#blur of oversize golden

[jisungshotfirst]

introducing: kit's boys !

see my caard for more

⌜ please do not repost ⌟

wanted to have a pinned post for my main boys so here we are!!! my most beloved boys in the world i'm obsessed with them<3

these are my edits! so feel free to like and reblog but pls do not download or repost<3

[velvetsainz]

summary: [ cl16 x fem!reader ] corsica continues to inspire, even when away from the heat of the sun. part of the hot monaco nights series.

word count: 2.8k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), a lil hint of plot, use of explicit language, unprotected sex (plan appropriately, folks), p in v, creampie, oral (f!receiving), google-translated french (i cannot and will not be stopped), em dashes strike back, once again time is a social construct

a/n: more horny fuckers in corsica (crowd cheers)! longest one yet!! struggled getting this written but ultimately happy with how it turned out, so hopefully y'all are, too. my biggest thanks as always to @lecrep @leclerc-hs @multiseb21 for their support & encouragement 🤍 enjoy, bbys! xx

As always, this was Charles's fault.

Well, kinda.

Okay, not at all, but, like, that’s beside the point.

What the point actually was that this was your favorite way to have him.

His hands gripped tightly into the plush of your hips, thumbs guiding the way your pelvis lazily drew patterns.  His cock was hard and hot and buried deep inside you, and the Monégasque was fighting all of his instincts not to roll the two of you over so he could find a way to sate the burning heat in his own core.

“Chérie,” he whined, hazel eyes still heavy-lidded as he’d only awoken a short while before.  Other parts of him had been awake for much longer, though, given the way he’d been grinding his cock against your ass before you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“Relax, baby,” you chided with a heavy sigh, one hand on his toned chest while the other toyed with your pearl.  “You’re on holiday—enjoy it.  We don’t have anywhere to be.”

“But this is torture, mon cœur,” the man groaned, hands trying to urge you faster.  Still, you resisted and shot him a devilish look.

“This,” you rolled your hips tightly and flexed your walls around his throbbing member, “is nothing.  I can make it torture if you’d prefer that, though, hm?”

He let out a frustrated sound through his nose, a groan stifled in his throat.  His hands traced over the tanned expanse of your thighs before trailing to the small of your back under the faded oversized shirt of his you’d donned after he’d fucked you within an inch of your life the night before.

“At least let me kiss you, hm? Donne-moi quelque chose, s'il te plaît,” Charles nearly begged, the French tumbling from his lips as you ground yourself in slow, lazy circles.  He needed more—more friction, more skin, more touch, anything.  He wasn’t one to beg, usually, but he was more than willing in this instance.

“So needy,” you teased, but the way his hands tangled in your hair and his tongue slid against your own had your hips bucking in such a way that gave away your hand; you had a straight flush but his was royal.  A choked sound left the back of your throat as you moved your hips quicker, one of the hands in your hair moving to grab the flesh of your ass to urge you on.

As you pulled away for a moment, Charles didn’t waste his chance and used his other hand to pull back the hem of the t-shirt you wore and latch his plump lips to one of your pert nipples in a way that made your toes curl and your eyes close tight as stars sparked.

“Fuck,” you swore, “I–”

“So needy,” he teased like an absolute little shit before you swatted at his head and he took his golden opportunity.

Banding an arm around your back, the driver pulled you tight to his chest and planted his feet into the bed before driving his hips up into your own in a way that made your insides feel like molten lava. With a filthy cry, you grabbed tight to the sheets on either side of your boyfriend as he set the new pace.

“Je pensais que je te l'avais enlevé hier soir,” he grunted in your ear as he speared against something blindingly delicious within you, and his hand palmed at your ass with your tits pressed tight against his chest.  You knew it was good for him, too, when he started slipping into Italian, blurring the lines between the languages he knew so well until they were practically an unintelligible mess.

“Charles–I’m gonna—ah!,” you started to warn as the edges of your vision blurred and the heat in the pit of your core started seeping through the cracks in your bones.

“Je sais, minette,” he grit as he felt your cunt spasm tightly around him, his own orgasm careening towards him at a blinding speed like an avalanche in the Dolomites.  “Putain–,” he swore as his hips bucked spasmodically into you, pressing into the wet velvet heat as far as your core would allow as every part of him chased whatever would bring him closer to his completion.

You felt him shudder beneath you as his hands held you tight against him; he wanted to feel all of you, and you certainly were in no place to complain as your own orgasm started to recede.  You basked in the warmth of one another, the way your hips slotted so perfectly against his, how your hearts pounded against each other’s chests.

Part of you didn’t want to break the blissful quiet of the post-orgasm glow, but your pride had other qualms.  “You’re a sore loser, you know that?,” you teased as you rolled partway off your partner, hissing as you lost the comfortable stretch of his cock inside of you.

Chuckling softly, he shrugged as he turned his head to the side to see your heavy eyes.  “I have no idea what you are talking about—I was simply exercising a-a new strategy!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.  “You are unbelievable, Leclerc.”

“Unbelieve...ably good?,” he asked with a stupid grin that made you roll your eyes once more before you leaned in to kiss him once again.

“Unfortunately yes–”

“Say no more!,” he beamed before shooting out of bed, reinvigorated.  He disappeared for a few moments, your eyes closing as sleep tempted you once more.

You heard him pad back in and around to the side of the bed you’d rolled to, something warm and wet touching the inside of your thigh.  Gently, he cleaned you with a warm washcloth before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Sleepyhead,” he teased gently as you popped your eyes open for just a moment to peek at him as he went about the room, tidying up from the night before.  You two had gotten a bit…wild, to put it mildly.

“I resemble that remark,” you quipped, eyes closed once more as you raised a finger in the air.  Soon enough, though, you were drifting back off to sleep, only to wake several hours later in the late afternoon.

There was a note on top of your phone on the bedside table, scribbled in his surprisingly neat half-print, half-cursive handwriting.  “Out for a run,” it read, a little heart and smiley face with its tongue sticking out accompanying it.  Unsure when he’d be back, you finally convinced yourself to slip out of bed and into a much-needed shower.  You smelled like a mix of salt and chlorine and citrus—heaven, to Charles, but the grit of it was a bit much to take.  Besides, you needed to wash your hair as the two of you had plans for the evening, and your hair had become a mess over the past few days.

Stripping out of the shirt you’d haphazardly thrown on the night before, you ducked under the warm spray of the shower once you��d managed to settle on a half-decent playlist.  Humming to yourself, you didn’t hear Charles come back as you neared the end of your shower.

Sitting on the bench at the end of the unmade bed, he watched you through the half-fogged glass of the shower as the scent of your soap drifted through the air and the warmth of the steam lingered at the threshold between the two rooms.  He shouldn’t want you as badly as he does, but there’s something about your connection that was more intoxicating than any alcohol or drug could ever try to rival.  Everything about you drew him in, pulled him closer and closer like he was caught in a whirlpool; you’d bewitched him—mind, body, and soul—and under no circumstance did he want the spell to be broken.

You caught sight of him as you stepped out and began toweling off, asking, “Good run?”

He nodded as he stood, finally kicking off his shoes and shucking himself out of his shorts and briefs.  “Not as good as this morning,” he wrinkled his nose at the qualifier, pecking your lips before restarting the shower so he, too, could join you in your newfound cleanliness.  “Good shower?”

“Not as good as this morning,” you conceded in teasing as you watched him slip under the water with a laugh.

As he showered, you went to work at the vanity, going through your neglected skincare routine and brushing the tangles from your freshly washed hair.  By the time it was wrapped in a towel and on its way to drying, Charles had finished his own shower and was drying off with the lone clean towel you’d left him (you desperately needed to do some laundry tomorrow).

Towel wrapped around his waist, he took up his seat on the bench once more, scrolling aimlessly on his phone to distract himself from how you leaned over the vanity as you carefully applied your makeup.  You’d abandoned the towel that had been around your body, tired of having to fight the damn thing to stay secured every two minutes.  Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you naked before.

Charles, of course, did not mind this, but it certainly made it difficult to keep his focus on anywhere except the peek of your slit between your thighs and the curve of your tits every time you lent closer to the mirror in inspection.  It was dizzying, the way the blood rushed from his head to his…other head just at the mere sight of you.

Twitter half-held his attention for another five minutes, but that was all he could muster before he was stalking back to you and on his knees no less.  With a start and a gasp, you felt the heat of his tongue where you loved it most, eyes rolling back before you could catch yourself.  He hummed in response to the pitiful keening that left your lips.

“You are—fuck,” you started, caught off guard by the earnest press of Charles's thumb against your clit, “insatiable.  How do…how?” You had no idea where he pulled the stamina from, but you certainly weren’t complaining nor upset.

Stubbled open-mouth kisses pressed their way up your spine until he was standing behind you, caging you in with a hand on the vanity counter on either side of your hips.  “Quelque chose sur vous,” he breathed into the nape of your neck before planting a searing kiss there.  “I don’t know,” he shrugged with a groan as he rested his brow against your shoulder.

“Like I said earlier,” you teased softly as you turned in his arms, in the small cage he made with his arms against the countertop, “so needy.” The smell of his soap was still strong, but there was also something uniquely Charles, something you yourself could never get enough of.

He laughed at that, and you could feel the rumble of it where your abdomens met.  “Maybe,” he relented with a devilish twinkle in his eye, “but something tells me you are just as–”

You tutted, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t you dare finish that thought. At this rate we’ll never make it out tonight if you keep trying to fuck me,” you warned with a tilt of your head.

“But–”

“No buts.”

“Not even this one?,” he smirked, thinking himself something of a genius as the little shit fully palmed each cheek and pulled you in closer to press tightly against his toned body.

“Especially not that one!,” you swatted at his hands before he started running away from you and your faux-outrage, leaving you alone in the bathroom to finish getting ready.

An hour later he peeked his head in once more, dressed in a linen outfit perfect for a hot, humid, night on the Mediterranean. (Of course, this was something you’d helped him pick because Lord knows this man couldn’t be left to his own devices when it came to style; he had the style sense of a 14-year-old boy, and yet you loved him despite it—you were truly a saint.)  “Almost ready?,” he asked, eyes raking over the mid-length sleeveless silk dress you’d chosen, hair pulled into a messy French twist with simple gold accessories.  It wasn’t until he saw the slit clear up the middle of your thigh that he let out an exasperated sigh.  He was in for a long night.

Turns out, it wasn’t the worst thing ever.  Because by the time you’d made it back to the villa, you were both half-drunk on sangria and unable to keep your hands off one another…or, at least, more so than usual.

You’d gone to dinner and afterward, a small club where, in the darkened corner away from the flash of colored lights and drunken laughter of other revelers, you two made out like you were teenagers again.  He whispered naughty things in your ear, hot insistent hands slipping under your dress to grasp at the skin he so badly wanted to be pressed against—especially with how you’d toyed with him all night.  If you thought you were going to get away with grinding your ass against him, trailing the toe of your sandal up his legs during dinner, and whining in his ear with no shame…you had another thing coming.

With you bent over the back of the sofa, Charles shoved your dress over your hips where he chuckled in disbelief.  You smiled a Cheshire grin, knowing what he’d finally discovered for himself: you weren’t wearing any panties.

“You dirty girl,” he tsked in your ear as he pulled your back flush with his front, a strong arm around your middle in a way that was reminiscent of your midday fuck.  His hand smoothed over the plane of your belly and dipped into the sacred heat of your cunt to draw a whimper from your lips that he’d been desperate to hear all evening.  “So needy,” he teased as he ground his hard length against the curve of your ass and into the small of your back.

“Please–,” you pleaded with him, your sangria-addled mind having one desire and one desire, alone.

“Ne t'inquiète pas, chérie,” he hushed you as you bent back over and started arching your back for him: you were going to make this an offer he couldn’t refuse.  Groaning at the sight, he pressed the tip of his cock against your soaked entrance before slotting his pelvis against your own in one fell press of his hips.

He cursed, dropping his head down to rest against the space between your shoulder blades.  You wiggled your hips in desperation, needing friction—needing anything—to ease the ache between your legs. Hissing at the sensation, Charles nipped at the skin over your spine before soothing it with his tongue.  “Je sais, minette,” he groaned before starting a truly punishing rhythm with each stroke.  His hands gripped tight at your hips, only stopping for a moment to help you hitch one of your legs onto the back of the couch you were bent over which allowed his cock to grind against something deep within you.

You were hurtling fast and hard to your climax, and you could tell your partner wasn’t far behind with how his praises and curses tumbled from his lips in equal measure. The Monégasque was a talker in bed, you’d come to learn, but even more so now that his mind’s filter had been soaked in shitty sangria.

“So close–Charles, pl-please,” you whined pitifully before a hand entwined in your now-ruined bun and tugged, wrenching a choked gasp from your throat. You babbled half-incoherently as he held you against him once more and his other hand snaked around the front of your hip to rub tight circles over your pearl with that perfect rasp of much-needed friction.

“Jouis pour moi, chérie,” he gritted in your ear, and you didn’t need to be told twice as waves of pleasure crashed over your body.  Warmth spread from your core to the tips of your toes, breath caught in your throat as you rode the earliest waves.  Your hips bucked insistently against him, his own losing their rhythm at the feeling of you clenching so tightly around him and pulling him headfirst into a blinding high of his own.

With a choked gasp and your name on his lips, you felt as he came inside you just moments after your own orgasm. Panting and positively fucked out, you dropped down over the couch once more, slowly but surely floating back down into your body. Charles draped over you in exhaustion, catching his own breath as one of his hands found yours and traced over it mindlessly with gentle fingers.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to figure out I wasn’t wearing any underwear,” you pondered aloud like the thought of your bare cunt under that dress hadn’t just resulted in the fuck of your life.  You were a tease—and an unabashed one, at that.

“Mon Dieu, chérie.”

final note: one more part for our stay in corsica before we depart the island! hoping you guys will enjoy it! 🤍 as always, you can follow my writing sideblog @velvetsainz-writes where i reblog inspo & recs!

[corruptedcaps]

Glow Up

Bree adjusted her glasses, squinting against the bright sunlight that streamed down on the bustling beach. She sighed, feeling the weight of her oversized sun hat as she trudged through the sand. Her step-sister, Gina, strutted ahead, laughing with her gaggle of friends. Bree couldn’t help but notice the way people seemed to part for Gina, her golden hair catching the light, her tan skin glowing. Everything about Gina screamed confidence and popularity, traits that Bree lacked and, if she was honest, secretly envied.

“Just stay out of our way, Bree.” Gina had hissed earlier, rolling her eyes as their mother insisted Bree join the outing. Now, as Gina and her friends spread their towels and settled into a sunbathing session, Bree found a spot far enough away to avoid their cruel comments.

She unfurled her large parasol, casting a welcome shadow over her pale skin. Settling into her spot, she pulled out a well-worn book, hoping to lose herself in its pages. But her eyes kept drifting to Gina and her friends. Their laughter, their ease, it was a stark contrast to Bree's lonely corner. A pang of jealousy hit her, sharp and unexpected.

Sometime later, Gina sauntered over, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Hey want to ditch this place and join us?" She said, her voice overly sweet.

Bree's heart skipped a beat. She looked up, surprised. "Um, sure." She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gina's smile turned wicked. "Not you loser, I was talking to your umbrella." She said yanking the umbrella out of the sand and walked away with it back to her friends who were watching with glee.

Bree's cheeks burned, and she ducked her head back into her book, trying to ignore the tears pricking at her eyes. She glanced up just in time to see Gina whisper something to the group. They all turned to look at Bree and burst into laughter. Her embarrassment deepened, and she tried to focus on her book, but the words blurred on the page from the tears in her eyes.

The sun beat down on her, and she felt her skin begin to heat up. She cursed herself for not bringing sunscreen, her fair skin already starting to sizzle. She watched as Gina and her friends stood up and headed towards the ocean. Her eyes drifted over to their encampment, wondering if any of them had brought sunscreen.

Bree glanced back over at Gina and her friends splashing in the sea. She looked at her skin quickly turning red and bit her lip, making a snap decision. Rising, she tiptoed towards their area, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she reached Gina’s beach bag and rummaged through it.

Her fingers closed around a sleek bottle labeled “Bitchiglow.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Sunscreen is sunscreen.” She muttered to herself. Squeezing a generous amount onto her hand, she started to rub it into her arms and legs.

The lotion tingled pleasantly, and Bree couldn't get enough. She applied more, the cool sensation spreading across her skin, soothing and delightful. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt anything like it.

She continued to slather it on, losing herself in the sensation. It felt so good that she kept applying more, even though her skin was already covered. She didn’t notice the subtle shimmer that began to coat her arms and legs.

Bree closed the bottle and slipped it back into Gina’s bag, her skin tingling all over. She hurried back to her spot, trying to act natural, but she couldn’t help but feel a little victorious. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

As the sun continued to bear down, Bree decided to put down her well worn book. She usually loved to read it but the rays felt warm and inviting, and for once, she wanted to soak them in. Never much of a sun tanner, she found herself unexpectedly enjoying the sensation.

She stretched out on her towel, closing her eyes, letting the sun's warmth envelop her. As she did, her body began to undergo a remarkable transformation. Slowly, her tits started to swell, becoming perfectly rounded, a shape she had only ever dreamed of having.

Her nails grew from short, plain, and bitten to long elegant painted talons. Bree's lips, thin and chapped, began to plump, turning a lush, inviting shade of pink. Her ass, usually small and flat, filled out into a firm, shapely curve that would turn heads.

Her hair, a mousy brown, lightened to a stunning golden blonde. It grew thicker and longer, cascading in waves around her shoulders. The transformation was mesmerizing, her hair glistening like spun gold in the sunlight.

Her fair skin, always prone to burning, started to tan evenly, taking on a beautiful, sun-kissed glow. It was a rich, golden bronze, that erased every blemish, scar and pimple she had giving her smooth, flawless skin. Bree had never looked so good, but she remained blissfully unaware of the dramatic changes taking place.

As her physical transformation completed her mental changes were only beginning. The shy, reserved girl who had walked onto the beach started to fade away, replaced by a growing sense of confidence.

Her thoughts, once kind and considerate, began to turn selfish and vain. Bree started to wonder why she had ever cared about the opinions of others, especially those who didn’t appreciate her. The jealousy she once felt towards Gina and her friends morphed into a sense of superiority. She deserved to be admired, adored, and envied.

Her values, which had been grounded in humility and empathy, twisted into something darker. Bree found herself relishing the idea of attention, of being the center of every social circle. The quiet girl who used to avoid conflict now reveled in the idea of confrontation, enjoying the thought of putting others in their place.

She felt powerful, untouchable. Her mind continued to warp, embracing these new, corrupted values. The desire to be kind and understanding evaporated, replaced by a hunger for dominance and admiration.

Bree sat up, feeling an unexpected surge of energy coursing through her limbs. She stretched out, marvelling at the newfound flexibility and grace in her movements. As she glanced down, her eyes widened in shock. Her skin was a flawless, sun-kissed bronze. Her nails, long and perfectly manicured, caught the light with a subtle shimmer. Her gaze unable to miss her now impressive boobs.

She eyes locked onto Gina and her friends still frolicking in the water and then over to their beach area and she quickly put two and two together. The Bitchiglow. It had to be responsible for this incredible change in her but also very likely in Gina and her friends. A small, frightened part of her wanted to reverse the transformation, to return to her old self. But her new arrogant superiority silenced that thought, dismissing it as weak and pathetic. She was done being that person.

Rising to her feet, she strutted over to Gina’s area, her every step exuding a newfound haughtiness causing her head to be held high and her chest to stick out in front of her. Without a second thought, Bree snatched the Bitchiglow from Gina’s bag, a wicked smile spreading across her lips.

Bree sauntered back to her spot on the beach, feeling triumphant. She laid down with a smug smile, basking in her victory as she waited for the inevitable. Her eyes followed Gina and her friends as they finished their time in the water and strutted back to their area.

It didn't take long. Moments later, Bree heard a commotion and loud voices coming from Gina's group. She smirked to herself, satisfied. The inevitable confrontation was unfolding just as she had expected. Gina and her friends, looking increasingly frantic, trudged over to her, anger etched across their faces.

Gina reached Bree first, her eyes blazing. "Give me back the sunscreen!" She demanded, her voice shaking with fury.

Bree ignored her, adjusting her position slightly. "Get out of my light, you'll ruin my tan." She said coolly, her voice dripping with disdain.

Gina's face reddened with anger. "You better give it back, or else—"

Bree laughed, a harsh, mocking sound as she stood, her full height and new figure radiating confidence as she towered over the others. "Or what? The water has started to wipe the Bitchiglow off you, all of you. You're turning back into the losers you used to be." She said as she watched with satisfaction as Gina and her friends began to transform back to their ordinary selves.

Gina's friends gasped, looking at their fading tans and less-than-perfect features. The truth of Bree's words sank in, and her confidence evaporated. Bree's smile widened as she watched them. She had all the power now, and it felt intoxicating.

Gina's face twisted with rage. “Come on girls. We outnumber her. Lets take it from her.” She threatened, but there was a tremor in her voice.

Bree giggled, a sound both sweet and menacing. “Try me, bitch. Without the Bitchiglow, I could take you all without breaking a sweat.”

Gina’s bravado faltered, fear creeping into her eyes. She and the rest of her girls knew Bree was right. They felt ten times weaker now that they lost their shine. Bree reveled in the shift of power dynamics. She turned her gaze to the other girls, who looked both scared and hopeful.

“Now of course you girls can join me and become beautiful again or you can stay with this loser and be outcasts. You're choice.” Bree said, holding up the Bitchiglow bottle proudly.

The girls exchanged uncertain glances, the siren song of the Bitchiglow battling with their loyalty to Gina. Finally, one of them stepped forward, her hand outstretched.

“Tiffany, don’t!” Gina yelled, desperation creeping into her voice. But the girl ignored her, eyes fixed on the Bitchiglow.

Bree smiled, squeezing a generous amount of lotion onto Tiffany’s hand. Tiffany rubbed it into her skin eagerly, her transformation almost instantaneous. Her tan deepened, her hair regained its lustrous shine, and her tits grew big and bouncy. She smirked evilly, the confidence of being a bitchy babe once more radiating from her. She moved to stand alongside Bree, her new leader, casting a disdainful glance at Gina.

“Anyone else?” Bree asked, holding up the bottle.

The remaining girls, driven by the desire to regain their beauty, quickly lined up with their hands outstretched. In their haste, they pushed Gina to the ground. She landed with a thud, looking up in disbelief as her friends abandoned her.

Bree squeezed the Bitchiglow into their waiting hands, watching with satisfaction as each girl transformed back into her beautiful, confident self. They all stood beside Bree, their expressions mirroring her superior smirk.

Gina looked up at the group, her face a mix of anger and fear. Bree looked down at her with a triumphant smile. “Looks like you’re the one outnumbered now, Gina.” she said coldly.

The newly transformed girls giggled and whispered amongst themselves, their loyalty now firmly shifted to Bree. They followed their new alpha over to Gina's old spot and took up their positions as her sycophants. Gina’s reign was over, and Bree's was just beginning.

[transform4u]

Just wondering if you can turn Gay Twink boy into a Fat Straight Guy I mean Girls do like a Funny Fat Guy

As you step into the Enigma Emporium, you're greeted by the faint, musky scent of aged leather and old paper. The dim light filtering through the dusty windows casts a warm, golden glow over the eclectic assortment of items that clutter every surface. The air is heavy with a sense of forgotten history, as if the shop itself is a repository for memories long since abandoned.

The walls are adorned with a patchwork of old movie posters, their edges curling and colors faded but still vibrant enough to hint at the glamour of bygone eras. Scenes from classic films mingle with faded band posters from decades past—rock legends and psychedelic fonts from an era when music was wild and unrestrained. The posters are tattered, their paper torn in places, and they form a mosaic of artistic rebellion and cinematic nostalgia.

Every corner of the store is a treasure trove of curiosities. Shelves overflow with old books, their spines lined with stories waiting to be rediscovered. Nearby, vinyl records are stacked in precarious towers, each one a portal to a different soundscape. The items are an assortment of intriguing knick-knacks, trinkets, and relics from a past that refuses to be forgotten.

Suddenly, from the shadowy depths of the shop, a figure emerges. He’s dressed in a striking crimson red suit that seems to shimmer as if imbued with a life of its own. The suit is impeccably tailored, the jacket's lapels sharp and the trousers perfectly creased. His presence is commanding, his demeanor exuding an air of theatricality and mystique. The man's hair is neatly slicked back, and his eyes, behind thin, stylish glasses, sparkle with an unsettling intensity.

"Hello, I'm Robin Morningstar," he says, his voice smooth and melodic. "It seems you've found yourself wandering a bit off the beaten path. Perhaps feeling a little lost or out of sorts?"

Before you can respond, Robin leans in and, with an unexpected gesture of old-world charm, plants a quick kiss on the back of your hand. The touch is oddly electrifying, and for a moment, you feel as if he's drawing something from you, a faint, intangible essence that seems to slip away into the ether.

Your thoughts whirl in your mind, a single phrase repeating like a mantra: "a straight fat guy." It loops relentlessly, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Robin’s gaze is penetrating, and he utters a cryptic line, “Twinkle, twinkle little twink. I'll give you the size you seek.” Before you can process his words, a rush of disorientation envelops you, and you suddenly find yourself alone in a small, dimly lit dressing room.

Inside, there’s an oversized t-shirt with a logo you don’t recognize and a pair of pants that seem absurdly large for your frame. Despite their enormity, you find yourself compelled to put them on. As you hold up the pants, they sag heavily in your hands, barely containing your figure. You slip them on, and as you struggle with the ill-fitting garment, a deep, resonant burp escapes you, echoing through the room. The air is thick with the lingering scent of old cheeseburgers, beer, and other fast foods.

A smile slowly spreads across your face. "Damn, a cheeseburger sounded pretty good about now," you think, as a fog of cognitive haze begins to cloud your thoughts. Each burp seems to deepen the fog, blurring your sense of self and reality. The room feels like it's closing in, the world outside becoming a distant memory as the fog thickens, and you find yourself enveloped in a sense of comfortable, yet unsettling, disorientation.

As you look into the mirror, laughter bubbles up uncontrollably at the sight before you. The reflection reveals a striking contrast: a delicate, blonde-haired twink swimming in oversized clothing that drapes comically over his figure. Yet, as you continue to chuckle, a strange sensation begins in your stomach—a deep, unsettling rumble that seems to ripple outward.

A darkening, coarse hair begins to spread across your smooth skin, marring the once-pristine canvas. It crawls up your arms, chest, and legs, adding a new texture to the previously clean surface. The glasses you wear slide down your nose, a physical manifestation of the shifting balance in your body.

Your body starts to expand with a slow, deliberate growth. The once trim, lean figure is now overtaken by layers of soft, yielding fat. Your stomach protrudes, stretching your shirt beyond its limits. The fabric strains over a burgeoning belly, which pushes out like a stubborn little hill. The gradual encroachment of fat is relentless, spreading outward and upward, reshaping your torso into a more rounded, softer form.

The growth is gradual at first, but soon becomes more pronounced, as if each second is inflating you with an unstoppable force. Your height increases, and as you grow, so does the canvas of youthful ambitions gone awry. The transformation is marked by a persistent sheen of sweat that glistens on your skin, and a few stubborn acne scars, relics of a teenage struggle, remain etched in your skin.

Your cheeks become rounded and plush, their softness a stark reminder of countless hours spent hunched over screens, bestowing upon you a perpetually flushed, almost cherubic appearance. The double chin that forms beneath your rounded face is a testament to a fondness for instant noodles and soda, resting comfortably over the stretched fabric of your faded Doctor Who T-shirt. The shirt strains against a belly that juts out prominently, like a small, defiant hill that pushes against the constraints of the garment.

Your arms, now thick and doughy, lack any semblance of definition, spilling over the edges of an old gaming chair that seems to cradle your expanding form. You're no longer standing in a dressing, but in some sort of dark basement and sitting in a chair. The chair, once a symbol of idle comfort, now highlights the extent of your physical change. Your legs, concealed beneath cargo shorts that have seen better days, are a tragic sight of dimples and folds. These features bear witness to a life of relentless lounging, each movement slow and deliberate, as though every step is a battle against gravity, which seems to conspire to keep you anchored in place.

Dreams of heroism and grandeur lie nestled amidst half-eaten pizza crusts and forgotten soda cans. You embody a life of unassuming surrender, where the thrill of youthful aspirations has given way to a realm of comfortable, albeit tragic, self-indulgence.

As you gaze at your reflection, a wave of nostalgia crashes over you, pulling you back to a time when your life was filled with vibrant social gatherings and unrestrained joy. You remember the drag race viewing parties with friends, where laughter and camaraderie flowed as freely as the cocktails. The excitement of big social events, dancing to the latest pop hits, and reveling in the carefree, flamboyant atmosphere of your gay life is etched deeply into your memory. Your days were a symphony of pop music, glittering outfits, and a community of friends who shared your passion for celebration and fun.

But now, that world feels like a distant dream, replaced by a new reality. You find yourself embodying the quintessential loud-mouthed nerd, whose presence on YouTube is as inevitable as his rants are exhaustive. Your new persona is defined by an insatiable thirst for obscure trivia and an exuberant, nasally voice that seems to reverberate with boundless energy. Your face is often flushed with the intensity of your rants, framed by a mess of unkempt hair and a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses that perpetually slide down your nose as you gesticulate wildly.

Your enthusiasm for all things nerdy is matched only by a profound lack of self-awareness. Your speech is a relentless barrage of facts, opinions, and over-the-top exclamations, delivered in a rapid-fire manner that blends a stream of consciousness with frequent interruptions. Your voice rises and falls with dramatic cadence, punctuated by exaggerated sighs and heavy breathing that add to the fervor of your monologues.

“Okay, okay, okay, listen up, people! You won’t believe this! So, Doctor Who, right? I mean, can we just take a moment to appreciate how mind-bendingly amazing this show used to be? But they need to cut it with this woke crap, the Doctor ain't a woman and he ain't gay!

And speaking of brilliance, Marvel Comics! Did you see the new issue of Avengers? The storyline where Thor becomes unworthy and then, oh, what’s her name, Jane Foster, takes up the mantle? Fucking crap.

In this new role, your former life of vibrant gatherings and pop music seems like a distant memory. The once-cherished moments of carefree joy are now overshadowed by an overwhelming dedication to the nerdy realm of YouTube commentary, where the excitement of your past is replaced by the fervor of your current obsession

As you turn off your camera and log on to your favorite porn site, you feel a mix of emotions coursing through your veins. At first, the thought of watching cheerleaders makes you feel disgusted with yourself. You're gay; why would you even want to see these hot bimbo slutty girls? But as soon as the images appear on the screen, something strange happens. Your eyes are drawn to their voluptuous bodies and perfect curves like a magnet. Despite knowing that this isn't what you usually find attractive, there's something about these girls that captivates your attention.

As they start gyrating their hips and moving suggestively for the camera, it becomes harder for you to look away. Your heart begins racing while sweat forms on your forehead - is this arousal? Is it possible that deep down inside, there's still some part of yourself that finds this kind of eroticism appealing? The more time passes by watching them perform sensual dances and showing off their ample cleavage, the more aroused by them despite knowing better not too…

As your hand moves swiftly up and down your shaft, the image of those buxom cheerleaders dancing seductively on the screen becomes more and more intense. You can't help but imagine what it would be like to have one of them wrapped around you, their soft curves pressed against yours as they moan with pleasure. But then reality sets in - you're just a fat straight nerd jerking off to porn while dreaming about something that will never happen. The thought of being alone forever as a lonely fat nerdy loser fills you with despair… yet still, the images continue to fuel your arousal until finally…

You let out a loud groan as waves of pleasure wash over you. Your cock throbs violently in your hand, spewing thick ropes of cum onto the keyboard beneath it. As soon as the orgasm subsides, guilt washes over you once again - guilt for having given into this forbidden desire; guilt for not being strong enough to resist; guilt for knowing deep down that this is who you truly are: just another pathetic loser living out his fantasies through pornography instead of experiencing real intimacy with another human being.

[fafnir19]

To: @alldaystress

The dull buzz of the alarm clock jars you awake, its persistent ringing a stark contrast to the dreary morning. You groan, rolling over in your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs. It's another day at the new job, a position you reluctantly accepted after months of unemployment. As you stretch, your fingers graze the worn fabric of the old band t-shirt you've slept in, a remnant of your college days when you cared more about music and rebellion than grades. It’s your first job after college, but it's not the career launch you'd hoped for. Your grades, never stellar, landed you in this entry-level position with no real prospects for advancement. You had always struggled with commitment, both in your studies and personal life, and your grades reflected that. College was a blur of late nights, parties, and a general lack of direction. Now, at 24, you find yourself starting at the bottom of the corporate ladder, feeling like you've wasted precious years. As you get ready for the day, pulling on a pair of faded jeans and a wrinkled button-down shirt, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your dark brown hair, slightly unkempt, frames your average face, its roundness accentuated by the soft jawline. Brown eyes stare back at you, lacking the spark of confidence and determination that many of your peers seem to possess.

This week you had a boring week-long business convention planned in another city and your taxi to the airport was already waiting for you. You sigh, knowing that today is another step towards a future you're not entirely sure you want.

The hotel lobby is bustling with activity as you step inside, your eyes adjusting to the elegant chandelier's glow. It's a far cry from your usual haunts, a world of luxury you've only ever glimpsed from the outside. You had always felt like an outsider, your rebellious nature a barrier to fitting in. But today, you're here for a convention, a rare opportunity to network and perhaps, just perhaps, find a way out of your dead-end job.

"Welcome to the Grand Summit Hotel," a familiar voice called out. You freeze, recognizing the voice immediately. Jennifer, a former classmate from high school, stands behind the counter, her expression a mix of amusement and mockery.

She was always a bit of an oddball, claiming to be a witch and nerved anyone who crossed her. You had mocked her relentlessly back then, earning the nickname 'Golden Boy' as a sarcastic reference to your lack of ambition and low physical prowess and mediocre grades.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't our Golden Boy!" Jennifer leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You remember her all too well—the self-proclaimed witch who always had a sarcastic remark ready, especially for you.

*So much for witchcraft,* you thought. *She’s stuck here, while I’m—well, still in a dead-end job too.*

“Nice to see you too, Witchie,” you shot back, unable to resist. Her nickname always had a way of irking you, but today, it felt more playful than biting. She chuckled, a sound that surprisingly warmed the space between you. “We’re fully booked, but I had the choice to give you a room by the trash bins. Lucky for you, I decided you deserve an upgrade!” She flashed a smirk, her expression a mix of mischief and genuine friendliness. Puzzled, you raised an eyebrow. “An upgrade? From you? What’s the catch?” She laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the spacious lobby. “No catch. Just consider it a friendly gesture. Besides, I’m a little tired of being known as the girl who lost to the ‘Golden Boy.’” You followed her to the top floor, the elevator climbing steadily. As the doors opened, you stepped into the suite, your breath hitching. The sleek black and silver design was modern and striking, like something straight out of a high-end ad. Your heart raced with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “Wow,” you breathed, glancing around. “This is... impressive.”

You tossed yourself onto the oversized bed, the silk sheets feeling like a decadent cloud. “I could get used to this,” you said, a cocky grin spreading across your face. In a playful move, Jennifer tossed the silk bed cover over you, covering you completely. “Now you’re just a golden burrito!” You laughed, your voice muffled beneath the fabric. “At least I’m a cozy one!” The game was on, and you attempted to wriggle free, planning to retaliate with a pillow. Yet, the cover was more confining than expected, and your struggles only entangled you further. "Hey, let me out!" you shouted, your voice muffled by the silk. But your struggles only resulted in Jennifer's laughter. "Jennifer, this isn't funny!" you called out, a hint of panic creeping in. "Relax, Golden Boy," her melodic voice replied, followed by a soft laugh. "Relax and lay down, Golden Boy," Jennifer's voice, now serious, instructed. "You're making this harder than it needs to be." You froze, realizing she wasn't playing anymore.

Her hands found your shoulders, gently but firmly pushing you down. "No need to fight it. Surrender to the silk." The sensation of her touch through the silk was peculiar. It was as if the fabric had become an extension of her, caressing your skin, making you hyperaware of every nerve ending. "What... what are you doing?" you managed to utter, your voice weak against the tide of pleasure and surprise. "Shh," she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. "No more resistance. You've always been a fighter, but here, now, it's time to let go." Her fingers traced patterns on your chest, sending shivers down your spine. "Listen to my voice, Golden Boy. Let it guide you." Your body felt leaden, as if a weight was pulling you deeper into the bed. "I... I can't move," you stammered, the realization hitting you. "That's right," she cooed, her finger now resting gently on your lips. "You don't need to. It's liberating, isn't it? No more expectations, no more pretending." Her words were like a spell, each one binding you further. "You've never truly been in control, have you? Not in school, not in life. It's exhausting, fighting it all the time."

You tried to argue, but the words caught in your throat as her hands glided lower. "W-wait," you stammer, your voice weak and you realize with a start that she's touching you intimately, despite your protests. "Oh, look at that," she purred with satisfaction, her fingers caressing the growing bulge that was appearing in the sheets. . "You're responding beautifully. Let the horniness flow through you. Don't fight it, not even for a second." Her hand stroking over your silk-covered erection, and you gasp as pleasure surges through you. "Oh... but I..." Your words trail off as her touch ignites a fire within you. You're hardening under her touch, the throbbing between your legs contradicting your sexual orientation. "Oh, Golden Boy, don't fight it. I know you're gay, but your body knows what it wants. It's natural, just let it happen." Her voice is almost hypnotic, and you find yourself agreeing, your body craving more. "Y-yes..." You moan softly as her strokes become more insistent, your cock straining against the silk. "Shh... It's okay to want this," she whispers, her fingers continuing their sensual dance. "Let go of your inhibitions. You're so eager, so responsive. It's perfect." Your mind is spinning, the sensation of her touch overwhelming. You feel yourself sinking further into the bed, the silk sheets caressing your skin.

"That's it," Jennifer cooed, her fingers now stroking the length of your hardened cock. "You have no choice but to feel. No choice but to be exactly what you are in this moment. Nothing else matters." Your mind was blank, filled only with the need to surrender, to let go of everything but the pleasure. The world around you fades, and all that's left is the silk, her touch, and the pleasure coursing through your veins. You are sinking, surrendering to the sensation, to her. "You're doing exactly what you should, Golden Boy. So eager to please, so ready to obey." Her voice is a distant hum as you descend deeper into the bed, the darkness enveloping you.

"You're doing perfectly. No more thinking, just feeling. You're so horny, so ready to please." The silk caressed every inch of your skin, and you sank deeper, the mattress molding around you. "Yes, surrender to it," Jennifer whispered, her voice distant yet commanding. "Forget who you were. You're Golden Boy now, eager, obedient. No more doubts, no more resistance." The room spun as you sunk further, the silk a dark, sensuous cocoon. "Yes, let it consume you," she whispers, and then, darkness. The last thing you felt was the silk against your skin, and then nothing. The suite fell silent, and Jennifer, with a satisfied smile, smoothed the covers, erasing all traces of your existence.

The darkness enveloped you, and time became an abstract concept as you lay there, unconscious.  But soon, a sensation stirred you from your slumber, a feeling of being stretched and pulled, awakening your senses. It was then that you realized, with a jolt of horror, you weren't just lying on a bed anymore. "Oh, fuck," a deep, masculine voice groaned above you. You were being pulled taut, and the realization hit you— you were a silk sheet, and beneath you was a man's throbbing erection and he was jerking off.

Marcus, the handsome executive, lay there, his eyes closed in pleasure, completely oblivious to your presence. His hands gripped the silk—you—and began to stroke himself, the friction of his movements sending shivers through your transformed body. "Oh, yes," he moaned, his voice deep and husky. "This silk feels incredible."

The tip of his cock, hard and pulsating, pressed against you, and a drop of pre-cum oozed from the slit, seeping into your silky fabric. The intimate contact sparked a surprising reaction within you. The horror you initially felt began to melt away, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar joy.

The pleasure he derived from your silkiness was intoxicating. You wanted to please him, to be used for his pleasure, to be the best silk sheet he had ever experienced. The thought of being a mere object of desire filled you with a sense of purpose. You were grateful to be the vessel of his satisfaction, a tool for his release.

As he continued to stroke, your transformation began to reverse, the silk giving way to flesh, muscle, and bone. As his strokes grew faster, so did your transformation. You could feel your body changing, the silk fabric becoming skin once more. The process was slow, but with each stroke of his cock, you were coming back to life, back to being human. You emerged from the silk, your body now straddling Marcus, your legs on either side of his waist. With that, you began instinctively to move, rising and falling on his shaft, your body now fully restored to its human form. The pleasure was unlike anything you'd experienced before. You rode him with a newfound confidence, your movements fluid and graceful. "Yes, that's it," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your motions. His intense gaze locked onto you, a mixture of satisfaction and predatory hunger flashing across his face. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and commanding. You paused, searching your mind.

The name on the tip of your tongue feels foreign. "Golden Boy," you blurted out, unsure why those words came to mind. It felt right, yet wrong at the same time. A sense of unease washes over you as you realize you can't remember anything else. "Perfect," Marcus purrs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Let's see if Jennifer delivered on her promise." As if on cue, you glanced at the mirror, barely recognizing the reflection staring back at you. The person in the mirror was younger, their face sculpted with sharp, defined features. Lean muscles rippled beneath smooth, hairless skin, and your eyes widened at the sight of your own chiseled physique. But it was your hair that drew your attention—short golden locks with shaved sides, a stark contrast to your previous unkempt style. Before you could fully process your transformation, Marcus flipped you onto your back with a swift, dominant move.

You gasped as his hard length pushed into you, and you instinctively tried to resist, declaring, "I'm a top!" "You're a top, huh?" he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Well, I'm your mentor now, and I'll teach you a thing or two about success." You struggle against his hold, a surge of defiance rising within you. But his words ignite a spark of curiosity, and you find yourself intrigued by the idea of learning from this powerful man.

He whispered, "I'll teach you the path to success." His words ignited a fire within you, a desire to embrace this new version of yourself. You struggled against his hold, not out of resistance, but from the sheer thrill of it. As he overpowered you, his weight pressing down, you realized this was how he asserted his dominance. You spread your legs, surrendering to the moment, your body arching to meet his thrusts. "You like not being in control, don't you, Golden Boy?" he purred, his voice a seductive caress. "Especially when I'm the one in charge." The truth of his words hit you hard. You craved his control, the power he exuded, and the promise of success he offered. "Yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Yes, I do." Marcus's thrusts became more urgent, his body a blur of motion above you. "You will be successful, determined, and superior," he growled. "But with me, you are obedient, my loyal subject." His words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you cried out, "Yes, Sir! Make me yours!" As if your surrender was the final piece he needed, Marcus's body tensed, and he spilled his release inside you. Your own cock, throbbing with need, refused to find release. Marcus noticed your torment, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Cum, Golden Boy," he commanded, his voice laced with power. At his words, your orgasm exploded, and you came with a force that left you breathless.

With your climax, the rebellious spirit is gone, replaced by a burning desire to fit in and succeed, no matter the cost. You smiled, a new determination burning in your transformed eyes. You knew, without a doubt, that Marcus was the mentor you needed, and you would do whatever it took to climb the ladder of success by his side.

The transformation had left you with a new sense of purpose, and as you stepped out of the shower, feeling the warm water wash away the remnants of your old self, you couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Marcus' words. "Now you are mine, I own you," he had said, and you were ready to embrace this new path.

Marcus appeared in the bathroom, his tall, commanding figure filling the doorway. He holds a sleek dress shirt, the kind you've always associated with the old-money elite, and drapes it over your shoulders. You grimace; this is not your style, not who you used to be. "Thanks, but this isn't really my thing," you say, attempting to assert a fragment of your old self. "Oh, but it is, Golden Boy," Marcus purred, his breath warm on your ear. "It's exactly what you've always wanted. You want to be my right hand, don't you?" His words held a hypnotic quality, and you felt your resistance fading. The idea of being his trusted confidant, his right-hand man, began to take root in your mind, pushing aside your old identity. "Tell me, who are you?" Marcus's voice was soft, almost tender. "Golden Boy," you heard yourself say, the words flowing effortlessly. "Your right hand. The epitome of future success." As Marcus buttons up the shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin, you feel a surge of loyalty and desire to please him. The thought of being his right hand, of being an integral part of his empire, is exhilarating. The last remnants of your past life seemed to drift away, like a fading dream and a new identity is being forged, one that is charismatic, confident, and utterly devoted to Marcus. You were no longer the rebellious outsider; you were Golden Boy, a name that now felt like a perfect fit.

The door clicks open, and Jennifer enters, her eyes flickering between you and Marcus. "Do you want to pay cash or by card for my witchcraft?" she asks, her voice laced with satisfaction. Marcus reaches into his pocket and produces a thick wad of bills, handing them to Jennifer with a satisfied grin. "You've exceeded my expectations. I'm impressed, Jennifer." You watch as Jennifer takes the money, her eyes sparkling with triumph. As she turns to leave, you point at her, confusion clouding your mind. "Do I know her?" Marcus's laughter fills the room, warm and rich. "No, Golden Boy. She is a part of your past, and your past no longer holds any significance. Focus on your future, on our future." And in that moment, you knew he was right. Your past life, your struggles, and even your memories were fading into the void. All that mattered was your new identity, your role as Golden Boy, and your mentor, Marcus. As you walked past the reception, Jennifer's eyes followed you. She couldn't help but notice the change. Your stride was confident, your posture proud, and your attire exuded the old-money style.

A vain smirk played on your lips, and Marcus' possessive hand rested on your shoulder. *How sweet you look now, Golden Boy,* Jennifer thought, a hint of satisfaction in her smile. *Nomen est Omen. You should have known better than to cross a witch, back in high school.* But you didn't hear her. Your mind was already focused on the future, on the success that awaited you, and on the powerful man by your side. The old you is gone, and in his place stands a man with a purpose, a man ready to conquer the world at Marcus's side. You were Golden Boy, and nothing else mattered.

[black-is-iconic]

The exception

Doma usually thought very little of women, in fact he hardly thought of them at all….because why should he? They were simply a means to an end, a quick meal here or a quick drink there.

A pretty face to look at once and then discard later. But that was before one of his newest little (kiss ass) followers had brought him a gift from overseas, at first he thought it was going to be some exotic animal, a lion perhaps or maybe a gazelle or a little fox with the oversized ears.

But no, laid out before him was a beautiful woman bound and gagged staring up at him with hate so potent it practically seared his flesh. Doma stared back down at you with a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and something more…something much darker, like lust.

Of course he knew what the emotion was but never experienced it in such…greater…depth or intensity. Although he was a bit confused if he lusted to taste the sweetness of your flesh and blood, or was he lusting…for other things, your blood had a potent aroma like ripe fuji left to soak in honey.

His mouth watered as he imagined sinking his fangs into you and tasting your delicious essence…perhaps even licking off the drops from his lips which dribbled onto your skin…

Dark as the midnight sky, [E/C] eyes like burning stars and hair peculiarly kinky in nature but yet silky in nature like spun silk and a voice like a thousand chimes ringing sweetly over a crystal clear lake, singing a song that resonated through his chest…

As you mumbled against your binds Doma noticed that the binds around your wrist were slightly loose exposing the reddened flesh of your wrist to the cold breeze of the temple air, his lips parted to say something to his follower.

But in the literal blink of an eye you'd sprung up from the floor in a blur of azure blue robes and slit the neck of said follower with a small curved blade concealed beneath the sleeve.

With a graceful twirl you turned trajectory and aimed for himself, and had he been a normal man you might've taken his life, bust instead Doma calmly smiled down at you as you plunged the curved blade into his chest soaking in the look of confusion and horror painted across your face as the blade shatter into a thousand pieces and fell to the ground like shimmering shards of ice.

Doma closed his eyes and slowly breathed in the scent of you. It was intoxicating, your eyebrows furrowed deeply and you slowly turn heel and ran.

The golden bangles dancing on your heels making your exit quite audible, he let out a heavy sigh as he contemplated what to o with you. Of course if he wanted to he could've you in seconds, but what would he do once he caught you?

He so badly wanted to taste you, but at the same time. You were an anomaly to him, you were different from those who had come before, different from every person he’d ever fed on before, different than those people he’d watched die in droves in front of him.

You were unlike anything he’s seen before, you were…dare he say it….special?

You reminded him a lot of Hantengu, for starts you both shared dark skin and strange kinky hair….although your skin was much darker than the later an your hair much more wild than his, hmmm Doma didn't want to eat you just yet, as tempting as it may be you are a rare specimen.

An tanzanite amongst trash, no he'd keep you for a little while. He slowly trailed after you, your scent was strong and intoxicating, enticing him to follow.

If he was going to keep you, he'd have to find a way to mask your lovely scent, surely your aroma would attract lesser demons. And while he could easily handle the lesser demons who could be threatened, intimidated or just plain eaten…it would be a problem if you lured in a higher ranking demons who'd be less likely swayed by his tatics.

Anyway he thought to himself stopping a follower who was getting ready to chase you into the dark of night, "let her go" he said cooly staring into the thick rolling gray clouds.

"A nasty storm is rolling in if she's smart she'll com back…when she does prepare a meal for her and room to rest in, as well as some fresh robes" his followers quickly nodded and scrambled to preform their meaningless task.

And Doma continued outside taking in the icy nip of the cold night air and listening to the distant rumble of thunder, he sighed, the wind had jostled your scent a bit, but not enough to loose you he could never loose you.

You were his new toy, and he planned on playing with you for quite awhile until he could tire you of this world entirely and drag you into paradise but for now he'd just…..wait

[hyacinthi-mortem]

Anderperry fluff- wizard!Neil

I wrote most of this while in the car lol, I hope u enjoy :p

Info:

• this au is set 10 years later than the original dps, so they would've gone to hellton in 1969, I wanted to be able to use Bowie

• songs used are Lady Stardust and Soul Love by David Bowie

• there's another wizard!Neil au post that will help the first part make a bit more sense if you haven't already seen it but it's not necessary to understand this

——————————————————————————

June 1974

The smell of fresh pancakes wafting through the air shakes Todd from his sleepy daze, and he stumbles out of bed, drawing the blanket closer like an oversized cloak as he walks towards the door, and watches as a tendril of soft blue light flips the record over and gently sets it down, the needle falling into place, and listens for the sound of static taking over the silence before the first notes of a song invade Neil's brain, mixing with the magic flowing through his veins as he cooks.

On the windowsill Neil's cat Oberon basks in the sunlight, fur shining a coppery brown, and the golden blur cast across the kitchen highlighting the warm yellows of the walls against the pale greens of tiles, a harsh shadow cast against the backsplash behind Neil as he sways, a soft smile gracing his lips.

A gentle blue light surrounds the bowl of batter and pours it into the cast iron pan resting on the stove, as Neil begins to chop fruit, the sweet smell lingering in the air, quietly singing along as he does.

'People stared, at the makeup on his face, laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace...'

Todd smiles, leaning on the doorframe as he listens to neil sing, and the soft hum of his magic fills his senses. In that moment, to him, the air feels alive, electricity pulsing through it and settling around him; he can almost imagine tendrils and coils of warm blue light reaching towards him, embracing him, and drawing him in deeper, and deeper, until he is surrounded by it, by the part of Neil he could never have believed was real.

'That maybe there was a chance Neil could, the boy he could never have believed would maybe, just maybe love him like that too.'

'...Boys stood upon their chairs

To make their point of view

I smiled sadly for a love

I could not obey

Lady Stardust sang his songs

Of darkness and dismay...'

He relaxes, and as he watches the scene unfold Oberon steps down from his perch, and pads over to Todd, bringing Neil's attention with him. And even after all this time, in the soft light Todd thinks he can see the hawthorn crown gracing Neil's head, the summer sun lighting up his face and bringing with it a sparkle in his eyes that feels like all the stars in the sky are shining just for him.

"Todd! I didn't see you there, I-"

Neil smiles, a sheepish grin plastered on his face as he realised he's been caught.

"This was supposed to be a surprise." He laughs, and walks over to Todd, brushing the soft blond hair from his eyes as he leads him into the kitchen, humming along to the music in the background.

"Well who wouldn't love to wake up to you cooking breakfast" Todd smiles as Neil brushes the hair off his face, and if he notices his fingertips linger just a moment longer than they usually would be doesn't let it slip.

He pulls a chair out and lets the blanket slip from his shoulders as Neil turns the stove off, bringing to the table plates laden with berries and pancakes, and the blue haze of his magic surrounding them slowly disappears into the morning.

Conversation fills the air as they eat, and he just can't get enough of that soft lilt to Neil's voice, Todd could hear him talk for hours on end, letting the feeling of contentment wash over him like magic, as he gazes into those caramel eyes

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

Curled up on an armchair after a long day of dealing with customers, Todd sips at a cup of peppermint tea, steam fogging up his reading glasses when he lifts the mug to his face. After setting the tea down he takes the glasses off, rubbing the sleeve of his (Neil's) jumper over the lenses; watching over the top of his book as Neil sets up the record player, as he lifts the needle and drops it in place, listening for the faint crackle before a song begins to play.

Once again music fills the room, various candles dotted around flicker to life, and Todd relaxes, the faint glow of candlelight setting his mind at ease.

"Dance with me?"

He glances up in surprise as Neil stands in front of him, a hand outstretched that he takes with ease-

"Always."

As he's led into the center of the room, book abandoned on the side, the music gets louder, the soft blue light of Neil's magic surrounding them as Neil's arms wrap around Todd's waist, while they begin to sway together, the evening slowly fading away as they dance and sing, Todd's eyes reflecting the golden stars that are blinking into existence above their heads, stars that are just for him,he thinks, as he smiles and leans into Neil's gentle embrace listening to him sing along, voices merging together in the flickering light until they collapse to the floor, exhausted, and lay together, a tangled pile of legs and arms with his head on Neil's chest listening to his heartbeat while the record plays along into the night.

'New love, a boy and girl are talking

New words, that only they can share in

New words, a love so strong it tears their hearts

To sleep through the fleeting hours of morning'

Todd thinks, 'maybe, just maybe, in this moment they could live forever.'

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

[roetrolls]

Loose Reins

Zerkev is just about sick of dealing with clowns. Putting up with Yumeno’s useless ass was bad enough, but this? This is something else.

“I should kill them both right now,” the Marauder spits, his vision practically blurred with the heat of his rage. In front of him, the Dominion cocks his head, a finger resting against his cheek and the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Just them?” he asks, amused. “How merciful.”

In a flash, three golden prongs are leveraged at his throat. The giant allows his glowing gaze to drift, briefly, to the trident in his overseer’s hands.

“You crossed the line,” Zerkev growls through a throat full of gravel, expression dangerously cold. “A smarter man would be begging on his knees for my forgiveness.”

“A younger man, maybe. I fear I’d struggle to get up again.”

“Is this a joke to you, Mahkir?”

“A joke? Never. Amusing though, certainly.”

Zerkev’s face darkens, almost imperceptibly, but the purpleblood is keen enough to spot it. He straightens slightly in his throne, shifting away from the weapon with as much subtlety as he can manage. Imposing as Harlan’s stature may be, it is not his presence that sucks the air from the room.

“Take your weapon,” the general orders.

Harlan regards him curiously. “Is it a fight you want, Pravus? I thought you smarter than that.”

“Take. Your weapon.”

Wordlessly, the Dominion follows his command, reaching over his seat’s left side to close his bulky fingers around the club that lays propped against its base. He twirls it idly in his hand and moves to rise, empty right fist gripping the throne’s arm for leverage.

Then, before he can stand, he is forced back by the triad of spikes that Zerkev plunges through his bicep, piercing both skin and muscle in one single, practiced thrust. Pink light bounces off the golden surface once more as Harlan turns his eyes to the injury, the mild bewilderment they carry masking any hint of the pain he must be feeling.

“I see,” he sneers before turning his focus back to the seadweller.

“Where did you find him?”

“Oh? Was I meant to be involved in your little manhunt?”

He can feel the fury pooling in his gut, but Zerkev maintains an eerie calm as he turns the trident, a half inch at most, and watches the clown grit his teeth in response. A warning.

“You involved yourself,” he hisses coolly, “when you sent your dogs after my child.”

“Such a strange practice, parenthood. Hard to imagine you of all trolls denying the natural order of things so egregiously.”

“I did not ask for your commentary.”

“You’re not here for a chat?”

Zerkev growls, fins flaring in agitation, and Harlan breaks into a grin. It’s rare to see such emotional displays from the Marauder, and even with the man’s weapon lodged in his arm, he is clearly delighted. They both know how transparent--how vulnerable--he has just made himself.

“What are you here for, Pravus? Do you know?”

“I am reminding you of your place.”

“How is that going?”

It takes everything in Zerkev’s power not to twist his trident in response. As much as Harlan deserves the goring, rewarding him with such a strong reaction would serve only to grant him more power. The Marauder exhales through his nose and squares his jaw, certain that his knuckles have gone white beneath his gloves.

“You are on very thin ice, Mahkir,” he warns him instead, fighting to keep his voice level over the thrum of blood in his ears.

“So I can see.”

With a snarl, Zerkev lunges forward and grabs the behemoth by the collar, yanking hard to bring the clown’s face level with his own. Harlan’s eyes widen slightly, surprise momentarily wiping the smug expression from his face.

“I understand this may be beyond what a heartless bastard like you can comprehend,” the seadweller grits, “but I want you to listen to me, Mahkir. Very. Carefully. If you ever touch my son again, I will kill you.”

His quiet intensity is enough to startle even Harlan, and the clown opens his mouth silently in search of a response.

“You hear me, you overgrown brute? No fancy threats, no dramatic vagueries; the next time you come for one of mine, it’s your head.” He jiggles the trident for good measure, his tone eerily calm for the promise it carries.

Harlan regards him carefully, still hunched awkwardly in Zerkev’s grip, then that cantankerous smile emerges once more. “You know, the past twelve sweeps make far more sense to me now.”

Confusion and wariness creep onto the seadweller’s face in tandem. Harlan continues with a hum. 

“I’d assumed it was merely your usual neuroses, but… Blood of all things? That is a rather glaring weakness, isn’t it?”

The Marauder’s stony expression drops, and Harlan pulls out of his slackened grasp to sit up straight again.

“I’d have cut my losses the moment I learned of it, personally. Terrible liability.” He taps a finger against his chin, his casual, musing tone a stark contrast to the threat behind his gaze. “So easy to leverage.”

The comment, as simple as it is, is exactly enough to push the general over the edge. He can almost feel it as the final straw lands upon his back, and with fangs bared, he at last gives in to the impulse that has plagued him since he entered this wretched chapel: 

Hurt him. 

A growl bubbles from Zerkev’s chest as he wrenches the trident in Harlan’s arm, inviting three thick streams of viscous purple blood to ooze from the wound as he gives the staff a vicious, painful twist. The Dominion masks his grimace with a snarl, free arm shooting across his chest to grip the pole and hold it still. 

“Your audacity is mind-boggling,” Zerkev hisses. “You want to play extortion, Mahkir? Fine.”

Satisfied for now with the violence he has inflicted, he tugs the trident free from his underling’s flesh, leaving the giant to clamp his dominant left hand over the gaping holes now bleeding freely in his arm. 

He should have known better than to threaten the snake himself. Harlan thinks himself invincible, and any harm Zerkev could promise the man would be easily dismissed. Making a real, actionable threat is going to require a different approach.

“If Mallum ever comes to harm, by your words or by your actions,” he scowls, “I will personally see to it that no grub bearing your name will leave the caverns again.”

The Dominion’s lip twitches, pulling back into a lopsided snarl that broadcasts exactly how easily this new angle has burrowed beneath his skin. Zerkev, however, is too busy seething to appreciate the triumph.

“That glorious symbol of yours will be nothing more than a marker-- a note to the caverns to cull on sight and exterminate your pathetic spawn like the pests they are.”

Now it is Harlan’s turn to growl. It rolls from his chest in a low, menacing wave, blanketing the church with the noise. His rumbling permeates the senses, seeming almost to grow louder as the scene begins to shift.

Shift?

Sunlight trickles past the curtains in a thin, shining stream, guiding Zurven’s eye across each of the sleeping forms slowly coming into focus beside him.

There is no trident in his hand-- only Veylin’s delicate fingers laced loosely with his own. The sound that all but shakes their walls is merely Benjin’s gentle snore, oddly soothing despite its volume, and perfectly in place within the dimly lit bedroom. 

The oracle sits up sluggishly, still blinking the sleep from his eyes and squinting through the dark to look at Mallum dozing on the bed’s outer edge. Zurven watches his chest rise and fall, gills fluttering in time, and takes a deep breath of his own.

He’s going to throttle that idiot.

[ignitedfms]

Massive Heist Busted by United Authorities, Curfew Imposed in Sora District

𝐔𝐍𝐍 (𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤) - 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝟐𝟒𝟎𝟓

New Jakarta, Mars – In an unprecedented operation, THE OVERSEERS today disrupted a high-stakes heist involving a significant quantity of the highly sought-after drug, NEMESIS. The drug, notorious for its temporary enhancement of strength, durability, speed, and healing, has long been at the centre of the city’s black market. However, this latest incident has escalated concerns to an all-time high. According to official reports, a gang rumoured to be the THE SKELETON CREW infiltrated a secure production facility and made off with large quantities of NEMESIS. Authorities have not disclosed the exact amount stolen, but sources within the investigation describe it as “enough to flood the underground market for months.” The drug offers short-lived enhancements but carries severe risks with frequent use, including physical deformities and irreversible health issues. In response to this bold theft, the SORA DISTRICT has been placed under a strict 11PM curfew, effective immediately. Officials claim the measure is necessary to protect residents, though rumours are swirling that those with enough wealth and influence might find ways to circumvent these restrictions. The curfew has sparked outrage among some citizens, while others are relieved by the increased security presence in their district. The heist’s execution has also raised alarms in the MAWAR DISTRICT, where public transportation systems are now under intense scrutiny. Speculation is rife that the gang utilised these networks to conduct their operation, slipping through the cracks of New Jakarta’s tightly monitored infrastructure. As a result, transit authorities have ramped up surveillance, leading to widespread delays and frustrations among commuters. Members of the THE ISLES, in particular are in danger of being mistaken for THE SKELETON CREW. Adding to the tension, an underground racing bust in the AKUMU SLUMS has led to the detention of the area’s most notorious street racer, known only by the alias SHATTERSTAR. Sources indicate that this arrest is connected to the broader investigation into THE GREY LILLIES, though details remain scarce. The AKUMU SLUMS, already rife with unrest, are now on edge as residents grapple with the implications of SHATTERSTAR’S capture and the increased presence in OVERSEERS. Authorities urge anyone with information to come forward, emphasizing the urgency of capturing those responsible before more Nemesis floods the streets. The city’s black market has long been a thorn in the side of New Jakarta’s leaders, and this latest incident only underscores the ongoing battle to maintain order in a city where the lines between law and chaos are increasingly blurred. Stay tuned to UNN for updates as this story develops.

SIDENOTE:

While UNN remains tight-lipped about certain details, sources close to the investigation have revealed that the NEMESIS vials were stolen from a facility linked to X ACADEMY. This connection raises questions about the involvement of high-profile figures within New Jakarta's elite circles. In a parallel move, the elusive GOLDEN TEARS have been dispatched to extract information about the drug's location from the SKELETON CREW. The tension between these factions is palpable, and the stakes are higher than ever as the city buzzes over these recent events.

OOC INFORMATION:

Welcome to our first mini-event and the kickoff for opening interactions! We hope this plot drop sparks inspiration for your open starters, exclusive threads, and unleashes the tension between your muses! Your characters can dive into the chaos—whether they’re part of the heist, caught in the racing bust, defying the curfew, frustrated by the delays in public transportation, or mourning the absence of SHATTERSTAR from the streets!

IC DATE: 3rd week of August, 2405 OOC DATE: 15th of August - end date to be announced PARTICIPATION: mandatory! THREADS OUTSIDE OF EVENT: allowed!

[sublieu]

IF YOU CAN STILL REMEMBER THE MK X LISTENER PLOT, UH- CAN YOU MAKE IT? You can have your own version of it!

╰┈➤❝ [⋆· *Demi Demon Ruts༉‧₊˚.] ¡! ❞

Warnings: cumflation, cunnilingus, [semi] finger fucking, flirty/perverted Mk, ruts, marking

A.n: I'm still gonna do a fic on him. Don't think I'm not gonna.

Mentions: @mortal-mayhem @zmzsnakes @yellowaxol @fallenplantation

Ah yes, the time of mating season, where demons, animals, gods and goddesses come together to be rid of their awful punishment their body decides to lay upon them.

But for Mk, this affected him worse.

He could barely concentrate on working, helping and partying. It was as if the whole world was colliding in on him, and now he's stuck in his room hiding away and trying to bear through the suffering.

Mk was confused, everything felt fuzzy and dizzy. The room had an unbearably thick smell, as if you were there attempting to comfort him as he wore your favorite oversized shirt that you 'borrowed' from him. Until Wukong showed up.

"Kid, you've been missing trainin- jesus christ did you spray the place or something?!"

Wukong yells as he coughs and wheezes, Mk just hid deeper inside him fluffy blanket, he felt as if he was gonna die from embarrassment when everything suddenly clicked for the golden brown monkey.

"Mk, are you going through a *pfft* rut?"

He stutters as he fails to hide his laughter, plopping down on his bed whilst continuing to laugh at the brunette's misery. Patting down his back and hearing him purr shortly after.

"How is this even possible?! I'm not even a demon much less a demigod!" "Well, technically.. you are a demigod, but that still means you're gonna suffer ruts like every other demon does."

Wukong sighs and pulls the blanket away, his heart breaking when he sees how much poor Mk was suffering as tears ran down his eyes. Silently sobbing as he held his knees together to ease the pain for him in a way.

"Kid, I can find a way to help you deal with your situation buuutttt it's gonna cost you" "Anything Wukong please!"

Mk sobs and begs, the demon groans as he scratches his head, looking for bugs as gets up and summons his Nimbus to collect some ingredients.

"You're gonna need to isolate yourself for atleast 2 weeks, not only that, you have to keep physical touch to an absolute low. Which means your little girlfriend and your friends are gonna have to keep a far distance from you for the time being" Wukong starts as he picks up and empty bottle he could find around Mk's room that he wasn't using at the moment.

Mk laid there as he tried to rest, his eyes slowly starting to drift as Wukong's last sentence was a blur.

"Oh and do not touch yourself, no jerking off nothing. Understand? I'll tell Pigsy and your friends to let you rest for the next 2 weeks" the demon continues and stands on his Nimbus before flying off to let his apprentice rest.

Diary entry #1

So I just cleaned up my room (finally) and is currently eating noodles Pigsy made for me. Honestly if it wasn't for him Mei would have to cook and I'm scared of her cooking cus the last time the fish stew she made for me actually bit on my fork. IT BIT MY FORK. Signing off, finna watch tawog and get some more rest -Mk.

Diary entry #2

Y/n just came by my house to drop off groceries today, honestly I love her so so much, she even got me my favorite chocolate too! I'm gonna repay her one day, I'm saving up to buy her V.I.P tickets to that new movie [movie name] that she's been talking about. Lets hope I can save enough to buy her something after. Signing off today again to rest -Mk

Diary entry #3

Just came out of the shower, honestly the cold feels nice for once. I couldn't help but think about y/n today again! I wonder what she's doing? probably playing games or reading something, I just love how cute she looks whenever she's doing something. I could listen to her talk all day and still say nothing cus she's so cute! Signing off today, gonna make some food and go sleep -Mk.

Diary entry #4

I woke up to my 'friend' today, obviously I didn't want y/n or anyone else to come and see me like this. Who knows what they could think! so I touched myself for the first in weeks, I might buy y/n those cute paw stockings she loves so much -Mk.

Diary entry #5

It happened again when I was showering, first I'm thinking about making breakfast and now I'm thinking about y/n bending over just to reach the sugar container. God the way she looks in that cute miniskirt she always wear around the house just makes me feel... fuzzy... -Mk

Diary entry #6

... Nothing new today, same old thing. Read, eat, watch a movie and text y/n.

Diary entry #7

I'm calling her... I can't stand staying in this fucking house alone

Mk writes and proceeds to reach for his phone when out of the blue, Wukong contacts him to check in on how he's doing; Stirring what seems to be a pot in the background as Mk continues looking on his phone.

"Hey Mk!! How ya holding up?"

Wukong starts and wipes a sheen of sweat from his face. Mk responds with an I'm good as he calls y/n, as if completely ignoring his question and paying attention to you.

"M'doin great, You wouldn't mind coming over for some video games or something? - No no it's just the two of us! Promise! - You will? Aww thanks, I'll unlock the door k?"

Mk smiles and hangs up his phone, leaving Wukong confused and slightly worried.

"Mk. who exactly are you calling over?"

He asks and stops stirring as he looks around the boy's room then back to him when he notices how fidgety his fingers were before putting two and two together.

"Mk. No-" "Oh cmon Wukong! I won't bite, too hard atleast" "Mk I'm serious- DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON M-"

Wukong threatens before being hung up by Mk, stirring even faster in an attempt to hurry and bring back the medicine when Xi stopped him and told him to stir as gently as possible.

Whilst you stood at Mk's doorway, fixing yourself one last time before hearing his door click and open to see him heaving and wheezing as if he just ran down the steps. You giggled and gave him a kiss on the cheek and entered the well lit house, completely ignorant to the sound of his door clicking and locking.

"So what're you planning to play first? Dance dance revo 3 or Wukong mashup?"

You'd start up a conversation as you were ready to setup his gaming station, placing the games on his carpet when he kneels down beside you to pick. Ultimately choosing dance dance revo.

After hours and hours of just you two giggling and having fun, Wukong texts Mk stating he's almost done making the remedy. Ignoring the message and paying attention to you as you continued dancing.

The way how you were just so steady to the beat, your boobs would jiggle to the slightest movement of your body alongside the sheer amount of sweat you were producing. He was in awestruck as you sat down on the carpet for a breather.

(ง•ᴥ•)ง♪ (◕3◕)╯♫ (¬ᴥ¬)◠◡ ♬ (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)╯♩ 「ᵔᴥᵔ」♫ (¬ᴥ¬) ♬ (ツ)♭

Your bra would reveal itself to the white shirt you were wearing, making you all the more delectable for him. Mk was already struggling just seeing you move and now this? it was almost as if you were subtly punishing him. Whilst distracted, you crawled in between his legs to hug his waist and giggled after he looked down at you, god you were just so cute, how could anyone resist you?

He gave you a quick forehead kiss before slowly trailing down to your lips, things already getting heated between you both as you were quick to take off the other's clothes, leaving you both naked and flustered.

His hands would grab hold of your butt and pulled you closer to him, sloppy, wet kisses would trail from your lips all the way to your chest as he puts his hand down your panty. His cock throbbing and leaking pre the more he played with your body.

Heavy, ragged breaths escaped your lips as you attempt to close your legs. Only for him to pry them open and go down to your dripping pussy, kissing your tummy and licking your clit, sucking on the bud as he pushed two fingers inside. Chuckling at your whimpers and pleas.

You looked so pretty from this view, little tears running down your eyes as you bit your finger hard enough to leave it slightly bleeding. But you couldn't care at the moment as his tongue was already past your slit and inside your velvety walls, until he stopped, popping his tongue and licking his lips as he pulled you closer; His cock pressing at your little bundle of sensitive nerves.

Mk would push the tip inside before snapping his hips upwards inside, making you jump whilst Mk pushed you back down on the carpet. He snickered and kissed your forehead as he held your hand and cooed praises at you, your pleas for him to fuck you comforting him as he gave you a soft thrust up inside you.

You were always wondering why he wore his hair upwards if he looked so cool, and now you finally got the reason why; His sharp teeth alongside the subtle glow of his eyes left you in fear and pleasure.

As your legs wrapped around his waist, it seemed as if he picked up in speed. His thrusts getting faster and rougher as you played with his hair, your moans of his name slip off your tongue like butter as you'd clench your toes from the thrilling pleasure. Your eyes flashing to white when you came for the first time, clawing at your neck and grabbing onto his hair to limit his movements. That ultimately not working as he kept pounding your pussy like it was a toy.

He kept muttering your name as if you were about to disappear if he didn't hold onto you long enough, moaning about how snug and inviting your body was, as if you like molding jelly. Soft to the touch and comfortable to hold, almost like a pillow.

You gave him a soft kiss which he immediately returns, his hands securely colliding your hips to his, you were gonna have marks later for sure you thought.

"Keep going~" "You're doing so so good Mk~"

You whisper to his ear, cooing and coddling him even though he's fucking to cloud-9. Your hands reaching to hold his as your climax was coming closer and closer, almost feeling him kissing your womb as you told him to go faster. Throwing your head back and looking into his eyes a second time, seeing that the glow changed to pink and his growling was being ever so evident. Was he staring at you or was he so distracted by your body he couldn't even look at you. But he was actually close to cumming soon too, getting ready to flood your ovaries with his sticky, warm cum.

Your eyes were flashing to white again, your manicured nails digging into his flesh and leaving cuts all over his arms as he fucked every bit of his cum inside. Your belly bloating as he rested on your chest after pulling out, most of his cum seeping out of you and onto the carpet you shared as you both started laughing and share a kiss.

"Didn't your mentor say that we shouldn't be around each other for two weeks?" "Honestly fuck him" "Wooooow real fucking nice Mk"

Wukong sarcasticly speaks up and caused you two to jump up and scramble to cover up. He sighs and throws the bag of pills and liquid for Mk to hold as he made orange juice.

"You guys even fucked on the carpet, seriously? the carpet? Couldn't you have atleast done it on the couch? And you call me and macaque fucking animals".

©𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐; 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[theharrowing]

Dollhouse 25 💛: Chasing ghosts

Hoseok’s job is simple: He enters the host’s body, he confiscates or terminates the target, and he gets back into his own body by dinnertime, easy peasy. Until a client comes along who becomes as obsessed with his life as he becomes with theirs, and the lines between their realities begin to blur.

PREVIOUS | INDEX 

💛 Hoseok x Namjoon, Hoseok x Taehyung x Jimin 💛 word count: 13.4 words 💛 hired assassin au, sci-fi, body swapping, graphic violence, infidelity, body dysphoria, lgbtq, smut, fluff, angst, poly, nsfw, smut, 21+ 💛 chapter warnings: tripping on acid (time becoming disjointed and scenes switching abruptly; hallucinations), heavy feelings & crying, infidelity (kind of), smut (sex while high, mmm threesome, you know the drill), minor character death (kind of), unhappy & unresolved ending!!! i warned you before, and i am warning you again!

💛 listen: i feel an immense amount of emotional connection to this fic, having spent over a year and a half writing it, and reaching this point has been so bittersweet. i struggled a lot writing this last chapter, and i have realized it is because of two reasons. 1.) it makes me sad to say goodbye. i think i have been grieving the end for months. 2.) this chapter is completely unnecessary. with the way i plan to "resolve" things, i could have done it easily at the end of the last one, without dragging it all out. but we're here and i decided to give Hoseok one last trip. i feel like i am pulling a neon genesis evangelion, and that because this fic has been such a reflection of my depression and anxiety and gender confusion, that it won't have the ending anyone likes. i'm okay with that, but i hope you at least have fun one more time. 💛 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 💛 posted july 2023 | read on ao3

There is something about this strange, dimly-lit whiskey bar that sits along a busy tourist street, with tons of foot traffic, 7,000 km from home that makes Hoseok feel nostalgic. The place is cramped with loud customers, the music is tacky and awful, and the vibe of the place is—for all intents and purposes—off. 

But as Hoseok slides into a booth along the back wall and a glass of neat mid-tier whiskey is set in front of him in a round tumbler, he takes in the cracked burgundy leather and golden glow of the light fixtures, and he remembers sitting in a booth just like this the day Jeongguk suggested they partner swap. 

What a strange memory to hold onto so dearly, Hoseok thinks, chewing on the inside of his lip. 

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Jimin scoots in on Hoseok's right, closer than Hoseok would have expected. He wears a faint floral and citrus perfume that is inviting and not too cloying, and a plain black tee tucked into tight black jeans with a light blue denim jacket over top. A light shimmering pink is dusted over his eyes, which Hoseok has a better look at sitting this close, and he wears sunglasses on his head that push his hair back, as well as silver dangling earrings, a black leather belt, and black Chelsea boots. 

Taehyung sits across the table, in a chair. His outfit is all warm tones and flowy fabrics, with an oversized honey shirt unbuttoned low to reveal a generous amount of skin, and a hint of low-cut beige fabric, all of which is tucked loosely into tan slacks. His brown loafers disappear under the wide-cut pants, and his neck, ears, and fingers are adorned in silver. An earthy musk hangs around Taehyung, greeting Hoseok as he leans over the table to rub a thumb just under Jimin's eye. 

"You have some mascara where it doesn't belong," he mutters while Jimin swats his hand away with a pout. 

The leather upholstery whines and bounces as Jimin shifts around, facing Hoseok. He pinches the fabric of Hoseok's floral bomber jacket in his fingers, eyeing it up as if he wants to ask about it, but then asks, "What brings you here," instead. 

It takes a second for Hoseok to catch up, reeling a little over Jimin's proximity. He tries to respond while looking at the man, but those wide, curious eyes dusted in pink and lined in black make it hard for him to think, so he turns away, glances at a curious Taehyung, and lets his gaze drop to the caramel-colored drink in his hands. 

"Honestly," Hoseok sighs, lifting his glass toward his lips. "I don't know. I was on a work trip but plans changed, and now I'm just…chasing ghosts."

Taehyung hums, catching Hoseok's attention, then nods in understanding, wearing a beautifully sad smile. "Sounds lonely," he mutters, and Hoseok chuckles. 

"Yeah," he admits, "it is."

Now that they are seated, and Hoseok is able to fully take in the appearances of the two men, he struggles to wrap his head around the fact that they really do exist. Both Taehyung and Jimin are anomalies in their own right, and Hoseok cannot put his finger on whether they are genuine or not. They are both strikingly beautiful with curious smiles, and they both look so sad. 

Taehyung shifts and leans forward, resting both elbows on the table with his left arm stretched all the way forward as if pointing to Jimin while he speaks, but with a relaxed hand. He mutters something low and soft in a dulcet tone impossible to pick up on from across the table, and Jimin hums in understanding, nodding his head. 

Hoseok does his best to alternate between glancing at Taehyung's lips and staring at his drink while listening, curious if he can pick up on even one word, but it is almost as if the man is speaking an entirely different language. The rise and fall of syllable tone sounds like a Gyeongsang dialect, especially when he speaks clearly, somewhere between Busan and Daegu. But although he can make out hints of pattern and drawl, he cannot pick up on a single word the man is saying.

"I feel like a ghost sometimes," Jimin says with a sigh, pulling the conversation back as if they never stopped. 

Taehyung, with his arm still outstretched, turns his head to Hoseok, hanging loose as if it is on a string—as if he is not in full control of his body, dangling awkwardly. He pulls his lips into a strange, toothy, rectangular smile that Hoseok cannot quite parse, and then he sits up tall, rolls his shoulders back, and begins to drink.

Hoseok heavy-blinks and turns slightly toward Jimin, whose wide eyes are watching him intently. Jimin almost appears to be searching for something—mouth tugged down into a frown—but then he blinks and smiles, as toothy as Taehyung but far less forced. 

"You should let us dose you," Jimin mutters softly with a sudden sparkle in his eye.

"Dose?" Hoseok asks, looking between the two of them, wondering if they mean LSD or something similar.

"We're gonna start coming up kinda soon," Jimin says, placing a hand on Hoseok's thigh that feels warm and inviting, which Hoseok looks down at quickly before pulling his eyes up to Taehyung. "It might be weird for you if you're the only one who isn't high."

"Do you ever take acid?" Taehyung asks, and Hoseok shakes his head, looking between the two of them. He has taken acid back in college, but not enough to hallucinate. Never enough to hallucinate.

"But you've taken ecstasy before," Jimin states—not asks. 

Hoseok turns to him, knitting his brow and searching his face, muttering, "How do you know that?"

Jimin squeezes Hoseok's leg and says, "Everyone has, silly!" with a bright, infectious giggle. 

Yes, Hoseok thinks, but if you are who I think you are, then you know firsthand that I have.

"Are you afraid of taking drugs?" Taehyung asks, but Jimin squeezes Hoseok's thigh again before Hoseok can turn to respond, keeping his attention on him. 

"I bet there are things you want to ask us," Jimin says sweetly, leaning in as if telling Hoseok a secret. "And we will tell you absolutely everything you want to know. But only once you're high."

With a pounding heart and curious mind, Hoseok swallows thickly and considers the proposition.

"What kinds of things do you think I am curious to know about you?" Hoseok asks, causing Jimin's smile to widen and become more dangerous. 

"Anything," Jimin mutters, leaning in close, wetting his lips with a bubblegum pink tongue. "What are two beautiful, enigmatic men doing on the wrong continent, for starters."

"But you can't have all the fun," Taehyung adds, pulling Hoseok's gaze to where he rests his chin in his hands, with his cheeks squished cutely, both elbows on the table. "We get to ask you questions, too."

Taking a somewhat unknown substance in an unfamiliar place with two potential strangers feels dangerous. Every instinct tells Hoseok that it is the wrong thing to do, and that he should not agree to do it. 

But if this is Yoongi and Jeongguk, he knows he has to. Maybe they only feel comfortable with revealing their identities to Hoseok while he is high. All he has to do is hold onto the memory…how hard can that be?

"Alright," Hoseok says, watching as Taehyung grins wide and feeling Jimin's excited hands claw at his thigh. "But I don't know what to expect. You guys…you have to look out for me."

Fingernails scratch at Hoseok's scalp, and he turns to find Jimin grinning as he musses up Hoseok's hair, then drapes his arm around his shoulder, saying, "We are going to take such good care of you," while using his index finger to boop Hoseok on the nose.

A chill runs down Hoseok's spine, and he attempts to get his bearings, but the atmosphere of the bar is overwhelming, and these two are acting very strange. But also very fun. He cannot seem to keep his eyes off Jimin, and the way he is acting—very touchy and smiley—does not help.

"I hate this place," Taehyung announces with a sigh and a pout. "It was more fun the other night."

"I hate it too," Jimin whines before picking up his whiskey and slamming it back. He sets his glass down with a thud and says, "Bottoms up! Let's move."

Without thinking twice, Hoseok picks up his glass and slams its contents back, swallowing it all too fast to second-guess the oily quality of the liquid, and the bitter taste and smell that is so slight, it is barely detected. But Hoseok does detect it, and he licks his lips, eyes trailing between the two of them. 

"Did you already—" Hoseok begins to ask, but Jimin is yanking him by the arm out of the booth, and in a frenzy, he complies, getting onto his feet as best as he can while scooting sideways past the table at his hips. 

When he is on his own two feet, standing without obstruction, Jimin takes him by the hand and pulls him through the crowded space, to where Taehyung is already walking ahead, toward the exit. 

"Did he already dose me?" Hoseok asks, to which Jimin giggles loudly without looking back. 

The evening air hits Hoseok and he scrunches his shoulders high. It is not necessarily cold, but everything feels heightened—anticipatory—making him shiver as gusts of wind blow through his hair. Jimin's hand is warm and holds firm, and their pace seems somewhat rushed as they make their way down the block, snaking through pedestrians on the sidewalk, to a nightclub that Hoseok has walked past but never entered. 

Taehyung shows his ID at the door, and Jimin rummages through his pocket for his, letting go of Hoseok's hand only long enough to pull the card from his wallet and allow Hoseok to do the same. Once security has scrutinized their foreign cards and compared them to their faces, Jimin has Hoseok's hand in his, tugging him through the dark entrance. 

"I liked the first club we went to," Jimin pouts as a short hallway opens into a larger space packed with writhing bodies. 

Loud house music thrums through every inch of the space, into Hoseok's bloodstream, and the rainbow lights that flash colorful beams throughout are somewhat disorienting. 

"I did too," Taehyung responds over his shoulder. "But it's too soon to go back there."

"Why?" Hoseok asks without thinking.

Jimin shrugs and looks over his shoulder to say, "Just 'cause!" as they continue leading the way. 

They walk past the main dance floor, to a tall, muscular security guard near the back bar. Taehyung lifts a hand to whisper something into the ear of the man, who nods his head to the side and then nods his head to Jimin. 

Taehyung leads the way through a black door that is almost indistinguishable against the black wall, into another hallway, which stretches about twenty feet before curving to the left, at a set of stairs. As they walk up, Hoseok surmises that this must be some sort of VIP section, and he wonders what kind of pull Taehyung has—how does he have access to places like this? If they have only been in Sydney for a little while, what kind of connections does he have?

The space they enter is a mezzanine that overlooks the club. There are tables along the railing and a bar off to the left. Past the bar are booths with privacy curtains, and Jimin leads Hoseok in that direction while Taehyung veers off toward the bar. 

"You guys must have connections," Hoseok shouts over the music once they are close to the booths and seem to be out of earshot of most people. 

Jimin pulls Hoseok to the last booth, checking each one they walk past and seeing that they all appear empty, with their curtains open, and then he holds out his hand, motioning for Hoseok to get in. 

Hoseok hesitates, then has a seat on the round black leather cushion and begins to slide toward the center. Jimin follows suit, sitting very close despite how much room there is. Once they are settled, Jimin lifts his arm, resting his elbow on the seatback between him and Hoseok, and begins running his fingers through Hoseok's hair. 

"Are the two of you a couple?" Hoseok asks. 

Jimin's eyes widen and shimmer as he says, "We are."

Hoseok nods, wetting his lips while looking around at the black leather and velvet enclosure. "How long have you two been together?"

Taehyung arrives with a round black tray balanced on his hand, holding three glasses of caramel-colored liquid. "Forever," he says, as he sets the tray down and slides it to the center of the table. 

"Forever, hmm?" Hoseok challenges playfully, glancing between Jimin, who stares at Hoseok, to Taehyung, who closes the velvet curtains before having a seat and sliding in on Hoseok's other side. 

There is a small, purple overhead light, and a candle encased in a red glass cup in the center of the table, giving the space an eerie glow. It feels as if Hoseok's senses have suddenly dulled, and the dizzying pounding of his heart certainly does not help. 

Taehyung does not scoot quite as close, but Hoseok can feel his warmth radiate, and as he sits back, staring forward at the small golden flame, an odd sense of discomfort settles over him.

"Did you dose me already?" Hoseok asks, turning to Taehyung, whose features almost appear gruesome in the dim light. 

"I did," Taehyung responds sweetly. "But only after you said yes."

Hoseok nods and accepts the response, though he would have liked to know how much of the substance he was given. Anxiety buzzes through him, just under his skin. He shrugs from his jacket, suddenly feeling too warm, and looks ahead at the three untouched drinks on the table, asking, "So, now what?"

"So," Jimin responds sweetly—emphatically, "now we drink these drinks, and we wait."

The anticipation of a high is often so nerve-wracking that Hoseok already laments the idea. But what choice does he have?

"And after we wait…?" Hoseok tries, glancing between Taehyung and Jimin, who both watch him. 

"You seem tense," Taehyung says so low it is almost lost beneath the loud club beat. Oddly, Hoseok had been unaware of the music blaring until he struggled to hear soft, dulcet tones blending through and beneath it. 

With a nod, Hoseok rolls his shoulders back in an attempt to relax. "I have that habit," he responds. 

Fingertips dig into Hoseok's shoulders in deep, slow circles and firm lines, tugging him to and fro, making his eyes roll back. Jimin is surprisingly good at massaging, and while Hoseok shifts around to give him more access, his mind flashes to a certain bathtub all those months ago, with a certain set of hands. 

"Relax," Jimin purrs close to Hoseok's ear, dragging the syllables long as warm breath wafts against his skin, turning the path to goosebumps. "Taehyungie and I got you for tonight. Don't let any other outside stressors cloud your mind."

As Jimin's hands move down Hoseok's back, he blurts, "I'm married," unsure why the information feels pertinent to share, aside from how intimate everything feels. To his surprise, Jimin's hands do not pause. 

"Hmm?" Taehyung hums as the weight in front of Hoseok shifts physically and audibly. He hears a glass getting set down on the table close to him. Taehyung's voice is playful as he adds, "And where is your husband?"

Hoseok's eyes flutter open, and he blinks Taehyung into view, finding the man sitting closer than before with his torso facing Hoseok, one leg crooked on the seat, cradling a glass between long fingers. 

"How did you know my spouse is a man?" Hoseok asks, feeling his heart grow heavier by the second. 

With a shrug and lift of a brow, Taehyung mutters, "Lucky guess," and Hoseok frowns, feeling unsatisfied. After a moment of tracing Hoseok's face with his eyes, Taehyung adds, "Straight men don't usually allow other men to drag them around and give them back massages, let's be honest."

"I suppose that's true," Hoseok mutters as Jimin's thumbs rub up his neck, causing his head to tip forward and his eyes to close. 

"So," Taehyung begins, paused by the sound of him taking a drink from a glass. "Why were you searching for us?"

Hoseok feels startled as his eyes dart open once more. He instinctively tries to sit up and adjust his posture, but Jimin's small but strong hands hold him in place.

"It's fine, darling," Jimin purrs sweetly, squeezing and rubbing Hoseok's shoulders and biceps. "You were just…not very discrete."

Hoseok sighs, then reaches for the drink that Taehyung had set closer to him. His glass feels colder than usual against his palm, and condensation drips down his wrist. Although Jimin's hands remain on Hoseok, his touch is much lighter, trailing fingertips up to his neck and back down, dragging the cloth of his white t-shirt. 

"I thought you were someone," Hoseok admits before taking a long sip of his drink. The whiskey is sweeter than expected, and he lets it settle on his tongue before swallowing it back. 

Jimin responds, "You thought we were…someone else?" 

"It's…a long story," Hoseok says, taking one more drink and setting his glass down.

Taehyung leans close and smiles, and for just a moment his pouty rectangular mouth sharpens. His eyes become wide, round galaxies, and Hoseok's mouth hangs around the name Jeongguk.

"You'll have to tell us all about it," Taehyung says, deep voice lilting high and sweet, familiar in a way that makes his heart ache. 

Hoseok blinks, and Taehyung is himself again. A surge of emotion fills him, and he swallows a lump, ignoring the way the vines that squeeze him so tightly sharpen with thorns. He almost feels guilty for wishing Taehyung were Jeongguk. 

"It might seem too strange to believe," Hoseok says, attempting to change the topic. 

"We'll circle back to it later," Jimin says, giving Hoseok's shoulders a squeeze before scooting away, leaving Hoseok feeling alone. "You're about to come up, and I don't need you stressing out about silly little details at a time like this."

"Oh," Hoseok mutters, nervously gripping his glass tightly. He wants to ask how Jimin knows he will be coming up soon—what coming up even entails—but he agrees that this may not be the time to stress about silly little details. 

Not to mention, the space they are in is beginning to appear foggy, and Hoseok is unsure whether that is a product of an actual fog machine, or if it is just a trick his brain is playing on him. Either way, he can't stop thinking about it.

"How does the music feel?" Taehyung asks—and it is strange that Taehyung should ask this, because right in this moment, the bass of the loud club music feels visceral and enrapturing, throbbing and pulsating through him, changing the nature of his nervous system, in synch with his heartbeat. Somehow, the music has found a home buried under his skin, and he thinks the way the candle flickers gently on the table must be tethered to his soul.

What the fuck did he drink?

"Good," is all Hoseok can bring himself to say. "Feels…" his mouth is dry, and he lifts his glass, muttering, "good," before taking a final gulp. 

"Should I get us water?" Jimin asks as the sound of him sliding away can be heard. 

Panic strikes Hoseok, who looks to Jimin worried, but Jimin smiles sweetly at him and then at Taehyung, nodding as he continues to slide. 

"Thanks, hyungie," Taehyung says, blowing a kiss in the air. 

When the curtains part for Jimin to exit, blue and purple beams of light enter the booth, and Hoseok's heart soars. He thinks that he would like to see more of the lights, but once the curtain is drawn, he is washed over with relief. It was glorious but too much, he thinks; likely to overwhelm him quickly.  

"Is he okay?" Hoseok asks, lurching slightly between words; he feels gassy, like he is belching, but only the tiniest pockets of air seem to be rising to his throat, and he finds it unsettling. He swallows thickly, wetting his lips. "Uh—out there alone, I mean."

"Oh, he's fine," Taehyung responds with a wide smile that morphs back to a familiar one that Hoseok has to blink away. "Not his first rodeo. And the bartender is a friend."

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm."

Time seems hard to grasp, or maybe Hoseok is overthinking it. For all he knows, Jimin left two minutes ago or an hour ago; all he can fully comprehend is that his heart is pounding and he feels antsy. 

"Hoseok," Taehyung prompts, after an amount of time that could have dragged but maybe not. 

"Hmm?"

"Be honest," Taehyung drawls slowly and easily. 

And Hoseok sits up straight, readying every fiber in his body to being honest. He may not be aware of too much at this moment in time, but he is sure that he wants to be honest, come what may. 

Taehyung smirks easily—lips tugging widely, showing more teeth than Hoseok thinks he may have ever seen. When he opens his mouth, Hoseok leans in close, ready to listen. 

"Do you think this haircut suits me?"

Taehyung's hair is a tuft of waves hanging over his forehead, framing his face beautifully with the sides and neck cut tight. Hoseok does not have to inspect it, but he does, leaning forward and nodding his head. 

"Yeah," he responds somewhat slowly. "It does."

"I wasn't too sure about it," Taehyung pouts, running his hands through it. 

Hoseok mirrors the pout, asking, "Oh?"

"I'm not used to wavy hair, so it was a challenge to learn how to style."

"You're not?" Hoseok asks, tilting his head, inspecting the hair. There is no way this is a perm, he thinks; it looks natural.

Rather than respond, Taehyung just sits back with his arms crossed over his chest, and he smiles widely. Something glimmers in his eye that Hoseok thinks he should be able to interpret, but he finds that he cannot. Suddenly, he feels like he is forgetting something. No, not forgetting—missing. 

Hoseok wants to ask, but how would Taehyung know what he is missing? It makes no sense. Still, Taehyung knows something, with how he studies and smiles.

"Where are you from?" Hoseok asks. His mouth feels terribly dry, and he looks around, disappointed to only see empty whiskey glasses. Three. There is a third person…where is Jimin?

"The countryside," Taehyung responds, "near Daegu."

"Daegu," Hoseok mutters under his breath, reprimanding his heart and mind for both thinking about Yoongi. Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think about him.

"Jimin's from Busan," Taehyung says, lifting an eyebrow.

Busan trails into Jeongguk trails into the letters that they forged. Why did they make those letters? Who were they hiding from? Were they trying to hide from me? Hoseok squeezes his eyes closed, lifts his heavy, heavy arms, and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

"You alright?" Taehyung asks, and the words sound slow, like they are sinking deep, deep, deep into wherever Hoseok feels like he is dropping. 

"Thirsty," Hoseok mutters, holding back the rest. How can he tell Taehyung that he thinks he may be missing something very dear and important? Would Taehyung understand?

Loud house music plays, and Hoseok allows himself to hear it. It feels sleepy and awake at the same time—a quick drum beat over something dreamy and slow. Hoseok drops his hands down, but his eyes stay closed, and he imagines stars swirling across a dark sky, dancing and leaving a trail of glitter in their path, illuminating the heavens brighter and brighter. It feels hopeful. 

But then he thinks of Namjoon and how much he has fucked up being a good husband to his big dumb cutie in the last year. Will Namjoon be home when he returns? He continues to dwell on it—thinks he wouldn't deserve it if he was. Even if the thought threatens to suffocate and swallow him whole—suck him up into the glittering, swirling, unforgiving sky—he cannot stop thinking about it.

"Water!" Jimin sing-songs, and Hoseok opens his eyes to find him standing in the open curtain, shrouded in a halo of purple light. He looks angelic, covered in a sheen of sweat with wide, high pupils. In his arms, he hugs six water bottles, and when he bends to place them onto the table, they tumble haphazardly and begin to roll in all directions.

Hoseok half-stands and reaches for one that threatens to go over the edge close by, and he stands it on the table before assisting with gathering the rest. Although the music is louder and the lights are bright, Hoseok kind of likes having the curtains open. He begins to ask if they can keep them there, but Jimin begins to dance, and Hoseok loses his words. 

"I love this song," Jimin sighs as he runs his hands up his neck and into his hair, swaying his body slowly from side to side. 

His jacket is gone, and he only wears a black tee tucked into black pants, and although it is dark, the material hugs Jimin as he sways and swishes. Hoseok would try not to stare if he were in his right mind, but he finds he simply cannot help himself. Jimin is a sight to behold, and with the bright purple glow of the lights, he is magnificent. 

"You should dance with me," Jimin says, and Hoseok continues to watch him, expecting Taehyung to get up and join him. But then, when nothing happens, Hoseok glances around and realizes that Taehyung, and now Jimin, are looking at him.

"M-me?" Hoseok asks, shifting in his seat, unsure whether he could stand, much less move his body, in his current state. 

"Yes, you, silly," Jimin giggles, holding out his hands. 

And it is not that Hoseok would deny someone like Jimin anything, but he needs to adjust to his current situation first. Hoseok nods, but he reaches for the closest water bottle and twists the tiny plastic top. The water is cold—so cold it takes Hoseok by surprise, and he has to stop and catch his breath for a split moment before continuing to drink. 

Water is a gift. Suddenly, Hoseok feels recharged—a new man! He replaces the little plastic cap and then places both hands down on the booth to slide along the curve to freedom. Jimin continues to sway, holding his arms open wide for Hoseok, who finally scoots close to the edge and holds his own arms up. 

Jimin's hands are cold and soft when they grip onto Hoseok's wrists and yank with a surprising amount of strength. Hoseok chuckles as he is tugged on, and he stumbles onto his feet, nearly crashing into Jimin in the process, making Jimin's giggles turn into full-body laughter. 

"There you are," Jimin says sweetly, wrapping his arms around Hoseok's shoulders and slowly swaying his body for him. "How do you feel, baby?"

Jimin's face shifts and morphs ever so slightly as he speaks, tugging hard at Hoseok's heartstrings. He can almost hear the question asked in a deeper timber, grazed with a rasp. The vines suffocate. 

"Good," Hoseok lies, because physically, he really does feel good despite the treachery his mind is playing on him.

"Are you sure?" Jimin asks, dancing his fingers into Hoseok's hair. "You look sad."

"I am," Hoseok admits with a smile that he can feel tugging down into a frown. He is filled with the sudden urge to cry, and he shakes his head, doing his best to stay present and sway his body along with Jimin. At some point, the song must have changed, but the beat is similar, and he likes how it makes him feel floaty and soft and a little bit heavy. "I miss someone. Two someones. And you two sort of remind me of them. But that's fine. Missing people is another part of loving people, right? It's just life."

Hoseok knows he is rambling, but he finds it hard to stop once he has started. And Jimin is so patient, watching with an expression that looks so sad despite his attempt to smile. 

"Where are they now?" Jimin asks sweetly, tilting his head to the side.

Hoseok laughs through a sob, realizing suddenly that he has been crying. Hot tears pour as he blinks, but he allows them to fall freely as Jimin sways him to the music, letting his arms hang at his sides. 

"I don't know," Hoseok says, searching Jimin's face before letting his gaze fall to some spot on his shirt. "I thought perhaps they would be here, but…"

"But you found us, instead," Jimin responds so quietly, it nearly gets lost in the music. 

"Why did you dose me?" Hoseok asks, lifting his gaze to find Taehyung standing behind Jimin, leaning against the edge of the booth with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. 

Taehyung shrugs. "Because we thought it would be weird if you were the only one sober."

"But why me?" Hoseok has no idea what he is asking for; he simply refuses to believe that all of this is random. 

"You came with us," Taehyung simply responds. 

"Hmm," Hoseok nods, but he does not accept the answer. 

"You let me come with you," Hoseok continues, thinking about the conversation moments ago—maybe hours ago, "even though you thought I was looking for you."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward with enough force that it pushes Hoseok back, and he stumbles slightly. The more time he spends with Jimin, the less he finds it likely that he could be Yoongi or Jeongguk…except every once in a while, he says something that Yoongi would say, and it throws him off. 

"We were avoiding you when we realized you were looking for us," Taehyung teases as Hoseok attempts to get his balance back and Jimin continues to lean into him, laughing. "But you didn't seem like much of a threat, so—"

Before Hoseok can stop himself, he blurts, "Are you hiding from someone?"

The laughter dies, and Jimin straightens out and turns back to Taehyung, who continues to stand stoically and watch them. With a lift of his brow, Taehyung mutters, "Aren't we all?"

Hoseok considers it. He is not hiding from anyone, necessarily, but he was also not completely forthcoming with Namjoon about his whereabouts. 

"Maybe not hiding," Jimin adds with a disarming smile. "Maybe some of us are running."

Hoseok nods, accepting this addendum. "I am running," he admits. "But I'm not sure in which direction."

"What do you mean?" Jimin asks, tilting his head while watching Hoseok with wide, eager eyes. 

"I'm not sure if I'm running to someone or away from someone."

Hoseok's arms are lifted, draped over Jimin's hips. He has no memory of positioning them this way, but it feels nice. He notices Taehyung's gaze drift to his hands, and he wonders what the man is thinking. Luckily for him, Taehyung seems to always blurt out whatever is on his mind. 

"You don't have a wedding band."

"No," Hoseok says with a frown. "I'm not allowed to wear one at work, so I have grown accustomed to not wearing one at all.”

"And your husband?" Taehyung asks.

Come to think of it, Hoseok has no idea whether Namjoon wears his band anymore. Although it is not prohibited for him to do so at work, he prefers not to. They used to wear their bands on the weekends, but it has been months since Hoseok has removed his from the little gold dish that it rests on, atop their dresser. 

"I don't know," is all Hoseok says, swallowing thickly, mouth running dry. 

He is grateful when they do not ask for more information. And, when he drops his arms from Jimin's swaying sides and turns to grab for a bottle of water, he is grateful that Jimin's hold loosens before falling away entirely, giving Hoseok full mobility. 

Hoseok's pulse is heavy, and he feels dizzy as he stands as steadily as possible—feet planted hard onto the floor—and puts his focus on another tiny white cap. He must be squeezing the bottle too hard because water flows from the mouth once the cap is free, dribbling onto his hand. 

His hands shake a little as he lifts the bottle to his lips, and the water is so cold that it takes Hoseok by surprise again. He wants to gulp it back quickly, but he takes his time, one frigid sip after another until he feels sated enough to set the bottle down. Maybe he should have taken a drink from the one he had already opened, but that one is far away, and he is unsure whether he can trust his body to bend at the hips and not topple over completely. 

"Are you overwhelmed here?" Jimin asks at the same time fingertips dance in the hairs at the nape of Hoseok's neck. 

"I think so," Hoseok responds, suddenly acutely aware of just how intense the bright lights and booming music are becoming.

"I know a place," Jimin says, leaning in close enough that his breath is warm and inviting on Hoseok's neck. His voice is so low when he asks, "Do you trust me?" that Hoseok once again lets his mind wander to someone else. 

"Yes," he responds without hesitation. "I trust you."  

Hoseok barely keeps up with the rush of movement, but suddenly Jimin is wearing his denim jacket again, and he is putting water bottles into pockets on the inside of the jacket that are large enough to fit two each. Hoseok climbs into the booth on his knees to stretch forward and get his coat, then he slides his arms into the sleeves and holds onto the bottle that he had just been drinking from. Taehyung must grab the others, and Jimin takes Hoseok's free hand and tugs him along, causing him to stumble as they make their way past the booths to the stairs. 

Although he enjoys their company, Hoseok hopes that they do not continue to bounce from place to place. He feels heavy on his legs but also too light—like his body is made of boiled rice cakes that wobble in an attempt to hold him steady. Hoseok shoves his water bottle into a jacket pocket and grips the railing tightly as they go down the stairs, watching as the shadows and light bend and move beneath him, focusing instead on trusting his legs to know the right size steps to make because watching his feet is impossible and borderline terrifying. 

The music warps and sways around him, twisting and pulling in strange, disorienting syncopations—dizzying and hard to follow. He can feel that his hand is sweaty in Jimin's grasp, but Jimin continues to hold tightly and guide Hoseok through the hallway, into the main club, and to the front exit. 

Briefly, Hoseok's feet stop, causing his hand to partially slip from Jimin's grip. He watches the dance floor, taking in the lights and the sounds and the writhing bodies, and he thinks very briefly that he would like to be part of that. But imagining himself in the hot throng of limbs, bass, and sweat makes him nervous, and he shakes his head, dispelling the thought while gripping onto Jimin's hand a little tighter and muttering, "Let's go."

As soon as Jimin tugs Hoseok out into the street, everything in the world shifts. The sky is a strange murky, mossy green that skies never are, and the sidewalk feels too soft underfoot and far away. Hoseok stumbles and struggles to get his bearings, and when Jimin lets go of his hand, his heart beats too heavily in his chest, and he feels like curling into a ball and crying. 

"Piggyback?" Taehyung asks, crowding in front of Hoseok and bending low. 

"I don't…feel…" Hoseok begins, and Taehyung turns slightly, and says, "I know. It's okay, I'll carry you."

Although Hoseok is no stranger to piggyback rides, getting onto Taehyung's back is extremely precarious. Hoseok flings his arms over Taehyung's shoulders, but he cannot, for the life of him, seem to be able to pull himself up and lift his legs. Two hands on his ass gently but firmly shove him upward, and then arms wrap around his thighs in a haphazard tangle that has Hoseok gripping onto Taehyung for dear life.

People pass them by on the street, and the sounds of their voices are too loud, too high, too conspiratorial. Hoseok buries his face into the nape of Taehyung's neck and attempts to breathe, but his breath is sticky-hot against Taehyung's skin, and he finds that his hair smells oddly familiar. 

"What shampoo do you use?" Hoseok mutters with his lips grazing over the salty-sweet neck.

"Hmm, good question," Taehyung says softly—almost too soft to be heard over the incessant loud clattering of the busy street. "Whatever the hotel supplies."

"I don't think so," Hoseok mumbles, rubbing his nose against the short hairs at Taehyung's neck, detecting hints of something that he knows very, very well—something distinct. 

He wonders if his behavior is odd, but decides he does not want to put Taehyung on the spot to ask. If it is, he finds he does not really want to stop, anyway. If it is not, that may be a strange thing for someone like Taehyung to have to admit to him. 

"Who do I smell like?" Taehyung asks, taking Hoseok by surprise. 

"Jeongguk," he says without giving it a moment of thought.

"Jeongguk," Taehyung parrots, squeezing at Hoseok's heart because to say a name aloud gives it power, and Jeongguk is the kind of man who—Hoseok surmises—has had a little too much power at his fingertips. "Pretty name. Who is that?"

"Someone I love," Hoseok says, resting the side of his face against Taehyung's shoulder and daring to open his eyes. All the lights on the street vibrate and trail, vivid and abnormal, almost oppressive in their glow. "Someone who broke my trust but who I would give anything to see again."

Hoseok thinks he hears Taehyung hum; he thinks he feels it. And then Taehyung carries him off the main stretch and into a quieter area. Hoseok lets out a deep exhale, thankful for the barrage of sounds to end. Even without glancing around, he can smell pollen and tree sap, and he thinks he knows where he is.

"The botanical gardens?" Hoseok asks. 

"Clever, clever," he hears Jimin respond. 

Hoseok closes his eyes and sighs, and when he opens them, he is standing on his own two feet, staring up at the night sky through large panes of rectangular glass. The stars and clouds twist and sway like a Van Gogh painting, and he blinks slowly, curious when they change form and disappointed when they begin to smudge and wither away. 

And then he is sitting on a wooden bridge beside a pond, watching koi fish walk by. They all hold briefcases and wear little top hats, and Hoseok giggles at the thought of them all leaving to go to their day jobs. What would koi fish do for a living, dressed that way? Stockbrokers? Too droll for something so pretty and lucky, he thinks, but it is perhaps a prosperous enough career.

"It was overwhelming," Hoseok hears himself say, and then he realizes he is holding his hand out so that giant, mutant moths and butterflies might land on him. They have fangs and many eyes, but there is something in their body language—their gentle wingbeats—that tells Hoseok they are not to be feared. Or, perhaps, he is too trusting. "It felt like the start of an action film scene when the music comes on, and everything is just…culminating to something big and scary and…overbearing."

Hoseok forgets what he is talking about until Taehyung says, "That can happen sometimes, but I had you safely on my back."

Oh, right, Hoseok thinks. He must have been talking about the walk over here. He wonders how long ago that was.

So many things occur, and Hoseok lies on his back and simply experiences them. He thinks he sees Yoongi's face in everything—the flowers, the trees, the make-believe butterflies and woodland creatures with too many eyes. Hoseok thinks he sees his parents, and he even gets up and chases his mother around along the wooden bridges that go over a small river, laughing and singing her name. But then he is returned to his back in a large patch of itchy grass, in between two bodies.

"Is he one of the ghosts you are chasing?" Taehyung asks.

Hoseok turns to Taehyung and asks, "Who?" and as soon as Taehyung responds, "Jeongguk," his face morphs, causing Hoseok's eyes begin to well up with tears.

"Yeah," Hoseok says. "It's a long story."

"Chasing ghosts," Jimin mutters to himself, and Hoseok hums.

Hoseok's palm snags on wood, and although it does not hurt too much, when he looks at his hand, blood that morphs into flowing red glitter pours from his skin and into the river below, causing all the water that he can see to begin to shimmer and glow. He laughs so much he cries, and then he turns to tell the others what he saw, realizing he is standing on a bridge at the center of the garden, alone. 

Jimin and Taehyung are true to their word of answering Hoseok's questions, but he struggles to fully wrap his mind around too many of the details. Everything looks so strange and silly—currently drawn in crayon and wiggling as if the pages of a sketchbook are being flipped quickly from frame to frame.

"...chasing us," Taehyung's voice says. 

"Have you ever heard of cryogenic freezing?" Jimin's voice asks. 

"It is not as if your body dies fully," Taehyung's voice adds, "it just rests for a long period of time, somewhere safe."

"...one day, but for now, we like these ones," Jimin mutters softly. Then, he adds, "Hmm, I think he's too high for this."

Hoseok opens his eyes, attempting to sort out what they are talking about, but finds he is standing at the foot of a small waterfall alone. He stumbles away from the whooshing water, down semi-familiar paths that seem to be made of dirt until he blinks and they become stone and then he blinks and they become the large scales of a massive snake, or maybe a dragon, then the clearing opens, and he finds the other two standing with their arms stretched out at their sides and their heads tipped back. 

"Oh," Hoseok says, feeling uncomfortable with disturbing their peace, muttering much more quietly, "I found you."

Jimin drops his hands and runs over with a smile so bright, Hoseok has to look away. 

"There's my favorite boy," Yoongi's deep voice rasps as Jimin presses his warm hands into Hoseok's hair. Hoseok thinks he is sweating a lot, but Jimin does not seem to mind. 

As Hoseok watches Jimin, he tries not to feel too sullen about how easily he can morph into Yoongi and back. When it becomes too much to bear, he closes his eyes.

"My dad owned it," Jimin says, and Hoseok stares at the sky with teary eyes, unsure what they are talking about. 

"And then what?" Hoseok asks in an attempt to catch up.

"He died," Jimin says, "and I inherited it. I don't know what to do with it…what does one do with a botanical garden? I might sell it. It's in a good spot, being on the harbor. I think that's why my dad owned it."

"What do you mean?" Hoseok asks, blinking heavily—dizzy.

"Ugh, this conversation is boring," Jimin pouts, rolling over and draping his arm over Hoseok's body. 

Hoseok realizes, from Jimin's touch, that he is lying in the grass naked—no, not on the grass, but maybe on his clothing. When he looks up, Jimin, on his left, and Taehyung, on his right, are also naked. 

"I'm—we're—naked," Hoseok points out, and Taehyung chuckles. 

"Don't worry, we didn't do anything. The grass was just getting itchy and the clothing felt constrictive. Do you feel better now?"

Hoseok says, "Yes," but he is unsure how he felt before. 

"Good," Taehyung says, voice closer than Hoseok expects. Fingertips brush through Hoseok's hair, and he closes his eyes. 

Time passes, and voices speak to and around and beneath and inside him. Hoseok struggles to keep up, only able to focus on the fingertips that occasionally lazily play with his hair. 

"I miss him," Hoseok croaks, feeling tears rise. Around him, vines and branches twist and crowd, closing in on him—suffocating. He is still naked but sitting up. "I miss him so much. I shouldn't love him; I know I shouldn't love him. But I do."

Jimin reaches up and gently grabs Hoseok with both hands, cupping his cheeks and thumbing at his tears. His features twist and shape, soft to sharp to soft, clenching at Hoseok's heart. He asks, "You love him a lot, hmm?" and Hoseok sobs a laugh that is wet and disgusting, stuck in his throat. 

"He saved my life," Hoseok mutters, staring Jimin in his ever-shifting eyes. "I was shot and the order was to wait until our team called all clear before they would come and assess me. But I was bleeding a lot and he…he stormed in and he killed the man right in front of me—the one who shot me—and he carried me out. Nobody would have…nobody could have ever done that for me."

Hoseok does not fault Namjoon for not being able to, and he hates that his brain considers the notion at all. Namjoon has neither the training nor life experience to have handled a situation like that; it all happened under unique, specific circumstances. But the truth stands that without Yoongi, Hoseok could have been in critical danger that night. There is a chance he could have died.

"It's unfair," Hoseok mutters, feeling as if the air is thickening around him and crushing him down into a pulp. "I didn't mean to love someone else. It's not fair, and what I did was not fair." Another sob works its way up into Hoseok's chest, and he leans forward into Jimin's hands, forehead resting against his. "I love him so much. I love him so much, Jimin; I don't know what to do. He's gone and a piece of me feels empty and I don't know what to do."

"What would you say to him if he were here?" Taehyung asks, making Hoseok gasp; he had forgotten briefly that there was a person sitting beside him, despite feeling the consistent warmth that Taehyung emits. 

"Just that I love him," Hoseok mutters, sinking further down until Jimin's arms are wrapped around him, and his head is resting on Jimin's shoulder, warm skin on warm skin. "That I'm sorry. I'm sorry to him. I'm sorry to Namjoon. I'm sorry to Jeongguk. Everything is a mess that I cannot handle on my own, and I am sorry."

Hoseok continues to cry. He worries about being a burden and bringing the others down—after all, this could not have been what either of them hoped for when they set out to do drugs tonight. But he cannot help himself. 

Briefly, it feels as if all the vines in the garden wrap around and lift him, slithering and writhing, holding him pliant—oppressive, but comforting. And then he opens his eyes, and he is laying on his back with his hands under his head, looking upward. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Taehyung asks, and Hoseok watches as the night sky flickers into view, stars twinkling in full display.

"Yeah," he mutters, licking at his dry lips. "Really beautiful."

There are moments as he stares at his surroundings when Hoseok watches everything twist back to normalcy. He thinks he may finally be evening out a little. The sky above looks a faint blue, as if light is beginning to seep into the dark but only ever so slightly, and he wonders if so many hours have passed that night is ending.

"How do you feel?" Taehyung asks so close that hot breath wafts over Hoseok's bare shoulder. 

"Good," Hoseok says through a sigh, limbs loose and mind contented. There is still a buzz on the periphery of everything, and his eyelids flutter and tremble, but Hoseok thinks he is beginning to return to normalcy once more. 

Jimin stands and stretches his limbs out, letting his head loll back as he sighs in a way that nearly sounds like a moan. Hoseok is stunned by the taut, firm muscle and soft, supple skin that makes up Jimin's form. He looks like someone who trains hard physically to stay in shape, like a dancer. 

"It's rude to stare," Jimin drawls deeply, forcing Hoseok's eyes to his face. 

"S-sorry," Hoseok begins, and Jimin grins mischievously as his hands rub over his pecs and down to his hips.

"Don't worry, baby," Jimin says sweetly, dropping to his knees and crawling to Hoseok, slotting his body beside him. "I know you like to look at me; you've been doing it all night. It's been hard keeping my hands off you, but…you know…the drugs."

Hoseok does not fully know, and he shakes his head, "What do you mean?"

With a soft chuckle, Jimin says, "I wanted to fuck you all night, but it's hard to consent when you're tripping, so I held my tongue—didn't wanna ask."

"Oh."

Suddenly, Hoseok's body sings with excitement, and he takes a deep breath. Fingertips trace over Hoseok's hip at the same time lips touch his shoulder, and he turns his head to find Taehyung's long, golden limbs cuddled very close. 

"Glad I wasn't the only one thinking it," Taehyung mutters against Hoseok's skin, giving him goosebumps.

"But you're married," Jimin audibly pouts, forcing Hoseok's attention back to him. 

"I'm—" Hoseok begins. He closes his eyes and attempts to get his head set straight, but fireworks burst brightly behind his lids, causing his entire body to feel electric and warm. 

"What if we were them?" Taehyung asks so softly, Hoseok wonders if he imagines it. 

"You could pretend," Jimin responds so close to Hoseok's face, he can smell his warm, tangy-sweet breath.

When Hoseok opens his eyes, the gardens tilt and sway—he is definitely still high, but not nearly as much as before. Jimin kisses his neck while Taehyung kisses his shoulder, and he shudders against the feeling and sighs. 

"Don't you want me, Seokie?" Jimin asks, only the voice does not belong to Jimin—the words do not belong to him, either. Hoseok gasps and looks at him, finding Jimin's pretty round eyes going sharp once more. 

"Yes," Hoseok mutters without giving it too much thought, drunk on the idea of fucking someone who can so easily look like Yoongi. "Need you."

"Are you consenting to just one of us?" Taehyung asks against Hoseok's skin. "Or both of us?"

"Both of you," Hoseok whimpers, eyes fluttering closed again, desperate to see Jeongguk one last time, "please."

"Sure you're not too high?" one of their voices asks.

"I am high," Hoseok admits, "but I don't think I'm too high."

"Tell us to stop if you get overwhelmed," the other voice says, "call your safeword if you need to."

Hoseok nods, says, "Yes, okay," and opens his eyes to Jimin hovering close, shifting and sharpening and softening. 

When Hoseok reaches up and gently takes Jimin's face to pull him close, he feels an electric spark snap between his and Jimin's mouths. Jimin is pillow soft and salty-sweet, and Hoseok falls pliant at the feeling of a tongue and teeth scraping gently at his lip. 

Limbs twist and tangle, and Hoseok cannot keep up with the warmth that engulfs him, moaning and sinking to the feeling of hands and mouths. Taehyung swallows his cock in one swift motion that has him sobbing into Jimin's open lips, and his body feels pulled taut, and ready to burst, each feeling magnified almost to the point of driving him mad. He is dreadfully hard but not sure whether he could actually come, chasing and chasing his high as Taehyung audibly gags around him, covering him in drool. 

Jimin is gone but Taehyung is still here, and he has Hoseok flipped onto his stomach and is eating him out like a man starved. He keeps muttering shit like, "You taste so fucking good," and Hoseok's head absolutely spins. He is grateful the two of them are so intent on pleasing him; although he is returning to himself more and more, little by little, the thought of using his hands and mouth to make someone feel good is daunting, at best. 

When Jimin returns, he gets between Hoseok's thighs and begins to prod him open with lube-slicked fingers. Hoseok could swear that with each moan, the flowers around him open a little wider and bloom a little brighter. 

"Color?" Taehyung asks sweetly, petting the hair away from Hoseok's sweat-slicked forehead with a smile that shifts from rectangular to something almost resembling a long-lost friend. 

"Green!" Hoseok sobs, feeling prised open and prodded at in a most delicious way. Jimin's movements are perfect, almost as if he knows Hoseok's body by heart. 

Hoseok whimpers into Taehyung's open mouth, face held tightly in place as Jimin eases his cock into his ass, carving him slowly. The pleasure that bursts through his limbs causes him to tremble and shake violently.

"Color?" Taehyung mutters while sucking on the tip of Hoseok's tongue.

"Green," Hoseok responds as best as he can. 

Blunt fingernails scrape down Hoseok's back, then Jimin grips tightly to his hips and slams forward, spearing his cock nice and deep, and asking, "Does this feel good, baby boy?"

"Yes, daddy," Hoseok whimpers into Taehyung's lips, fisting the loose, scattered clothing beneath his hands nice and tight, barely registering his own words. 

Jimin sets a punishing pace, fucking Hoseok so hard and good that the only sounds he can make are choked sobs. When he finally gets the courage to sink Taehyung's cock into his throat—pleased with the lack of gag reflex—Taehyung grips tightly to Hoseok's hair and moans, "F-fuck! I'm still not used to how good this feels."

Hoseok is full and sated in the best way possible, and he sits pliant with his ass held high as Taehyung shifts onto his knees and begins to fuck his face. Tears, drool, and lube drip cool and sticky, making Hoseok feel used and dirty—elated.

"So fucking needy, baby," Jimin grits as if the words are hard to say. His hands squeeze and slap at Hoseok's flesh, making him tremble and whine—sputtering choked sounds and drooling around Taehyung's thick cock. 

"I don't know if I can come, but I don't ever want to stop fucking you," Jimin whines. 

"Same," Taehyung cries. "Holy fuck, this feels so good!"

Hoseok is certain that he will also be unable to come, and he has no desire to stop. He hardly feels sore where he is fucked or firm-touched, and his jaw is relaxed. 

They change positions. Hoseok is on his back, watching with wide, greedy eyes as Taehyung lifts his ankles onto his shoulders and presses a lube-slick cock nice and deep and slow into him. Taehyung is much bigger than Hoseok expects and the pleasure-burn of the stretch has him fisting handfuls of grass and fabric while he pants through the feeling and sobs. 

Jimin disappears and returns again shortly. "Danm, you two look so fucking good," he groans, making Hoseok blush and bite his bottom lip, feeling giddy. 

As Taehyung begins to set a steady pace with his thrusts, Jimin crawls over Hoseok and wiggles his ass in his face. Hoseok grips onto Jimin's hips and pulls him close, lifting his head to lick and suck at Jimin's pretty, puckered rim. He tastes like heaven—heady and ever so slightly salty-sweet—and Jimin moans pretty and deep as he leans forward and trembles in Hoseok's grasp.

Hoseok only stops to gather clothing beneath his head like a pillow to support his neck better in his efforts to eat Jimin out. Taehyung fucks Hoseok hard and fast, and the three of them create a symphony of sounds between choked and screamed syllables, and the slapping of skin against skin. 

Time is still an elusive thing, but it feels more tangible now than it has in hours. Hoseok is more able to stay in the present, although he seems to lose track between eating Jimin's ass and swallowing his cock nice and deep.

Sun begins to shine ahead, and as their bodies slow and begin to gradually wear down, they become less of a machine meant to fuck and please and take, and more a writhing tangle of limbs—heavy and tired. 

"Let's sleep," Jimin mutters into Hoseok's drool-covered neck. 

"Sounds good," Hoseok responds through trembling lips. 

They gather their clothing and stumble naked through grass, along paths Hoseok hadn't taken, into a door that says Employees Only. Inside is a large room with a bed, a television, and more amenities that Hoseok is unable to fully comprehend—a coffee pot, maybe. Perhaps a microwave. 

The three of them fall into bed, and Hoseok closes his eyes, thinking only of Yoongi and Jeongguk. And when he wakes up alone beside a pile of folded clothing, his heart sinks, and he misses the two of them more than ever before. 

Hoseok is not one to wear out a welcome, and he gets dressed quickly. He is exhausted, and his thirst and hunger are so intense, his body feels like an empty husk. Although he trusts that Jimin and Taehyung have not robbed him, he pats down his pockets for his phone and wallet, and then he leaves, checking to make sure the door locks from the other side, in case the others will not be back until later. 

People meander around the botanical garden, which feels a bit strange. Hoseok glances around, taking in the paths that lead into trees. He thinks about the small waterfall and wooden bridges; of the little river, and the koi fish. Vaguely, he remembers the fish on their way to work, and the mutant moths and butterflies, and the glittering blood shimmering into the stream. He looks at his palm and sees a tiny wooden splinter surrounded by pink, angry skin, and he picks at it for a few seconds before determining that it will need to be dealt with later.

As he makes his way to the exit, he tries to remember more, but the conversations are too hazy, and he struggles to make sense of much. There is a sinking feeling that the two of them told him something important, but all he can do is hope that it all comes back to him, at some point. 

Hoseok feels strange in his body. Discombobulated, as if he is in someone else's skin for the first time. This sensation is not foreign, but it is not usual for him to feel this way without being jumped into a host. He has a looming sense of dread and loss that, no matter how much he tries to distract himself with people-watching and searching his surroundings, he is unable to shake.

He comes to a café that is between the botanical garden and his hotel, and he has a seat on the patio. When the server brings him a menu, Hoseok finds he struggles to read it, having a hard time focusing on the English words in front of him, breathing with his eyes closed so he can get a grip. He orders an omelet and coffee, and then grips tightly to a tall glass of water which he nearly finishes in two gulps. Then he fishes out his phone, eager for the first time in what seems like ages to know what time it is.

It takes Hoseok by surprise to see that it is three in the afternoon, but that would explain why the sun is so bright and hot. On his screen are two notifications, one from Namjoon and one from an unknown number. He assumes the unknown number belongs to Seokjin and opens Namjoon's first, noticing it has come in several hours ago, and responds in earnest. 

Namjoon: Hey, Seok! Just checking in. Do you fly back soon? I want to discuss something with you when you have a chance to talk. 

Hoseok: I fly back tomorrow, home probably some ungodly hour on Monday, but I will let you know when I know more. Do you want to call or wait until I'm home?

As soon as Hoseok opens the other message, it becomes clear that it is not from Seokjin, and his heart begins to thump wildly.

[Unknown]: Sorry we have to say goodbye this way, but our flight is soon. What will you be doing at precisely 8:30, tomorrow morning? There is something we want to discuss.

Hoseok: I will be here, likely waiting to board my flight home. Call when you're free, and I will make sure to be available.

Hoseok does not expect the others to respond so soon, and actually gasps at the sight of three dots bouncing, watching intently for the message to come.

[Unknown]: Sounds good. ;] Will call when we land. Thanks for the fun night, Seokie! 

Hoseok's heart sinks, and he smiles through the urge to cry. How can he possibly miss the two of them so much, when he hardly spent any time with them—when the time spent was so strange and disorienting.

Hoseok: Thank you, as well! Safe travels!

Half of Hoseok's omelet is left uneaten. Although he still feels like a shell of his former self, he is also somewhat nauseous, and he sips at his coffee until it becomes too cold in the afternoon air, then he pays his check and leaves. Rather than make his way back to the hotel, Hoseok doubles back and begins to meander the streets, taking in the sights and sounds and allowing himself to remember them a little more. 

Hoseok: My flight is tomorrow morning at 10:12, and I should be home just after midnight. Namjoon: Ok. I'm gardening with my mom right now, and we have dinner plans for later. Mind if I call around 6:30 in the morning, your time? I want to take my parents to breakfast, and you know they like to wake up really early.

Hoseok: Sure. That's fine. Namjoon: Great. Talk to you soon, Seok!

Hoseok: Sounds good.

Hoseok has restless sleep. He dreams of Yoongi and Jimin morphing into one another, speaking in tongues too soft and convoluted to understand, always just out of reach. He dreams of searching high and low for Namjoon and never finding him, and of Taehyung holding up a deflated, empty version of Jeongguk's skin in his fingers, fiddling with his facial features and commenting on them as if they used to be his. 

When he wakes up in a cold sweat to the sound of his alarm blaring at 6 AM, he sighs and rolls over onto his back, blinking the room into view. The sun has yet to begin rising, but the sky that he can see hints of through dark curtains is a faint dark blue of twilight. Hoseok thinks of the sky through the glass ceiling of the botanical garden, and rolls onto his side as the urge to bawl snakes up into his throat and eyes, rocking through him in devastating waves. 

Hoseok misses everyone he has ever loved so dreadfully, and he has no idea what comes next.

By the time his phone rings, Hoseok has stopped crying. He smiles at the photo of Namjoon on his screen—a picture taken so long ago, showing a crescent moon eye and deep, happy dimple. 

"Hey," Hoseok mutters, voice sounding rough.

"Seok," Namjoon responds. "Sorry for calling so early."

Hoseok sits up against the headboard of the bed and pulls over the snot-stained pillow to hold against his chest. "It's alright, I wake up early, anyway."

"True."

Silence hangs, and Hoseok gives Namjoon time to gather his thoughts. Although he is eager—antsy, even—he has no reason to rush him.

"I took a job in Busan," Namjoon finally blurts.

Hoseok's eyes widen, and he sits up taller. "What?"

"I…listen…" Namjoon sighs. "I love you, but everything has been too much for me to handle. I'm getting angry and taking my anger out on you, and I can't stay focused at work. I just need a little space. I'm sorry for springing it all on you, especially over the phone, but…I don't know. I haven't been able to say it to your face. It's a temporary position training people at a new facility, six months at most, but I think it will be really good for me—for us."

"Okay," Hoseok butts in when it becomes clear that Namjoon will continue to ramble and spiral if he is not cut off. "I don't blame you for needing space. I'm sorry…about…everything."

With Namjoon's next words, his tone has shifted into something more stern and resolved. "Things have been weird between us, and I know that we won't fix them unless I take a step back."

"Okay."

"I don't want to date anyone else," Namjoon adds quickly, "and I don't want to get a divorce. I just need to take a little time."

The old familiar vines of guilt twist and twist as the memory of letting Jimin and Taehyung fuck Hoseok begins to seep in. "Alright."

"Have you heard from…you know?" Namjoon asks. "Them?"

"No," Hoseok says quickly, then sighs. "No, I haven't."

Namjoon's voice sounds sad and somewhat small as he asks, "Will you tell me if you have?"

"Of course," Hoseok lies, unsure what the circumstances could be, should he hear from them—unsure whether Jimin and Taehyung truly were not them, somehow; unsure which parts of his trip were real and which were not, struggling to grasp onto what they discussed throughout the night. "Of course, I will."

"Okay," Namjoon mutters. "Thank you, Seok."

"Anything you need," Hoseok says, feeling somewhat numb. Although Namjoon insists that it is all temporary, there is a finality in his tone that Hoseok detects. He knows Namjoon well enough. And, try as he might to feel sad, he struggles in this moment to feel much at all.

"I have to go. Mom wants to try a new breakfast spot, and dad is fussing about getting there before there's a crowd."

"Of course," Hoseok says with a sad smile; he misses Namjoon's parents. "Tell mom and dad I say hi."

"Will do."

"And let me know how the new position goes. I'm rooting for you, Joonie."

"Okay," Namjoon says softly. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Hoseok mutters, chest tightening. "Just take care of yourself. We'll talk soon."

"I love you, Seok."

Hoseok says, "I love you too," in a choked voice, hanging up before Namjoon can hear him cry. Suddenly, all of his emotion floods back, threatening to drown him.  

This is the end, he thinks to himself. 

Namjoon has a new job, and soon he will have a new life. Soon, with clarity of mind, he will fully understand the gravity of Hoseok's actions, and he will not forgive him. And why would he? Hoseok knows that what he has done is unforgivable.

This is the end, and everyone he has ever loved is gone. Hoseok cries into the pillow, sobbing loud and terrible as his body quakes, weathering the storm inside him. When crying becomes too much, he drifts off to a short, dreamless sleep, feeling both heavy and gutted all at once.

At the sound of his phone ringing, Hoseok rubs his snotty, tear-streaked face on the pillow and groggily sits up. He knows without looking at the screen who is calling, and he sniffles as he answers with a raspy, "Hello?"

"Hoba," Jimin's voice—Yoongi—says on the other line, making Hoseok's heart sink. "Hey, baby."

"Y-Yoongi?" Hoseok croaks, practically no sound coming out as his head spins.

"I'm sorry we couldn't fully be honest. Do you remember anything we told you last night?"

"No," Hoseok sobs, and tears rise, clouding his vision. 

"It wasn't safe for you to know while we were there. It's still not safe. You need to break communication with Seokjin and turn your company's sights on him."

"What do you—"

"He's my brother," Jeongguk says in Taehyung's soft but deep voice; they must have him on speaker. "He's been tracking us down and trying to kill me. I didn't realize until recently that he and dad have been working together. It's…a long story. He's been on the run for so long, I didn't think he would come back, but when Yoongi's father died, it seems he got paranoid. I think he's been protecting dad. We had to change our identities. Now do you understand?"

"I think so," Hoseok mutters, "but why—"

"It all happened so fast," Jimin's voice responds. "It was my idea to run. We wanted to tell you, but we were unsure which lines of communication were safe."

"Not to mention," Taehyung's voice adds, "since you did so much to help us, you deserve to know that this was the reason we wanted the implants, all along."

"Oh," Hoseok responds, remembering back when he and Yoongi were in the hospital, and Yoongi said, You're our hope.

"I'm sorry we had to leave without saying anything," Jimin's voice chimes in, deep and sad, with a slight rasp that feels familiar. "We knew all along that we would eventually have to say goodbye, and we tried not to get too close, but…well, you guys made that pretty difficult for us.  And when your company began to look into us, as Jimin and Taehyung, I knew that Seokjin was at the heart of it."

"We started appearing out in public a little carelessly, hoping he would lead you to us," Taehyung's voice adds, "we wanted to see you one last time."

"But we had to keep hiding," Jimin's voice says. "He knows my dad owned the botanical garden as a drug front, staying close to the harbor. We've had our own security team tailing us while trying to be as public as possible, for you to notice us."

"We were weary at first," Taehyung's voice adds, "spending a little time watching you to make sure you were alone."

"Sorry we had to keep so much a secret," Jimin's voice continues, sounding sad. "I love you, Hoba. You know that, right?"

Hoseok attempts to respond—wants to tell Yoongi so badly that he loves him more than he could ever put into words. But the syllables choke and fail, and he sobs so hard his chest feels as if it might be caving in. He tightens up into a ball, hugging the pillow and his knees tight to his chest, squeezing the phone against his ear. 

"When the coast is clear, we can come back," Taehyung's voice finally says. "Our bodies aren't dead, they're just…"

"Resting," Jimin's voice adds. "Frozen. If you can help us get rid of Seokjin and Jaebeom, we can come home."

For all he knows, the two of them could be using him again—toying with him in some new scheme, just as they had been in the beginning. But Hoseok cannot bring himself to care. Not when there is a goal. Not when he has a chance to see the two of them again. 

"Can you submit a formal request?" Hoseok asks. "If The Boss knows it's you, she'll—"

"We can, but we don't want her to know," Taehyung's voice responds. 

"Wait, why?"

"We're not fully sure we can trust her," Jimin's voice adds sternly. "She seemed to know my dad well, and although she was willing to call the execution order, she always seemed to have ulterior motives…something she was not telling us. When she almost left you in the warehouse to die, it opened my eyes. We'll be contacting her with agents who we have been working with, once we have our story straight, but only you will know that it is us."

"If you can do this one last job, it will all be over," Taehyung's voice says. 

"We can return to our former selves, and you can take that vacation you talked about," Jimin's voice adds. 

"I could retire," Hoseok mutters under his breath. 

"Maybe the four of us—" Taehyung's voice begins, and Hoseok scoffs, cutting him off.

"Namjoon's gone."

In tandem, one voice asks, "Huh?" while the other asks, "What do you mean?"

"He took a job in Busan. He's been staying with his parents. We've…we're not getting along anymore. He says he wants to clear his head and have some space, but I know him; I could hear it in his voice. I don't think he's coming back."

"Hyung," Taehyung's voice says in a comforting tone, but Hoseok shakes his head for no one to see. 

"It's fine. Regardless, I can't look forward to him coming back. I can't keep my hopes up. If he does, then I will do my best to be there for him, but I have already fucked up so much that I can't look forward to it."

"I'm sorry, Hoba," Jimin's voice mutters sweetly. 

With a sigh, Hoseok begins to feel antsy to pack his suitcase and get to the airport. He just wants to return to his empty home, climb into bed, and close his eyes to the world. 

"Submit your request when you're ready and I'll see what we can do," Hoseok says, sitting up, feeling his tear streaks finally begin to dry. 

"Will do," Jimin's voice says. "Safe travels, Hoba. We're going to head off to another continent soon. We'll try to keep in touch."

"What about the real Jimin and Taehyung?" Hoseok asks, unsure whether he wants the answer. 

"Ah," Jimin's voice says, "they're…dead."

"Dead," Hoseok responds flatly.

"They were in a coma," Jimin's voice continues, "and their families were going to take them off life support. The hospital had been working with my father in some shady dealings…essentially handing over nearly-dead people as test subjects whose bodies could be jumped into—pretending to take patients off life support in front of their families, faking identities, and so on."

"How does the company fake open casket funerals?" Hoseok asks through a dark laugh.

"Artist renderings," Jimin's voice responds with a sardonic chuckle of his own. "You would be amazed what they can do with wax, clay, and paint. I touched one of the fake bodies once, and the texture was uncanny…I wouldn't be surprised if they were using real, human skin. I didn't want to ask. It's morally grey at best…pretty fucked up, honestly…but we saw an opportunity and we took it." 

Taehyung chimes in, "Jimin and Taehyung were a couple. They went into a coma while using cocaine that was laced with fentanyl…ironic, considering that was the charge we were using to put a stop to our dads, in the first place. Jimin was pronounced dead first, and then Taehyung three days later. We left Korea, and their families have no idea."

"You know I have to shut that program down," Hoseok mutters, feeling both disappointed but relieved that they had such a convenient way to escape.

"We'll add it to the file," Jimin's voice says, smile evident in his tone. "Give us a few days…a week at most."

"Alright," Hoseok says, feeling a strange sense of resolve. "Submit your request as soon as possible, and I will do whatever it takes. And keep in touch, please?"

"Of course," Jimin's voice says, "I love you, Hoba."

"I love you, too. Both of you. Very much."

"Be safe," Taehyung's voice says, clenching at Hoseok's heart. 

"You too. And thank you for the trip. It was…strange. But perfect, too. I can't pinpoint why, but it was exactly what I needed."

"I know," Jimin's voice says. "I know you."

Silence hangs on the line, and Hoseok holds his breath, counting the seconds. For the life of him, he cannot bring himself to end the call. 

"Alright," Jimin's voice says, "This is goodbye, for now. I don't know when we will be in touch, but I promise you, we will."

"Okay," Hoseok responds sullenly. "Goodbye. I love you."

"I love you," the voices say, followed by, "Goodbye."

Hoseok hangs up and clenches his phone tightly to his chest. Everything feels final in a way, but also hopeful. He at least has something to set his sights on, and although he laments on how events have happened, he is just glad to know that everyone who he holds dear is safe. Despite how everything hangs in the balance, shrouded with so many unknown factors that only time can unravel, he has a goal, and he feels hopeful. 

Despite his deep loneliness, he feels loved.

"Alright," Hoseok mutters to himself, stretching his limbs and kicking the hotel bedding away. The sun shines brightly through the dark curtains, and he glances around the space with a sigh. "Time to go home."

Tuesday comes and goes with Hoseok barely leaving bed. Namjoon had already packed and moved out many of his belongings, and everything feels too fucking weird to comprehend.

On Wednesday morning, Hoseok returns to work bright and early. 

The Boss waits for him beside his office door, clutching a manila folder in her grasp. She wears a black satin shirt with a ruffled neckline tucked into a bright red pencil skirt and sharp, black high heels. Hoseok wonders what new client she is trying to impress. 

"New case," she says as Hoseok approaches. "Seems the guys Kim Seokjin were after are pulling an uno reverse and filing a claim against him."

"Oh?" Hoseok asks, taking the file and unlocking his office door. 

When The Boss says nothing, Hoseok turns and finds her standing with her arms folded over her chest, regarding Hoseok with a lifted eyebrow. 

"Yes?" he asks, making her scoff. 

"What did you find in Australia?" she asks after a moment.

"Nothing," Hoseok says, schooling his features to appear impassive. "I spent the weekend chasing ghosts. I have a hunch the two of them caught onto me being there and fled; perhaps they knew Seokjin was asking me to look into them."

"Hmm," The Boss responds, unconvinced. "So you don't think Jimin and Taehyung could be Yoongi and Jeongguk?"

With a shrug, Hoseok flips through the file, catching onto keywords on the first two pages, and then says, "If it is them, we likely won't know until Seokjin is removed from the equation. Maybe your earlier hunch is correct, and Seokjin is protecting his father from Jeongguk. If these two are Yoongi and Jeongguk, then the hit on them may have been real, rather than a decoy…but for now, there is no way to know."

"Well, I want you on this case as the point person, so once you are ready to meet with the agents who have filed this report, let me know and we can discuss the details. Unfortunately, it seems our Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung have fled to the United States, but we have a phone number on file in case we need to get in touch with them."

"Sounds good," Hoseok says, turning to make his way to his desk. 

"If you think it really is them, then I want to treat this case with the utmost urgency," The Boss adds, and for the first time, Hoseok thinks he might detect something like fondness, maybe even worry in her tone. "If it really is our boys, then I have a feeling that key players from Min's former team could be helping them out. Maybe they know something about the technology that could help us. Either way, I want our boys home safe."

"Okay," Hoseok says, resolved with his new task, feeling hopeful. The sooner he kills Kim Seokjin and Jeon Jaebeom, the sooner he can bring Yoongi and Jeongguk home. Luckily for them, nobody is better at this task than Jung Hoseok. "We'll do whatever it takes. We'll bring our boys home."

wow. here we are, at the end. when i set out to write this fic, all i wanted to explore were the messy feelings and the body swap smut/selfcest. i kind of intended for it to be a whirlwind that has no solid ending, but then i became too busy to update frequently. i hope that this ending, after all this time, does not feel like a letdown. i rather like the idea of everything being up in the air and hopeful. i can't, in good conscious, give them a truly happy ending after everything they have put each other through, but giving them a concrete sad ending also breaks my heart. like yoongi and jungkook, i set out on this mission to perform a quick and dirty job and get the fuck out, but i grew attached.

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this fic. my writing style has completely changed from chapter 1...it hardly feels like the same person when i look back at it. i love this story a lot, and it is an honor that you have spent time reading it with me. it is one of the more experimental ones on my list, and despite its longevity, it gets very little love compared to my other fics. if you have ever read, commented, reblogged, or liked, you mean the world to me!!! i am so sad to say goodbye to these four, but a massive weight has been lifted. it has been so long, and we are finally here, and i am very grateful. 💛💛💛 stay hydrated!!! i love you!!! if you have any questions involving the characters or events, or if you want to discuss possibilities about their futures, i am happy to wax poetic day and night!

maybe one day i will write an epilogue. we'll see.

please don’t be a silent reader! feedback & reblogs do so much to help content creators! and likes are nice too!!!

tag list: @codeinebelle, @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @jminssiii​ @m1sss1mp​​, @mgthecat,​ @moonleeai, @spookyminyunki ✨

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Dollhouse is copyright 2022 - 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

[wanderingblindly]

'Twas tagged in this again by @avida-heidia-5!! I decided to take this as a chance to post the last line I wrote in a long untouched WIP, maybe it'll spark my motivation again ^^

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like)

But he’s warm, a swirl of golden curls surrounding him like a halo and an oversized sweatshirt hoodie bunched around his neck. Angelic, eyes of liquid blue and outstretched fingers made of something firmer than Charles. Warm summer sun, blurring next to him as he blinks.  Fluttering between them, defying the stagnant air of the subway carriage, hangs a tissue.

(I haven't touched this since august and I'm actually really liking what I have... so thank you for the tag! and the reason to open it again!)

[anodetomotion]

Miu Miu Ready-To-Wear Spring Summer 2024

06/10/23 written by Rachel for An Ode To Motion.

The Miu Miu Spring Summer 2024 collection, a rationale of beauties by Miuccia Prada presented a modern exploration of beauty and a celebration of women. This show was a tribute to the neoteric woman, with all their facets and flaws - finding beauty in the intricate details. You cannot define a woman through 1 thing.

It’s almost as if Miuccia Prada herself walked into our wardrobes, closed her eyes and paired the two most outlandish pieces together in the best way. Speedos worn under a leather bomber, a glistening golden dress paired down with an oversized sweater. The layering was ludicrous, almost comical - but it worked. 

For me watching this collection, I instantly took to the concept of workwear. Gen-Z have been challenging the notion of workwear as they have established themselves in the workplace environment. Workwear as a seperate entity from day or nightwear has been newly challenged, blurring the lines between how we dress for work and play. A blazer can be seen in any setting, as is sequins to loose tailoring and more. In this collection, we see rolled-up blazers in its classic tones of navy and brown reminding us of preppy private school boys, seemingly paired with a bright, and often outlandish bottom. From creamy ruffled mini skirts to neon shorts with an exposed drawstring once solely fit for the beach - we celebrate a clash between worlds.

In our first looks, neon contrasted with tones often set for fall - navy, grey and black. As we continued, colours and tones were paired together to evoke the essence of spring. Think soft pastel greens and muted purples or yellow tied perfectly together with a hint of grey. Black also became a notable theme, with small peaks of bright colours to tie the collection together.

Troye Sivan making an appearance was the tip of the iceberg. His look felt clean and poised, like a private school kid after swim practice. This collection spoke to the heart of our generation, as Miu Miu always does.

[scout-company]

Dead or Alive—Chapter 9

Devon hasn’t stepped foot this far out of town in years. But now she is running across the sand as fast as her heels will let her.

The setting sun is starting to ignite the air a golden orange, grazing the tips of the hills Devon crosses. Just a few more hills. The yellow beam had shot down just past the oasis sands. 

As soon as she finds this bandit, she is going to give him a piece of her—

“Oi!” Scout whistles somewhere just behind her.

“Devon! Wait!” Semyon all but barks somewhere nearby.

“No!” Devon steals a brief glance over her shoulder as she starts up the next hill. The Novakid is charging—scrambling—ahead of her buddies. Semyon is helping Alice up the hill with a tug to her arm.

Scout’s fast. As soon as Devon looks away from her and the others, Scout is almost by her side. “Where do ya think yer going?” she crackles, her plasma churning and flashing like an angry lava lamp with each syllable.

Devon presses forward. “I’m finding that bandit,” she declares.

“Alone? Y’ain’t armed!” Scout pops, the frequencies behind her voice sailing high like microphone feedback. “How do ya know where yer goin’, anyhow?”

Nosy Novakid. “I saw him beam down this way,” she huffs, “Good enough?”

Scout doesn’t seem to catch the venom Devon injects into her voice to tell her to go away. Instead she brightens, the ends of her untamed corona bob perking like animal ears. “Ya did? That makes our job mighty easy!”

Devon shoots her a glare. “Your job? It’s my antique that bandit stole.”

“So we deal with the bandit and get it back for you,” Semyon says as he cuts between Scout and Devon, voice tense with breathlessness. 

“You? You can’t even lift a butter knife to defend yourself, Semyon!” Devon scoffs.

“Shut it!” Semyon snarls, face and ears blooming red. “Point is, we deal with the bandit, you head back to—”

“No! I am going to—!” Semyon starts to reach a hand out to stop Devon before she can crest the hill. She smacks his hand upwards with a pivot of a heel. But that movement catches a stray root skimming just below the sand. And angers a nearby Trictus burrowed in the sand.

Devon trips over the root just before the monster cactus can swipe at her with its thorns for claws. It sneers, the rainbow leaves atop its head quivering while its “face” stays static.

What happens next is a blur for several moments as Devon tumbles down the wrong side of the hill. She hears the trictus growl, hears Alice yelp. Semyon shouts something, a gun fires once. Twice. Three times. 

Finally Devon slides to a stop. The world takes several more moments to stop spinning around her. She registers the rough grit of sand sneaking its way under the cuffs of her jeans and into her vest as she starts to push herself up. Ugh. She’s going to feel gritty for days now. Her vest is probably scuffed, too.

Dully Devon registers Semyon’s voice calling at her. “Devon! Are you ok?!” Then as he gets closer his warning shifts. “Don’t move!” he insists.

Devon pushes herself to a sitting position anyways. “Go home, don’t move. Make up your mind,” she drawls, squinting against the world trying to spin again. 

Semyon slides to his knees just in front of her, swinging his oversized medical bag off his shoulder. Meanwhile Scout takes a few steps down from the top of the hill above them, now being a brighter light for them than the fading sunset. Alice stands behind her, clutching that broom of hers close and glancing around.

Semyon takes a moment too long for Devon’s liking to open his bag and pull out a roll of gauze bandaging. So she tries to start standing up. Only for a bolt of pain to object from her ankle. She bites a hiss back, but Semyon glances up at her anyways. Great. He has that expression of knowing concern he’s mimicked from Bronzemarch. It looks cartoonish on him.

Devon growls at herself and tries standing again. Other foot first, then—

“I said hold still,” Semyon grunts, placing a huge hand heavy on Devon’s shin to keep her down. “Your ankle’s twisted. Bad.”

“Think I don’t know that,” Devon mutters rebelliously, eyeing the guilty ankle. It’s twisted inwards at an angle even her boot can’t hide. Still she insists, “I can still walk. I need to find that stupid bandit.”

“In this condition?” Semyon scoffs, concern still showing despite the exaggerated twist of dubiousness pinching his features. 

From her position atop the hill Scout pipes up, “What’s got ya so riled up ‘bout that antique anyhow?”

Devon shoots her a look. “I told you: it’s my antique! It’s an heirloom.” She tears her glare away from the Novakid and shifts it over the hill towards where she’d seen the yellow beam. “I’m not going to be the one that loses it after Earth,” she adds under her breath.

Semyon looks up at her with that concern again, eyes softening with something like pity. Sentimental Apex. Devon refuses to meet that pity with anything less than a scowl. “So can you fix this or not?” she huffs at him.

Mild annoyance twists at his thick brows—better than pity, at least—as he reaches back into his back. “Yeah, just give me a sec,” he grunts. “Take off your boot.”

Devon complies this once, gingerly working her boot off. Its black leather has been scuffed by the rough sand and scratched by more than one branch. She dusts it off as much as she can, scowling at the scratches she’s going to have to polish later. 

Meanwhile Semyon gently pulls her foot back into a more proper angle, muttering something like apologies when the pain makes Devon wince. Once it’s less twisted but still visibly swollen, Semyon carefully wraps it in place with the bandaging. Then he pulls out the small syringe of a Stimpack, the red liquid catching Scout’s light. Its needle glitters, highlighting the point in angry orange. Semyon mutters some sort of warning, but Devon bites her lip and forces her focus away from the needle to much to register the words. 

The poke from the Stimpack needle hurts more than it has rights to, but immediately afterwards her ankle is washed with numbness. At least she can breathe now.

She barely listens to Semyon’s warning of caution as she works her boot back on, loosening the zipper an inch to account for the bandaging. His lip twists, but then he puts his surplus supplies away and stands up. Once Devon has her boot back on, she tests it, then starts to stand back up. Semyon offers a hand, but she slaps it away. She’s fine. Putting weight on her numb ankle feels like standing with inanimate lead for a foot, but at least she can stand. 

Devon makes it up the hill, having to slap away Semyon’s offers for assistance twice. Once they make it back up to the crest of the hill, Scout has Devon point the way towards where the yellow beam had been. And by now they’re only one hill away.

The last hill is the tallest yet, reinforced by hundreds of shrubs that are trying to overcome the desert. The sand here is staring to mix with rocks and actual soil, but it’s still dry this time of year. Their footsteps crunch loud enough in the silent twilight air to echo.

Something else also starts to echo as the four of them near the top of the hill. A voice.

Scout stops everyone with a static-like hiss, dropping to her hands and knees to creep the rest of the way up. Devon and the others follow suit.

The voice is grumbling to itself. Devon can’t quite pick out the words, but she recognizes the language as a fellow Human one. 

When the voice exclaims something of frustration barely louder than his grumbling, Scout and the others share a glance. The look in Alice’s eyes is something nearing recognition when she glances at Scout and whispers, “The bandit?”

Scout nods just enough for her bob to rustle with faint static.

“I knew it,” Devon hisses under her breath. She crawls forward a few more feet until she can barely peek over the hill. When she doesn’t see anyone immediately, she raises her voice. “Alright, you idiot! Come out with your hands up!”

Alice squeaks, “What are you—!?”

“Who’s there?!” the voice barks. A weapon clicks.

Scout crawls forward until she passes Devon. Then she carefully scoots to a kneel, pistol in hand. She peers over the edge of the hill, plasma churching and crackling like a campfire. 

Then a man comes into view, storming out of a hiding place beneath the hill. He’s wearing all black, and holding a massive rocket launcher.

As soon as he comes into view, he fires.

Scout whistles and ducks. The rocket pierces the air just over her and Devon. Devon can feel the heat from the rocket as it passes.

Scout fires back, rising to one knee. The gunshots ring in Devon’s ears until she can’t hear anything else.

But the bandit seems focused on Scout. Maybe if Devon takes this chance to sneak around…

She only gets a yard sidling along the crest of the hill before Scout calls out, “Oi! Where’re ya—!?”

Devon looks back right as the bandit fires another rocket. And immediately the air between Devon and Scout bursts into orange plasma. The rocket hit Scout’s arm.

Scout shrieks like the worst speaker feedback. Her gun and a scorched fragment of her prosthetic sleeve hit the sand. The rest of her tumbles backwards, leaving a cloud of glowing plasma behind her. 

Devon registers Semyon crying Scout’s name. Glances over as he rushes to catch her.

The gun. Devon dives for it, biting her lip against the sharp heat as wisps of plasma graze her face. The fragment of Scout’s sleeve flops to the ground as Devon snatches the gun up and stands. She fires a warning shot at the bandit before she can even aim.

“I’ll give you one chance to surrender and return that antique to us, bandit!” she barks.

Below, the bandit raises his rocket launcher again. But then he pauses at Devon’s warning. “You’re not them, are you?” he says.

“We’re Haven Valley,” Devon snaps, ignoring whatever he meant by “them”, “The town you stole from. I’m going to give you three seconds before I—” 

“Wait wait wait wait!” The bandit all but drops his weapon and raises an empty palm. “Cease-fire! I don’t mean any harm to you people.”

~~~~~

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[2030kamenriders]

"Totally normal drawing study" I say after spending way more time that I should've trying to undo and redo various adjustments before just saying "actually? Forget about it, we're gonna post it anyway"

(insert redraw of that one promotional photo of Seonghwa with short white hair, an oversized hoodie, dark blue pants, and a bunch of dusty bandage wraps in place of a shirt.)

Originally I just wanted to draw a sketch. Then thought the sketch looked kinda nice, so I got the pen and added the lineart. Then I thought the colours in the photo were pretty, so I coloured it in digitally.

And it was supposed to be just flat colours, but it looked kinda boring, so I messed with the blur effect a little. Just adding some shadows and stuff. Still think I could've done better with that.

And then the background looked empty, but I didn't want it to be too detailed, so I kinda scribbled in some of the background elements. (There seems to be this big rusty golden thing in the background, with a lot of blue-grey audio speakers in it? And the golden thing isn't exactly a container, but it's kinda tied up, like the speakers are trapped inside? But there's more speakers outside of the golden thing too. There's just, a ton of them. That's maybe 90% of the background.)

So basically... It was supposed to just be a sketch, but it kinda snowballed from there.

Anyway, uh (clicks "post" and then leaves) happy holidays. Eat some soup. Don't freeze. Yeah