clothes?” You asked instead of answering him. He huffed, his hands falling to his hips. His stupid, pretty hands. His stupid, muscly hips. You didn’t know if you wanted to hit him or kiss him. 

“No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“What do you mean ‘no?’” 

“I mean I’m not gonna let you go back into whatever the fuck you’re dealing with alone.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he extended that finger again. You didn’t care for that one fucking bit. “And I know you could handle it, Sweetness, you are a force of fucking nature. But you’re not being given the resources you need, and it’s clearly affecting you. So tell me what you need and I will give it to you, Sweetheart!”

“What I need,” you spat, “is for you to stop calling me that!”

“What?” 

“Sweetheart.” You poorly imitated his accent. He huffed out a short laugh. “Sweetness. All those stupid, cute nicknames.”

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His face smoothed over into a smile, but you could see the tension in his body. He was giving you an out, a way to step away from the argument before you said something you would regret. 

Fuck him. You would say what you wanted to say. 

“You’re not my boyfriend.” You growled. “And I’m not your mate.” 

It was a calculated killing blow. You knew as it left your tongue that it would hurt, that it would cut him to the bone. The two of you had fucked a handful of times, talked even less, but he, for some goddam reason, had shown you the parts of him that still bled. You hadn’t wanted to use them against him, but you had no choice. Your own weaknesses were so obvious, so clear to the eye, and anybody could use them against you. He was luring you in with all coddling and sweet talking. He didn’t care about you. You wouldn’t let him back you into a corner when you knew how to get away. 

Milo’s face went slack, his whole body rearing back from that word. Your gut twisted with something like guilt. You wouldn’t have that. You twisted your fingers into the collar of his oversized shirt and held on for dear life. This was survival, simple as that. Nothing personal. That was something that Milo of all people would understand. 

“Out.” He hissed finally, breaking the silence that had overtaken the kitchen. Milo’s eyes were dark, darker than they usually were. His pupils had blown to encompass his silver irises. His face went horrific in a split second. Your body reminded you that you were facing down a monster. 

He moved very suddenly, disrupting the air in the room. Your breath caught as his hands landed on you. Your clothes were pulled off before you could protest. Your heart seized in your chest, but as that word pressed at the back of your teeth, you were redressed in the blink of an eye. Your work clothes, still warm from the dryer, were buttoned and tucked before the cool air of Milo’s kitchen could touch your skin. Your shoes were on your feet. Milo’s hands landed on your shoulders and he began to steer you towards the door. Even this angry, his touch was gentle, feather light, like he was afraid to hurt you. 

And fuck, if that didn’t make you that much more angry. 

You were out the door, unsure if you’d even managed a single independent step. Milo’s touch left you immediately. Your phone, keys, wallet were in your hands. You spun around and saw your shitty sedan parked next to one of Milo’s six priceless sports cars in the driveway. He must have picked it up while you were sleeping. Your stomach flipped. 

You turned back around. Milo was hovering in the doorway, shadows cast across his face from the low light of his house. His eyes were glazed over entirely black now. His fangs were extended, pressing into his pretty, full lips. 

“I shared that with you,” Milo said, his voice tinged with something animalistic, something wild, “as a show of trust. I told that to you because I know that I have a lot of power. I told you something that I knew could hurt me, because I know it’s not easy to do that.” His face twisted up. You were terrified, for a moment, that he would cry. “Fuck you. Fuck you for using that to hurt me.” 

“You could hurt me without even trying!” You seethed. You wrapped your arms around your middle, trying to hold yourself up. 

“Yeah.” Milo nodded. “I could. But I didn’t.” 

The door shut in your face. You stared at the stained mahogany like it might have answers for you. You screamed until your chest gave way to stuttered, panicked gasps. You got in your car and drove away. 

Your desk was waiting for you when you made it back to the office. Jet’s office was darkened, and only a handful of other investigators remained at their desks. It was late evening, bordering on much too late to be here. You sat down anyway and started working. 

By the time morning came round, you had far more information than you did at the start of the day before. For one, you had a rudimentary understanding of Swahili, and had managed to properly convey what you needed from your expert using a few online dictionaries and whatever Google Translate had to offer. He was a pleasant guy, if your translations were correct, and had affirmed that he would send a statement your way within the next few days with everything he knew about shades broken down into simple enough terms for the Department to work with. 

Your back ached and your stomach was still in knots, but you felt much better than you had the day before. Whatever affects the shade’s life-sucking-bullshit left its victims with wore off with time and rest. You added it to your notes, and sent a quick email to Collins to report your improved health. The sun had started to rise when you received a message back. 

Report to medical for field clearance. Don’t make me sick Jet on you. 

You sighed, scrubbing at your tired eyes. You knew it was pointless to resist. Collins would get you down there eventually, one way or another. It looked better for you if you went voluntarily. 

There was a whole floor to the medical department. Half of it was dedicated only to Dr. Collins’ medical research and the seminars he taught for D.A.M.N.. The other half made up the Department’s extensive infirmary. Staffed by Dr. Collins’ loyal group of doctors and nurses. They were a vicious bunch, too smart for anybody’s good, and skilled beyond all reason in both mundane and magical healing. Collins expected nothing but exceptional skill from his staff, and he wouldn’t settle for anything less.

[cinematicgf]

Te deseo, cariño- soft!javi

Summary: you and javier are sitting in your apartment listening to the blues after he calls to see you on your day off- (yeah that’s pretty much it)

Pairings: javier pena x afab!reader (call girl!reader)

Warnings and notes: no warnings really, soft!javi, fluffy fluff, deep convos ig, call girl/sex worker reader, no use of y/n, making out, mentions of sex work, petnames, listening to the blues baby!!

~ 1.4k

A/N: hi all<3 enjoy this little fluffy Javi drabble. i usually write smut but i couldn't get this idea out of my head. as always, your feedback is always welcome, please like, comment and reblog<3

ps. he’s soooo lana coded, hence the west coast title, good LORD

~

The quaint sounds of Roy Buchanan settled in slumber around your body. There was gold peeking through the large twin windows of your apartment, a hue on your skin that felt like a flame, but all you could perceive before you in that instance was the seraph draped in your mother’s knitted blanket. Javi seated himself heavily on your couch, two autonomous curls fallen over his closed eyes and majesty at his fingertips. He hummed along to the soft, tragic acoustics of Drifting and Drifting. The raw impeccable talent of the blues singer being appreciated fully in the comfortable silence of the room, both of your exhaling of smoke being the only thing to cut through the silence.

A discarded pack of cigarettes lay on your desktop, a cloud of smoke eased through the empty air of your apartment as you breathed in the relaxing atmosphere of Javier Pena, cigarette dangling from his lips, hair messy and dressed in nothing but unbuttoned jeans, lying soundly with one foot on the arm of the couch and the other planted on the carpeted floor. You were leaning on your bed a couple of feet away, a thin t-shirt halting at your abdomen showing a peak of nipple, whilst your trousers were discarded on the floor, leaving you in your panties. You watched Javi drag from his ciggie, enthralled in the song, a thin layer of sweat coated his tanned bare chest. He had never looked so calm. He spoke outside of a song for the first time since the album began, “What’re you thinking about over there?” He broke eye contact with the ceiling and fixed them on you.

“Nothing. Just listening,” Your answer didn’t change the expression upon his face, so you took it he wanted you to elaborate, “Listening more to you than the record that is… I never knew you liked the blues, you never seem to play them when I’ve been in the car with you, or…. around any of the other girls?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think I would play them around anyone else.”

“How come?” you questioned while your body moved to the edge of your bed to be a bit closer to him. There were still a few feet between you, but the empty space was filled with possibility.

“Well, princesa” he brought his arm up to rest behind his head, “There’s something about them- they feel more… special.”

You grinned a little, before your smile fell. You thought about the tragic lyricism of the album you were playing, the crying of the guitar. You hesitated before asking what had been on your mind. The two of you weren’t seeing each other, as such, but after you had taken a job as a call girl for some extra money on the side to pay for your younger brother’s college tuition, he had seemed to have taken a liking to you, always requesting you when his emotions got the better of him and he needed to let off some steam after an operation went wrong, or when the notorious Escobar case was heating up.

After a couple of months of this, you found yourself staying for longer and longer each night. The two of you lying in bed next to each other, sometimes enveloped in one of his muscular arms, as you listened to music and talked. He had opened up about his dangerous job once he knew he could trust you, and sometimes, even when you had the night off, you would receive a call from him. You weren’t an informant, like so many of your coworkers before you, but you weren’t just another fuck to get it all out of his system either. This was one of those evenings. The sun caressing the edge of Medellin, drowning the city in a hazy hue; threatening another humid night.

He continued, “They’re songs we listen to when I was a kid. They have a nostalgia element linked with them that just… I don’t know… eases me, I guess. It makes me think about my mother, childhood, her and my father dancing in the kitchen on weekends.” He takes another drag of the almost finished cigarette before continuing his reminiscence. “I know you understand, I watch you close your eyes and really take in the melody, hermosa. It eases you too. I don’t want to play it around others because… I don't want to mix the image of them with the image of you when we’re alone.” You found comfort in knowing the music meant something special to this usually cutoff and hardened man. They were some of your most beloved songs and it was an added bonus that your parents didn’t mind the sound of them when they inevitably traveled through the thin walls. You managed to make something of the music and how it sat with you and that was your favorite part of being around him.

“I understand… Javier,” You hesitated again. He turned his head to meet your eyes once more. There was a sadness to them that you had been aware of, sure, but that you had never really looked into until now. “Do you think you’re a lonely person?” you whisper, deciding to just come right out and say what was on your mind.

He sighs heavily and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake in asking him this deeply personal question. You begin to apologize before he cuts you off, “Carino, I’ve still got a lot living to do, I guess… I don’t have much time to dwell on it, work takes up most of my time but… yeah,” He stood up from the couch and sat down beside you on the bed. He smiled at you for a quick second before laying his head in your lap and fixing his eyes on the ceiling again, “but I’ve got plenty of love to dwell in, I just need to find a way to remember that”. You can tell he is thinking about his parents again as the song comes to an end and the next song starts. The guitar cries on.

You watched as his demeanor brightened as he closed his eyes, taking in the melody. His lips twitched into a small smile and his usual frown relaxed as he sunk into you slightly. If your face could glow anymore radiant it’d plaster a silhouette on your apartment wall.

The both of you settled in comfortable silence again as the tune carried around your apartment. You didn’t think you had ever seen anyone so beautiful as the man lying in your lap, eyes closed. You gently raked your fingers through his hair, leaning back against your bed frame.

The sun was perfectly set now, and you could hardly see where he sat just moments ago on your creaky couch. Fleeting moments were contemptuous as they departed, but the present mended all resentment you had for goodbyes. You could see him. I could see his earnestness intertwined with the hard man he had molded into because of his dangerous job. How he hypothesized without fear of irresolution. And how he saw you for who you were, besides being a call girl. Besides being someone to call for a quickie. He saw you as an actual person, someone with interests and a childhood similar to his own.

“I think, you should stay tonight”, you whispered into his hair, placing a gentle kiss on his crown before removing the cigarette from his lips to take a puff. He used the opportunity to lift himself up slightly and place an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, tongue intertwining with yours, the taste of cigarettes and a hint of whiskey filling your senses as you kissed him back, ardently. He cupped your chin, thumb moving to open your mouth slightly wider for a better taste before moving your legs out from under him and settling you at his side. You replaced the cigarette back in his lips.

“I think I’d like that”, he replied without hesitation, eyes closing again as he laced a muscular arm around you and pulled you in to his bare chest. The blues played on as the two of you fell asleep entangled in each other.

~

[milogreer]

really wanna write rn so help me choooose

no promises it’ll get done ‘cause, you know… life… but i wanna be able to at least try to focus in on one. i miss writing 😔

also some little snippets of each one that might help y’all decide 🤭

shaw pack scaredy cats

“You wanna what?”

“It’s not that big a deal, I do it all the time.”

Milo looks at them like they’ve gone crazy. “Tank, if my Ma finds out I snuck into an R-rated movie, I’ll be six feet under before you can even blink.”

“You just don’t wanna watch the movie ‘cause you know you’ll chicken out first.”

“And you just don’t know the kinda hell Marie Greer can rain down on you. She’s scarier than any movie.”

Tank rolls their eyes. “Then it’s your turn to ask David for a movie. I did it last time and he spent ten minutes chewing me out about how his copy of Alien had dried pizza sauce on the back cover.”

“Maybe if you didn’t eat like you were raised in a barn-”

“Don’t be mad at me just ‘cause you chickened out when you thought the cat was gonna die-”

“Hey, that is a very reasonable response!”

Tank laughs, dispelling any further argument. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll talk to David, see if he can pull a movie for this weekend.”

the morning after

Blake stirs, mumbling something incoherent as he buries himself further into the duvet, and Bestie stills their hand from looping a lock of his hair around their index finger. When he doesn’t say anything further, they continue, touch feather-light.

Another quiet moment passes before Blake sniffles, nudges his head up into their hand, and manages a slurred, “S’wrong?”

“Nothing,” they whisper, switching to run their hand through his hair, curls soft beneath their fingers, willing him to fall back asleep. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He grunts dismissively, peeking open one eye. “What time is it?”

They pause. It’s just barely four in the morning - they’d only slept two hours before being unwillingly and inexplicably dragged out of the depths of sleep. He’ll worry if they tell him the time.

“Early.”

As expected, Blake’s brows furrow. “How early?”

“It’s fine,” they say reassuringly. “I haven’t been up long. I was just thinking.”

A pause. The air feels heavy all of a sudden. When Blake speaks, his voice is low.

“…Can I ask what about?”

working overtime

“And I was supposed to be free tonight, I was right on track to get all my stuff done, but- but then a professor from down the hall had a family emergency and so she wasn’t going to be able to finish the banner for the rally at the end of the week, so she asked me to do it and I, I, I mean, I couldn’t say no, you know?” Lasko pauses very briefly to suck in a breath. “I would’ve felt so bad because she put in a lot of work and to, to not have her project done and displayed is a shame, I mean, I know she was really excited for it, so if I can finish it for her, then I want to, I just,” he expels an exasperated breath, “I wish it wasn’t at the expense of our date night. I-It’s been a while since we were able to actually go out together, I’m so sorry I can’t make it, I know I said it already, but-”

Dear catches his hand as he paces by where they’re sitting on his desktop, nervous hands flitting through the air as he speaks, then brings it to their lips to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Taken off-guard, Lasko goes quiet and still, his rambling tapering off with a soft oh.

“It’s alright, Lasko. I’m not upset.”

Big pleading eyes blink at them from behind his glasses. “Really?”

“Really. It’s sweet of you to want to finish her project for her.” They tug him closer to stand between their legs, looping their arms loosely around his neck and taking great satisfaction in the flush that immediately consumes his cheeks. “Did she leave instructions for you?”

His voice is pitched a touch higher when he responds, “Mhm.” Then he clears his throat, the initial embarrassment ebbing, and says, “She’s very, um… detailed. I hope it doesn’t take too long, but.” He makes an uncertain sound.

sweetheart’s first pack party

They gratefully accept the wine glass he offers, clutching it like a lifeline.

The hand on their hip tugs them a bit closer to him. “Don’t look so nervous, sweetheart. Might be a room full a’ wolves, but no one’s gonna bite.” He leans away slightly, taking a purposefully long moment to check them out, gaze dragging slowly down and then back up their body. Their heart flutters at the sly grin that paints his face. “Well, one of them might. But he’ll ask first.”

Sweetheart exhales a wavering laugh, rolling their eyes and turning their flushing face away.

“Is it that obvious?”

His smirk turns into a slight grimace. “Ash says you’ve got your investigator face on and it’s freakin’ him out a little.”

This time their exhale is a sigh, an attempt to expel some of the anxious energy trapped in their chest that buzzes like a beehive. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to parties like this. My family never did Solstice parties and even if they did, I think this would still be nerve-wracking because…” They falter, nails tapping their glass. “I mean. You know. This is my first one and, I don’t know, David and Asher have always been nice to me-”

sweetheart’s will likely be the only one that gets an actual name bc i have an OC for them more than anyone else, though i’m working on bestie atm so they might get a name too :)

[chickenparm]

Opulence (Ningguang/f!Reader)

this was written for @kaeyas-fur-cape <3 thanks for coming to me with this!

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AO3 LINK

Ningguang/f!Reader 3,037 Words - NSFW (Sugar Mommy Ningguang, established relationship, strap-ons, fingering, size kink, praise, overstimulation)

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Captain Beidou once said that the Jade Chamber smells opulent. 

Maybe you’re just used to it, but it smells more like comfort and security rather than something untouchable and decadent. The sheets of your bed are soft, but less soft than the body that shared it with you so frequently. Your reflection glimmers back at you from the shining floors, but you don’t pay it much mind as you sit at the edge of the bed and rub at your eyes. 

The other side of the bed is cold; she never came to bed.

Lady Ningguang took care of you in a myriad of ways. Financially, emotionally, intimately… But right now you’re feeling just a little bereft. Maybe that’s selfish, but Ningguang had been very particular at the beginning of all this that you were allowed to be selfish - as long as you’re good. She likes it when you’re selfish. 

So you pull on her robe, wrap it tight around you to emulate the approximate pressure her arms would give, then make your way across immaculately shining floors and through golden doorways, up the stairs to her office where she sits exactly in the way she’d been hours prior when she hummed her sweet promises to you. 

Ruby eyes lift to you when you crest the stairs, looking at you with something unreadable over the rims of her glasses. It must be one of those nights if she’s having trouble keeping her vision straight without them. Lower lip jutting out just a little, you close the distance and see the way the powder on her face has worn thin through the day, leaving the circles beneath her eyes just dark enough to show her exhaustion. 

“Lady Ningguang, you know you can leave this to your secretaries-”

Ningguang’s glasses are removed, settling on the desktop with a quiet tap, “Some things require a more personal touch,” and then her eyes dart to you again, suddenly focused and alert with a subtle curve of painted lips, “Things like you, little gem. Come here.”

It’s her invitation, yet you accept it with all the giddiness as if it were your idea for such a thing. The sound of her robe slipping across the floor follows along after you as you round her desk and hop up to sit in a deliberately cleared space, one that never is cluttered with paper or writing implements. Not even a single ring from Ningguang’s teacup is left in the space meant only for you to occupy. 

The golden accessories on her third and fourth finger brush against your skin as she fondly runs a palm up from your knee to mid-thigh, then back again. “I could do with a little distraction. Indulge me, won’t you?”

“And then you’ll come to bed?”

Ningguang smiles up at you, placating but ultimately truthful in its existence, “If you’re good, perhaps it’ll clear my mind and I’ll work quickly.”

And you can be good. You murmur this to her and you get a little flash of teeth from her smile before she turns back to her work, writing with her dominant hand while the other drags little circles over the skin of your thigh. Being good means sitting still, not letting your legs swing idly over the edge of the desk. It means not fidgeting when she takes her time, moving at her own pace with idle circling movements, higher and higher - then lower again. 

Instinct tells you to quietly plead, to give platitudes and petulance until she gives you what you want. Except Ningguang has always had a habit of doing things her own way, and that often means subverting any sort of expected outcome. Whining wouldn’t encourage her, it would only drag this out longer. 

It’s not easy, but it is what’s important, so you bite down on your tongue and close your eyes, sitting as still as a statue as she works on everything atop her desk, including you. 

Ningguang’s tongue darts out for a moment, wetting her lips and wearing down lipstick that’s already well past its prime after such a long day. The motion almost distracts you entirely from her quiet musing of, “Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re wearing.”

“It smells like you. I was cold.”

“Even my pretty bed warmer catches a chill, it seems.” Fingers raise higher than they’ve been, the tips brushing against the place where you want her most, only for her to slip away again. “Did you miss me so much, my little gem? I’ve been rather neglectful of late.”

Quickly, you shake your head, but she squeezes your thigh and you fall silent as she continues, “I love when you try to console me, but it isn’t necessary this time. That is the truth of the matter; I’ve left you wanting.”

Maybe a little, but you’d never say it out loud. Ningguang has done so much for you, given you invaluable treasures and trinkets, a place at her side, a gilded cage that you always held the key to if you wanted to unlock it and fly free. To come and go as you please. But what purpose would it serve to be back on the ground when everything you’ve wanted is right here, fingers slipping forward with precision, a smile on painted lips and shadowed eyes?

Your shoulders roll forward, reflexively hunching as her thumb sweeps across your clit with little warning. A little laugh leaves her, pleasant and highly out of place within the situation she’s put you in, but it warms your blood nonetheless to see her pleased with you. So when she does it again, your fingers curl around the edge of the desk just as your voice curls around a whimper of gratitude. 

With her thumb still moving, little circles that make it hard to keep your eyes open and on her face for any change in expression, Ningguang nudges your inner thigh with her palm, “A little more for me,” and when you do as she asks, she continues. “Such a good listener.”

A little bloom of pride grows in your chest, but you keep it hidden and simply give her a shaky smile. The compliment is nice, but it goes without saying that you hang off her every word, desperate to please her in any way. It just so happens that your pleasure and hers are tied together at this moment. 

You’re wet enough that you could take just about anything she gives you, but all she gives is two. That’s still more than enough to make your breath catch, her fingertips curling and seeking out the spot she’s memorized better than any little piece of information she tears up and sends falling down to the harbor like snow. The Jade Chamber holds only the two of you this evening, and you’re grateful that no one else can hear how your voice cuts sharply through the air in surprised pleasure at the motion. 

Ningguang once said that depending on her mood, she either desires complete silence or music to fill the air. It had been rather quiet when you arrived, but the way she strokes you with deliberate attention must mean that she’s looking for the latter. You make such pretty sounds, she told you once, like a song.

So, you sing. You stay as still as she likes and take your impatience out with your grasp on the desk and your voice shaking in unsubdued ecstasy. They echo back at you off the glittering walls, hanging just as heavy as the little wisps of incense that rise in ribbons from the burner near the door. 

You break, just a little. Just enough to gasp out, “Please, Ningguang, I-I… Can I…?”

“Of course you can, darling,” an amused glance over her glasses, another curl of her fingers, a press of her thumb that makes your teeth hurt from how hard you’re clenching them, “you’ve been waiting long enough.”

The permission itself is pleasing enough that it pushes you over, forces you to fall into oblivion for just long enough to empty your lungs of breath with a trembling, keening sound. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can hear her voice murmuring to you in little praises about how good you are, how sweet you’ve been to make sure she’s not overworking. How tight you clamp around her fingers as if you never want her to leave. 

You don’t, of course, but she pulls back anyway and smears a bit of your own arousal across your thigh as she goes. It chills quickly, and you shiver as you look at her through half-lidded eyes that have trouble focusing immediately. Ningguang is a smear of white and gold and red that makes your heart race even now, even after something so intimate. 

A quiet click signifies her pen being set down, followed by the subtle sliding of her chair across the floors. There’s an ornate box at the corner of your vision, and she reaches across the desk to open it and place her glasses within the silk-lined interior. It snaps shut loud enough to make you jump, and her smile turns apologetic, just for a moment. 

“You’ve made a convincing argument so far, little gem. I’ll set this aside for the evening. You’ll join me in the bath.” 

It’s not a question. You’ve already had one tonight, but the thought of being comfortable and warm is far too tempting to ever explain that to her. Doubtless she already knows, anyway. Ningguang offers her clean hand to you, palm up and fingers gently curled expectantly. Yours slide across her palm and she helps you to your feet on wobbling knees, the robe falling closed once more and providing you unnecessary decency. 

“The Feiyun Commerce Guild has been overreaching,” Ningguang explains once the bath has been run and the steam begins filling the room. Submerged in the water of the large tub, you watch with rapt attention as she tugs the pin from her hair and carefully releases the knot until the full mass of it is free. 

Her statement veils something else, and you take a moment to ponder the slope of her shoulders and the meaning. Perhaps to the perception of outsiders, your relationship with Ningguang is more akin to that of a treasured pet. A plaything kept on a shelf and well-maintained. Valuable for what you provide her physically. 

But that’s not true - not entirely at least. When all of this started - slowly, then all at once - you learned of Ningguang’s preferences rather quickly. Yes, there’s a physical aspect to it all, and it goes both ways. Yet there’s another need she has, one for an opinion on someone who might not be as savvy and entwined in her business dealings as she and her attendants are. 

Ningguang values your input, even if perhaps it isn’t always helpful. A new perspective brings familiar ones back into focus, she has said, and it’s clear now that she’s looking for you to help, just a little. And… something a little more casual, but with far more feeling.

I’m sorry.

Ducking deeper into the water, your lower lip just above the waterline, you answer, “You’ve been busy, there’s a lot on your plate.”

I forgive you.

Ningguang carefully wipes off her lipstick, not even a single smear out of place as she leans at the vanity and looks at you in the reflection. Just that small exchange makes her shoulders lower, lets her gaze turn less sharp. “Tomorrow, my secretaries will finish what I started. If you had to choose, would you prefer Liuli Pavilion, or Xinyue Kiosk?”

The water ripples as she steps in, sinking to sit next to you with little hesitation for how her thigh presses against yours. You sit up a little more, and on instinct your leg hooks over hers in casual intimacy. “Xinyue, but the wait list-”

“Is nothing. Heli owes me a favor, he’ll make time for us.” 

And it’s truly as simple as that. There’s no doubt that she’ll make good on those plans tomorrow, and in the meantime you get to bask in her presence and run your fingers through the thick strands of her hair until every tangle has been worked free. 

The heating element beneath the bath keeps it comfortably warm as Ningguang tilts her head back, one arm slung over the side while the other holds a faintly smoking pipe aloft. A single smoke ring floats toward the opened window as you prop an elbow on the edge of the bath and watch her start to unwind. 

Like tugging at a single strand of silk, Ningguang slowly unravels until her pipe is empty and a subtle impatience starts to curl in your gut. It only takes a single fidget for her eye to open and look at you knowingly. “Finished with your bath, darling?”

Somewhat, you think, and you crack her a little conspiratorial smile in return. Just beyond her reach, her vision glows golden, and the water shifts with minute displacement. Her eye closes again, her lips spreading into a little grin as your leg swings over her lap and you deliberately press against the new addition to her waist. The glittering amber appendage is just as warm as the water as you rock against it. 

Held steady by a faint shimmer of gold around her waist, Ningguang needs to do very little beyond watch with silent amusement as you lift, then lower. From parted, slightly-pouted lips, she murmurs, “That’s it, little gem, all the way in. You can handle this much, can’t you?”

“Mhm,” you hum, the sound trailing off into a little whine as you come to rest at the base. Your hands brace against the edge of the tub beneath her arms, and she shifts them to press your palms further against the gilded tile, loosely pinning you. And then you see that glow from the corner of your eye, feel the sensation of what was once enough now becoming excess. 

And you moan, your head falling forward to her stark collarbone, nails scraping uselessly against the grout. Ningguang’s voice is sweet in your ear as she asks, “And what about this? Too deep?” A shake of your head, a huff of her amusement, “Say when. Don’t be shy.”

Instead of length, you’re given girth, and you stifle your sounds as little by little, her geo-constructed cock stretches you wider. True to her word, she keeps it slow but doesn’t stop - not until you’re gasping out a plea that it’s enough, that you’re satisfied with this. True to her nature toward you, she gifts you with just a little more than you thought you wanted. 

It’s overwhelming, all-consuming. The cock inside you isn’t hers, she can’t feel it herself, yet you find you’re undeniably filled with Ningguang all the same. To have her all around you, above, below, inside… it’s that opulence that’s so often spouted about the Jade Chamber. You take it for granted unless it’s intrinsically woven with Ningguang herself, pushed and pulled as your knees shake and the water shifts with her subtle movements. 

To indulge you so completely is euphoric, and you go from burying your head to tossing it back and crying out until it echoes on the pretty walls of the home you share with her. Ningguang is an expert in many things, including the angles of your body, inside and out. The spaces which make you keen and sigh, which cause your voice to grow hoarse with your endless praises and delights. It takes only her hand on your lower stomach to tilt your hips and cause you to come apart around the toy inside you. 

But as you slump back against her, content with it all and grateful for what you’ve been given, Ningguang isn’t quite so satisfied. The smoking pipe clatters to the floor as she drops it over the side of the tub, freeing both hands to grasp at your hips and hold you with fingers pressed into your soft skin. You’re lifted, emptied, left trembling and clenching around nothing at all - then she gives it back to you once more. 

“N-Ningguang-”

“You’ve waited for this, haven’t you?” Ningguang’s lips press against the side of your head, her breath as hot as the steaming air and the disturbed water. “Take all you can manage, make it worth it, little gem.”

Except you’re not quite sure how much you can manage, and even as you try to tell her so, your voice shakes with prolonged pleasure that hasn’t quite felt like it stopped in the interim between your prior release and this very moment that she fucks deeper into you than she ever has. All you can do is curl in her lap, let her give and give until you can barely force out the syllables for the soft-limit safe word. 

Blissfully, she gives you that reprieve. The fullness shrinks in increments rather than all at once, yet you know you’ll be feeling this while sitting in the cushioned chairs of Xinyue Kiosk tomorrow. Vaguely you can feel the dusting of her kisses along your cheek, her eyelashes against your damp temple. Down your thigh to your knee, then back up again, her palm shifts beneath the water in quiet comfort. 

Down, up, down, up. Your breaths synchronize with her movements, and only when you can fill your lungs without shaking does she pull away and appraise you visually, then verbally, “Can you stand?”

Yes, barely, but it’s enough to get you to the vanity where you can prop yourself up as she dries you, then herself. Her robe is slipped over your shoulders, yours is belted at her waist in an even exchange. Ningguang doesn’t bother to drain the water as she takes you by the waist and guides you from one room to another. 

Beyond a quiet, “Careful, watch your step,” there are no words exchanged. Nothing needs to be spoken that can’t be gleaned from touch, anyway. The bed is soft, a little cold, but warmed by the heat of your skin and Ningguang’s body at your side where she belongs. 

[bluehoodiewoozi]

DRABBLE MARATHON #1:

LEE SEOKMIN + internship

1,7k words /// genre: fluff (?) /// warnings: food mentions.

In which Seokmin becomes your own ray of sunshine.

Hands shaking and panic in your mind, you entered the office. 

What had been a goal and a dream just a few weeks ago was now your reality. You had scored the very internship you had aimed for. But that didn’t make you any less anxious about it all.

People dressed in business casual scurried around you, a cup of coffee in one hand and a printed report in the other. No one seemed to notice you.

Unsure who to talk to, you stood off to the side, offering a polite smile to anyone who gave you a curious look as they passed by. None of them seemed to realise who you were or what you were in their office for.

The door opened, startling you just a little, and revealed a young man. He entered and politely bowed to a woman who walked past him. His hands seemed to be shaking as much as yours were as he also stood off to the side, a little away from you.

“Are you–” He cleared his throat and leaned closer to you. “By any chance, do you work here?”

You shook your head. “Just an intern.”

He seemed relieved at your words, his body visibly relaxing as he took in the information. Realising he must’ve looked like a fool to you, he put on a smile. “I’m Seokmin. I’m an intern too.”

You smiled back at him. “Really? What’s your major?”

“Marketing. You?”

“Translation and localisation.”

He looked a little stunned at your answer, a dumb expression on his face. “Translation?” A lightbulb seemed to go off in his head right at that moment. He lit up again. “Oh, maybe we’ll get to work together then.” 

“Right,” you replied with an awkward smile. 

You feared he’d interpret your expression as unfriendliness – a bit unfortunate because you were only socially anxious and actually wanted to make a friend at this internship – but he seemed to see right through you. 

He offered a bright smile and gentle nudge, as if you were friends already. “Hey… I’m scared too. This is my first ever internship. I’m not even entirely sure what I’m going to be doing here. But that’s okay. We’ll be fine.”

“Do you really think so?” you asked him, feeling a little better at the display of camaraderie. 

He nodded confidently and that was all the assurance you needed.

You were given a desk near a ceiling-high window. Though you first couldn’t believe your luck, it quickly became clear why they gave this seat to an intern: the afternoon sun shone right through the glass and onto your desktop screen. This made your work just a bit more difficult, but hey: dream internship.

Your schedule had you coming to the office for full days on Mondays and afternoons on Wednesdays, right after your lectures. The first Wednesday proved to be challenging. You were overcome with the urge to take your post-lecture nap and yet you had to drag yourself to the office where a folder full of documents to be translated had been placed on your desk. 

The sight made you both giddy and weary. But at least the chair was comfortable. 

“I knew we’d be working together!” you then heard a familiar voice. When you looked up, Seokmin was smiling brightly at you as he approached your desk. His eyes shone in the afternoon sunshine – it was easy to get lost in them. 

He placed a folder on your desk. “My supervisor told me to bring these to be translated, but then the translators here told me to bring this to you instead.”

“What are these?” you asked, opening the folder to find the answer to your question. “Oh. What do I do with these?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he answered, his eyes widening to convey his apologies for him. He quickly squinted his eyes again as the sun began to hurt them. “Can you even see anything here?”

“Barely.” You sighed, still eyeing the marketing materials he had brought for you. 

He frowned. “Why not just close the blinds?”

“Because this is the only window in this department that doesn’t have working blinds,” you replied and offered him a tired smile. “Yeah, I can’t believe my luck either.”

“Well,” he paused and tried to find some comforting words to say. It took him a moment, but he got there eventually: “There will probably be less sunshine when autumn sets in.”

You hummed in agreement. “I both dread it and can’t wait.”

“Right?” He offered you an encouraging smile. “They said those materials need to be translated by next Wednesday. Can you do it?”

“I can try,” you answered hesitantly, looking up at him and once again getting lost in the pretty golds and browns of his eyes. 

He took your silence for worse than it was. “Do you want me to beg my supervisors for an extension for you? Because I can do that. I’ve practically perfected the whole ‘getting on my knees and begging for an extension’ thing.”

You laughed. “How come?”

“I suck at meeting deadlines. It’s a miracle I’ve made it this far, honestly,” he confessed before offering again, “So, should I?”

“No, no,” you shook your head quickly, grinning, “I’ll be fine. I’m a quick worker.”

“You sure?” 

You weren’t entirely sure why this stranger – an acquaintance at most – was so hell-bent on getting on his knees for your sake, but it was a sweet gesture. You offered him one last smile. “I’m sure.”

He narrowed his eyes at you as if he had a built-in lie detector, but if he did have one, it proved to be ineffective. Before long, his scowl melted back into a warm, sunny smile. “Well, I’ll come back for these in a week then.” He turned to leave. But before he got more than four steps away, he turned on his heel and made a cheering gesture, bellowing, “I believe in you!”

You hid your embarrassed (yet flattered) face in your hands and waved him away. He laughed and waved you goodbye for the day.

Lunch breaks quickly became your favourite part of internship days for three reasons: 1) lunch, 2) break, and most importantly 3) Seokmin. 

Without fail, on every Monday, at 1 pm sharp, Seokmin appeared at your desk with a sweet smile. Every time, he’d invite you to get lunch with him – even when marketing team members invited him instead. 

“Eating in the park was a great idea,” you told him on this Monday, happily eating your salad. “The weather is so nice today.”

He smiled at that. “It’s the last nice days of autumn. Might as well enjoy them before it gets cold and rainy.”

“I can’t believe it��s been a whole month at the company already. Feels like we met just yesterday.”

“I worried I’d get bored, honestly,” he responded. “I’m not actually a big fan of marketing.”

You chuckled. “Then why are you a marketing major?”

“Mom told me to study something useful,” he grimaced before bursting into laughter. “It’s not all bad though. It’s more creative than business, at least. Or engineering. God, I would’ve sucked at engineering.”

“Yeah, I figured maths wasn’t your strong suit,” you joked and pinched his cheek. 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Slander.”

You laughed as he dramatically turned his head away from yours. You laughed because you knew that any second now he’d burst out laughing with you. He always did. 

He did it because he knew that it would make you laugh even harder and make your day better. He did it because he had fallen in love with your smile.

Seokmin was good at pretending he wasn’t nervous. Years of drama club participation had paid off in that aspect even if he could never fulfil his dream of becoming an actual actor. And yet, you seemed to see right through him at your last lunch together.

“I can’t believe it’s our last week here,” you breathed out, watching people pass by the otherwise empty break room. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” was all he offered, apparently more interested in the fried noodles his roommate had so kindly packed for him.

You looked at him, seated across from you at the table, his back facing the hallway and his face the sun shining through the windows (he always sat on that side, not wanting you to suffer with sun in your eyes). Today his usually sunny expression had been replaced with gloomy skies. 

You reached for his hand across the table. “Are you okay?”

He glanced up, startled by your touch. “I– Yeah. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” you replied. Weeks of knowing him had made you more perceptive to his moods. “You can tell me, you know. I won’t judge.”

He took a deep breath. “... You promise?”

“Of course.” You had thought it was a given.

He took another breath, even deeper. He fingers wrapped around yours and squeezed them tightly. Then, he said, “I have a confession to make.” You nodded for him to continue. “I… (Y/n), I like you.”

“You… like me?” Your eyes widened and you almost slipped your hand out of his on instinct. 

His grip only tightened. “I like you. I’ve liked you since the first day we met. You’re so kind and so sweet and so, so dedicated to your studies and the work you do here. You’re gorgeous inside and out. I can’t help but like you, as more than a friend, and I’m scared that you won’t–”

“I like you too, Seokmin,” you breathed out and rushed to stand up and round the table to hug him. He tensed only for a moment before relaxing into your embrace, relishing in the feeling of your lips against his hair. You repeated and kept repeating, “I like you too. I like you so much. Gosh, of course I like you. How could I not? I like you.”

He wasn’t sure which was warmer: your embrace? the warmth of a blush on his cheeks? the sun shining on his hands as he wrapped his arms around you?All three. He liked all three. But he liked you the most.

A/N: is this my best work? no. could i have written a full slow-burn-ish fic out of it if i was in the right space of mind? yeah. am i proud of it? meh. however, i wrote this, like, a day before scoring an internship so i think it deserves to be uploaded anyway :)