#meaning that you could fully be aware that the rules you’re following suck

[thespiritssaidso]

Call Me Cinnamon

Chapter 2: We Get Some Rules to Follow (That and This)

Also, I have decided to dedicate this chapter to @this-is-my-main-i-follow-from. Thank you so much for the lovely comments on ao3! It inspired me to finally finish writing out this chapter. I hope you enjoy <3

—————

Neither of them got any sleep that night.

Cinnamon stayed up because she couldn’t sleep, the adrenaline leftover from when she had realized her situation keeping her up. (Do ghosts even get adrenaline? He’d have to look it up later.)

And Shawn… well, he was busy thinking, despite Cinnamon’s warning against it. He was thinking about how he now knew ghosts were real, and he’s just been possessed by one. Also about how this ghost was not only well aware that he was not psychic, but also knew most of his life story. Well, mostly moments from his childhood, and the slightly unethical way he solved his cases (although that didn’t make it any less creepy).

He glanced at the windows, and saw that some sunlight was starting to peak through. Great, now he was going to be extra tired all day. He turned his head to look at the long horizontal mirror on his wall, and watched as Cinnamon paced around the room.

He had thought about their situation as well. After all, there was now a whole person inside of him, albeit the ghost of one, sharing his body. It felt invasive, like he was now no longer able to have any privacy, never mind the fact she knew more than she should about him. Was this what it was like for people with DID? God, that must suck.

Sometime during the night, he had briefly considered calling Father Westley to see if he was still up, and would be able to perform an exorcism on him. But, something had stopped him. He thought back to when he was talking to Cinnamon, and the dangerous knowledge she told him she had. Sure, she was a bit eccentric, and threw facts about Shawn around like it was confetti. But it was obvious that she had no malicious intent. Besides, what could she do? Tell someone? Yeah, not likely.

“Hey, Shawn?”

He startled a bit, before he looked and saw Cinnamon herself standing right in front of the mirror. She smiled when she saw that he was already up.

“Oh good, you’re awake! How’d you sleep?”

He heaved a sigh. “I didn’t. It’s kinda hard to, when… you know…” Shawn waved his hand around in Cinnamon’s general direction.

She sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth, making a kind of hissing sound. “Yikes. Yeah, sorry about that. I mean, I couldn’t sleep either, if that helps. I was too busy thinking. And maybe experimenting.”

He fully sat up at that. “Experimenting?”

“Mhm! You know, finding out what I can do, now that I’m… well, a ghost.”

She moved over to his nightstand, and put her hand behind a framed photo of him and Gus, as if she was going to push it off. “For instance-”

“No- no wait don’t-!”

Just before her hand hit the picture, it went clean through, and the only thing that could indicate that she had attempted to swat it off was the frame giving a faint tremble.

“Nothing happens. I mean, it moved like, a little bit. But that’s it. I can’t really interact with the material world.”

“Huh. Interesting.” He sat for a minute before speaking up again. “Hey, Cinnamon.”

“Yeah?”

“I know you said that not asking questions was the best way to stay sane…”

“…but?”

“How much do you know?”

She thought about it for a bit, as if debating whether or not she should tell him. She finally came to a decision and said, “Well, depending on how my being here impacts everything… I’d say I know about every case Psych has and will have starting from 2006 up until 2014.”

Shawn could practically feel the delay in his brain as he processed this new information. “You- you can see into the future?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I can’t like, peer into the future and tell you what’s gonna happen. I just… already know what’s gonna happen. It’s all up in here.” With that she knocked on her head a bit. “Except if I forget it. Then I forget it. Until I remember it.”

"Oh, yeah, that's really helpful, Cin."

She smiled a bit. "Thanks! I do try."

He stared at her a while. Was she for real? He just shook his head. "Anyways, I was also thinking last night. And I figured: we need some ground rules, desperately, if we're going to be sharing a body."

She sat down on the bed, facing Shawn. "Alright. Whatcha got?"

He cleared his throat. "Rule one: No offhanded comments about my past, it's creepy."

Cinnamon nodded. "Yeah, I guess that is a little weird. I'll keep it to a minimum. But no absolute promises."

He sighed. That was good enough, he guessed. "Rule two: no, uhhm... looking, when I'm-"

She stopped him before he could go on. "Yeah, you don't have to worry about that. I'd rather keep... that... unknown, thank you very much."

Shawn nodded. "Good, good. Okay, rule three: try to keep...the- the future... stuff, to a minimum."

Cinnamon nodded. "'Kay, no mentioning about how you end up-"

"NO!"

She grinned. "Alright. I won't talk about stuff you don't already know, unless you give me the go ahead."

He groaned. Was this how he was like? Was this how others felt when he was messing with them?

"Rule four:..." He blanked a bit. "What was rule four? I know I made four rules. Three at first, but then there was the rule about the future I just added, so..."

"Don't worry, man. It happens to me all the time. You'll remember it eventually."

Suddenly, Shawn's phone vibrated. He grabbed it from the nightstand to look at what it was. It was a text from Gus, reminding him about their agreement to meet at the Psych office in case they had any walk-in clients.

"Oh my gosh, we're going to the-! Holy shit!" Shawn looked over and saw that in the reflection, it seemed as though his phone was floating, with nothing holding it up. And Cinnamon had looked at the text Gus sent, apparently. Well, that took care of the problem of telling her they had to go.

—————

While he was driving his motorcycle, he started thinking again.

Cinnamon was an… some word that Gus would use to describe her. That fancy sounding one, that started with… an ‘i’? No, it was an ‘e’. Eczema? Wait, that was a kind of rash. Never mind. Bottom line, she was really strange.

For one, it was as though she was constantly happy. The most random things excited her. When she had seen the text saying that they had to go to the psych office, she looked like she would explode. And then she had gone on about how she couldn’t wait to ride ‘The motorcycle’ and see ‘The Psych office’. Her ability to see everything under a such a positive lens really surprised him. Honestly, the fact she was also somehow capable of pronouncing the capital letter in ‘The’ was impressive as well.

Before he knew it, they had arrived.

—————

It had been an hour or so since they got to the office. Gus was busying himself with his emails, Shawn entertaining himself by making a card pyramid, and Cinnamon — from the reflection of the large dry-erase board — had situated herself on the floor, lying spread eagle on her back, staring at the ceiling.

Shawn was just about to put the final two cards at the top when the cordless phone went off, startling him. The cards fell delicately down, ruining all of the hard work he had put into it. Gus answered the phone while Shawn stared pathetically at the little pile of cards.

"Psych office, this is Gus speaking."

"Dang, dude, that's fucked up."

He let out a little whine. "...my cards..."

"Yes Chief... We're on our way." He hung up.

That shook Shawn out of his daze. "What did the Chief want?"

Gus shrugged. "I don't know, it sounded really important."

Shawn was surprised. He took a quick glance over to see if Cinnamon knew what was going on, but she looked just as confused. "How important?"

"Important enough she couldn't give details over the phone."

—————

In the car, they discussed why the Chief needed to see them.

"What is something so important she actually needs a psychic?"

"No idea-"

"I don't know, Shawn." Gus unintentionally interrupted Cinnamon.

She gave him a look, before shaking it off. "Maybe it's got something to do with ghosts."

"Maybe a ghost?" Shawn parroted.

"Must be something like that. Why else would she hire us?" Gus drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

It was quiet for a minute in the car, with Cinnamon looking out the window boredly. Suddenly, she sat up, like she had an idea.

“Hmmmm. I wonder…”

In the reflection of the car window, Shawn watches as Cinnamon sticks her hand towards the radio, placing it directly on top of it. Her eyebrows furrowed.

Nothing happened.

She stayed like that for a minute before going “Oh my fucking-” and just shoved her hand inside of it.

Immediately, it started giving off bursts of staticky sounds. Gus, who wasn’t expecting it, flinched so hard his hands jerked the wheel, and they almost drove right off the road before he quickly righted the car.

“Dude, what was that?” Shawn said this to Cinnamon, but Gus had assumed it was Shawn talking to him.

Even so, he ignored him. “What’s going on with my radio?”

She kept her hand inside, despite the minor commotion, her eyes closed in concentration. Before long, it started playing some music, something that sounded like a mix of grunge and alt rock.

“-Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage~”

Pulling her hand back out of the radio, she grinned. “Oh, fuck yeah, I love The Smashing Pumpkins!”

Apparently, Gus didn’t love them as much as Cinnamon did. He turned it back off, and the car was quiet again.

She frowned at that, looking slightly annoyed, and made a tsch sound. Sticking her hand back into the radio, she turned it on again. This time, something a little more glam rock came on.

“-is there life on Mars?~”

“Great, now my radio’s broken. Fantastic. What am I going to tell my boss?” He lamented, and turned it off again.

She let out a dramatic gasp. “You mother- he turned off Bowie! I’m gonna- ooo I’m gonna kill him. I don’t care if it’s Gus. He just turned off the radio on David Bowie.”

Thankfully, she didn’t, and simply turned the radio back on.

“-We get these pills to swallow~”

Just before Gus goes to turn it off again, Shawn stops him.

“Hey, Gus. Just leave it. I'm pretty sure it's gonna keep turning back on every time you turn it off.”

"So I should just, what, leave it on? This music is terrible."

Cinnamon looked genuinely angered and a bit upset at that. "Oh, he fucking DIDN'T-"

"Yes. I guess just turn the volume down, maybe that'll work." He gave a pointed look at Cinnamon when he said this.

She slumped back in the seat. "Fine."

“…Fine, but I’m getting it fixed later.”

Shawn looks back to the window, and sees her grinning. She had been acting the whole time. Little shit. She leaned forward again and started singing along to the music.

"-Tastes like Gold~"

“-Oh, what you do to me, no one knows~”

——————————

Alright, so if anyone's wondering about what the heck was the deal with the radio: I kinda got the idea that ghosts can manipulate radiowaves (there's a special gadget people can use that uses radiowaves as a form of communicating with ghosts). And since Cinnamon’s technically a spirit, I figured 'why the heck not'? so yea, that's why.

Also: Originally, I WAS going to write some dialogue between Shawn and Gus when we go to the Psych office. but. I decided against it (obv). I might write a oneshot later once the whole book is done being written about their interaction.

songs used (in order): Bullet With Butterfly Wings by The Smashing Pumpkins; Life on Mars by David Bowie; No One Knows by Queens of the Stone Age

ao3 link

Beginning: Prologue

Previous: Chapter 1

Next: Chapter 3

[castielcommunism]

the insane thing about season 6 is that Raphael is right. it’s completely unreasonable to trust Cas at all. Anna used to be his boss and she rebelled, then Cas followed her. the consequence of this is that the apocalypse didn’t happen and Heaven has descended into chaos. Cas currently holds a reputation on par with Lucifer, except this time a bunch of other angels are listening to what he’s saying and want to follow him. and because god is gone and Raphael is tasked with ruling Heaven (a thing angels are not meant to do) the most reasonable course of action would be to kill Cas as fast as possible and try to keep shit from disintegrating entirely. both Raphael and Cas hold completely sympathetic but mutually exclusive positions on what to do now that there is no ruler of Heaven, and Raphael is structurally prohibited from considering any other position because that also means actively inciting his own rebellion. like he is in an impossible position where angels are only ever meant to follow rules, except now he has no rules to follow because god is gone, and making up his own rules means shedding the mindset that keeps angels in line in the first place. so like in order for Raphael to consider a new way of ruling he might end up realising that Cas is correct (like most other angels currently rebelling) which he doesn’t want to do. so what other option is there

[sukirichi]

omg sorry im the anon who picked too many spices i’m so sorry 😭😭 so let me try again: wine for yuuta, ingredient 53, and spice 8 10 11?

good for you

People said all bad things about him, how he wasn’t good for you, he was going to toy with you, he was someone you needed to stay away from, but that wasn’t true.

meal order: wine + 53 (bad boy good girl au) + 8, 10 (dumbification, begging kink) 

warnings: nsfw content, fingering, dumbification, begging kink, slight voyeurism, slight corruption kink, bad boy! yuuta, unedited fic

note: soooo anon...i hope you like this, this is my first yuta fic and i was really nervous i was gonna mess this up, sheesh, hope you like it and thank you for the request! have some wine~

masterlist !

You were so good for him – it made sense you were his favorite.

The moment you felt his cold fingers graze under your shirt, fingers lightly tugging at the clasps of your bra as a promise of what was to come next, you shuddered from his touch. You leaned back to his body, your hand clutching his that was gripping your thigh.

“Yuta,” you bit your lip to hold back a moan, his expert hands sliding down your inner thighs to brush over your clothed cunt, teasing you to no end. “We-we shouldn’t.”

“And why not?” his husky voice sent shivers down your spine, and you gasped as his fingers tugged your panties away. He’d barely even touched you, yet you were soaking wet for him already. Two of his fingers slipped past your folds easily and you clamped down as he scissored you, finally releasing your bra and easing it off your shoulders. “They won’t know. We’re just studying, remember?”

Your relationship with Yuta was complicated, to say the least. Last month, your homeroom teacher assigned you to tutor him, and your eyes widened because the last person you expected to see was the notorious Okkotsu Yuta who barely attended school, preferring to live life in his own way.

He looked scary then; dark circles hanging heavily under amused eyes, slicked back hair that shone under the sunlight, and a half-sneer as an excuse for a smile.

He terrified you, until he didn’t. Contrary to what people said about him, how he wasn’t good for you, he was going to toy with you, he was someone you needed to stay away from, you never thought that way about Yuta. And he knew this too; he took advantage of your unconditional kindness, basking in your shy, soft touches and stuttering during study sessions whenever he stared at you a little longer than you expected.

You were so fucking cute he just couldn’t keep his hands off of you. He blamed you for it, really. He wouldn’t have been this addicted to the quiet, timid girl who followed rules and apologized way too much than necessary if you weren’t such a good girl for him.

But you were so cute, so curious and innocent that Yuta, being the more responsible and experienced one between the both of you, just had to give in to your pleas. Soon, your shy touches became eager ones, grinding on his thigh with your hands  tugging at his collar while you begged for a kiss. You were so pretty too, always so ready and wanting for him, but oh, everything was different when you begged.

If he thought you were pretty before, it was nothing compared to when you begged.

Innocent eyes gazing up at him under thick lashes, small hands wrapped around the thick base of his cock, your pretty red lips begging to taste him – you were at your prettiest when you were begging for him, and how could he deny you?

It was because you were so good for him that he Yuta wasn’t selfish when it came to pleasing you, his cock hardening when your head fell back on his shoulders, lips open as wantons flooded through your lips. “Shh,” he chuckled with a kiss to your lips, his fingers pumping in and out of you until you were dripping down on his palm, the sopping sounds of your pussy nearly embarrassing. “You don’t want to be loud, baby, your parents will hear you.”

At the possibility of getting caught, your eyes widened, and you slapped your palm over your mouth to hide your sinful moans. Yuta’s eyes darkened as you trembled in his arms, trying so hard to be a good girl and keep your reputation, but the way you grinded down onto his fingers told a different story.

“Y-Yuta,” you cried out, reaching up to capture his lips in a kiss. He swallowed your moans while his other hand gripped your thighs tighter, your ass barely grazing his painful erection. “I need more, please, will you-will you-?”

“What do you want, baby? I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.”

Yuta smirked when you whimpered in his hold, your hips pumping up and down as you rode his fingers. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. You knew he could give you more, and Yuta would gladly do anything for you as long as you said it.

The sight of you cumming all over his fingers, tits perked from under your shirt yet still looking so innocent from your shirt skirt – he could cum in his pants just watching you. But he held it all in, fully aware that you wanted him inside you, though your shyness still remained. Ironic, really, since Yuta had already lost count of the times he had to stuff your panties down your mouth as he dragged you to the nearest empty classroom, making you cum either just on his tongue or cock alone.

He figured he’d have ruined you by now, but you were just so good, such an innocent, pretty little thing that the mere mention of his dick had you flustered.

“Yuta, I can’t – you-you know what I mean,” you palmed him through his pants. Yuta hissed at how you pulled his cock out free from his confines, the warmth of your hand wrapping around his cock, the tip already flushed and red.

He gripped your wrist and pulled you towards him, resting your ass just above his cock. A dark look crossed his face when he saw you inhale sharply as he rubbed his tip all over your lips, your pink panties tugged all the way to the side, the material loosely clinging onto the fat of your flesh. 

“Is this what you want,” he teased, hands placed on a tight grip of your hips as he slowly sank you down his length. He reveled at how you slowly lost yourself, thighs quaking, and it was just only the tip. “Do you deserve it, baby? Have you been a good girl for me that you think you deserve to feel good?”

“Yes, yes, of course!”

Your eyes were focused on the remaining length of his cock that wasn’t buried in you, and you were so needy, so fucking wet and horny that you wiggled your hips, a slight whine echoing from the room when Yuta only tightened his hips on you as a warning. “Don’t move,” he growled lowly, and like the good girl you were, you complied, bottom lip jutted out. “You don’t get to sit on my lap when you don’t beg hard enough for it, baby.”

“But, oh,” you tried to say, your words cut off when Yuta suddenly gripped your ass down all the way down his length in one go, your ass flat on his thighs.  

Both of you groaned at the feeling of him buried deep inside you; you could feel him pulsing inside your heat already. Unsatisfied with your silence, Yuta slapped your ass, forcing you to look at him. 

He was perfectly content with you cockwarming him; he could jack himself off later, but he knew you couldn’t satisfy yourself – not when your needy little cunt always wanted to be stuffed full with his dick.

“My parents are downstairs,” you tried to reason, though your actions betrayed your words as you dug your nails on his shoulders, eyes closed from the pleasure. Yuta gave small, slow thrusts, the movement just enough to scrape at your walls, almost as if to mock you that you could’ve had an orgasm by now if you just complied. “I-if they hear, they’re going to get mad, and they’ll find out that—”

“They’re going to find out what?” he thrusted his hips into yours sharply until your skirt was bunched all over your ass, his hands rough and hungry while he kept you in place. Your moans filled the room, and Yuta gripped one of your legs to press on your sides, thigh-high socks teasing and plumping up the flesh of your legs. “That their sweet, innocent daughter isn’t such a good girl after all? Look at you, walking around in school wearing that. You’re always begging to be fucked, baby.”

You didn’t deny him because his words were true, and soon Yuta had you choking in your own breath. He wanted to make you beg, to go down on your knees just to show him you deserved it, but you clenched down on him so hard that he lost himself too.

Yuta pulled you in for a heated kiss, his strong hands wrapping your legs around his waist before dropping you both down on the bed.

He didn’t bother pulling his shirt off, only jumping out of his slacks before he found home in between your legs. Yuta chuckled at how fucked out you were before him, teeth deep into one of your stuffed toys while he kept fucking into you. 

He fell forward, hands planted beside your head, his dick scraping against the warm walls of your pussy.

You were close; he could feel it. Yuta picked up his pace and started littering lovemarks on your neck, somewhere people could see his markings and to claim you as his good girl.

You were such a good girl for him, letting him pump himself into you in a rough pace until you could no longer hold back your moans. “Yuta, Yuta, god, you-you feel so good, right there, oh,” you were a mess on his cock, drool collecting from your pillow and tongue lolled out. 

He found you so pretty, so gorgeous and so good; screaming his name like that even as your parents called out to ask if you were fine just because you knew he liked it when you said his name while you were stuffed with his cock.

“Come on, baby,” he gripped your waist this time, not slowing down for a moment as his thrusts grew sloppy. Yuta’s dick twitched and pulsed harder inside you when your walls hugged him tightly, sucking him in too deep that he was hitting your most sensitive spots. “You’re close, aren’t you? You want to cum on my cock? Beg for it, come on.”

“Yuta, Yuta, please please please, want to cum on your cock, want you to fill me up,” your back arched when he hit your g-spot, your vision turning white for a moment. “Fuck, fuck, Yuta, fuck me good – please, I want you, there, please!”

His dick only further hardened upon hearing such dirty words fall from your pretty lips. You were begging so good for him, following his orders and making him feel good with your pretty pussy – how could he deny you? People said all bad things about him, how he wasn’t good for you, he was going to toy with you, he was someone you needed to stay away from, but that wasn’t true. 

He kept fucking into you until you were creaming onto his cock, his name falling like a prayer on your wet mouth, losing all your sanity and comprehension when he spills inside you, your cum dripping down your ass.

Yuta chuckled before leaning down to kiss his pretty girl, so good for him, but what they didn’t know was that the bad boy was just as good for you, and he never failed to make you feel good.

They called him a bad boy, labeled him all sorts of things, warned you so much of the dangers he brought. 

Everyone was just simply unaware how he good he was for you.

[seesgood]

can we very gently talk about call out posts / culture really quick?  not in a judgmental way, but in like a: i just want to pose a thought and explain why i’m never going to buy into it and why i wish it would become less of a trend instead of more of one? and i’ll add the  disclaimer  here: i totally get not wanting certain people around you for various reasons, that is all your prerogative. that’s your comfort level. but in emphasizing “your blog should be a safe space” we’re kind’ve losing sight of the fact that the rpc should also be a safe space, and as much as your comfort and safety matter, so do other people’s. and not just the person who hurt you, but the third parties and other mutuals and 99.9% of people who are not at all involved in any way in whatever happened. so, anyway here goes, read it or don’t, we all have different opinions or reasons, i just want to be heard:

people are allowed to change.  think back to who you were last year. two years ago. think about the stuff you said when you were seventeen, or twenty-one, or hell whatever age you were. current-you would probably cringe at the kind of stuff past-you had to say. because you grew. you learned. you had life experiences. in hindsight you have the freedom to be like “oof yeah that was not the best version of myself right there damn i don’t want to be like that again.” the growing trend of ‘here’s a 10+ page google doc complete with out of context screenshots that sometimes date back to like 2017 or earlier’ makes this kind of change impossible. because right there, you’ve just frozen a person in time, probably not at their best, removed any and all amounts of context, and put it on the internet and let other people judge it for themselves. 

so that leads into another point that i want to just kinda present to the community at large: the act of documenting behaviors and storing them for months / years at a time, in itself creates a super unsafe environment, not just for you, your friends, the people who have hurt you --- but also for anyone else that isn’t at all involved in whatever happened. like, for example, i like to think that i’m a pretty nice person. i actively try to be a nice person. am i sometimes not having the best day? have people definitely caught me in bad moments? oh hell yeah. but am i, as someone who tries really hard to be nice and welcoming, constantly thinking through every message i send to someone knowing that a) i could have a reputation that makes them read into context that isn’t there and that could contribute to them misinterpreting words i meant in a different way, b) very aware that every post i make, ask i send, message i send can at any moment be screenshotted and posted and taken out of context and either serve as someone’s only opinion of me or pile on to someone’s existing opinion of me? yeah. so in my experience, and based on people i’ve talked to, we now have this thing where you can be surface-friends wtih a lot of people, but if you want to survive in the tumblr rpc you should really only have 2-3 people that you really trust that you can actually talk about shit with. 

and lately i’ve been seeing a resurgence of posts on my dash about like “bring back xyz in the rpc” or “the reason the rpc is like this is because of xyz” and i both agree and disagree with a lot of this, but primarily i think the reason the rpc is Off lately is because everyone and their cousin has a DNI, which is --- again --- your decision and i understand and respect that, but while you know the context of every name on that DNI, other people don’t. and to be honest: other people don’t really care and honestly maybe they shouldn’t care. --- and don’t get me wrong, your friends should care if someone has hurt you. that’s important. but joe billy bob who just wants to write their character with yours is going to read through your rules, they’re going to see “do not interact with me if you follow with or interact with these people you’ve never heard of and if you want me to tell you why just message me” (which no one is ever going to do, i’m sorry to say). and say, joe billy bob also followed that other person because they were like ‘omg this blog looks cool’ --- now joe billy bob, who just wants to write cool plots, is suddenly the middle-man in some type of drama that they do not understand, and maybe they’re able to remove themselves from the situation, but even then it’s still in the back of your mind. 

this is getting long. it’ll be longer, but let’s take a brief break for me to remind you that in some cases, it’s definitely good to give your mutuals and friends a heads up when someone has done something really, really bad. like, remember x amount of years ago when some dude was like ‘i’m gonna make up a new person and say they died by suicide as a social experiment’ or ‘hey this person actively tries to force very triggering plots about abuse / rape / incest onto people and has been doing so for years and does not seem to change their ways no matter how many people try to educate them’ that’s shit people should probably know about. and it’s also okay ( in my opinion ) for your friends to be able to message you like ‘hey i saw you’re writing with x and i just wanted to let you know i had this experience with them’ if that’s something they feel comfortable doing. and if they are comfortable with you still having the autonomy to make your own decision regarding the person. 

i’ll be honest, for a second: i’ve been part of friendships and groups that have turned really toxic for one reason or another. a handful of times. there are probably people out there that are like “yeah this chick is really fake and manipulative and etc, i was friends with her back in 2019″ which, okay. yeah. i’ve definitely done shit and said shit that was not the most representative of who i want to be and who i want to become, and you probably have to. because we are human beings and we are a product of our social groups and the community around us. and you shouldn’t be chained to a version of you that isn’t you anymore. people change. they grow. you don’t have to like them, but you should respect that sometimes people don’t mesh, and that doesn’t mean any of them are bad people, it just means the experience was bad. 

a few additional notes i would like to make but i’ve already gone on way too long:

90% of the callout posts that i’ve seen and the DNI’s that i’ve seen can, in my opinion, be classified as a friend group thing. you were friends with x, x did something, now y and z aren’t friends with x anymore. pain is a very, very real thing and people hurting you should never be minimized, but at some point i just want you to remember that not every friendship is going to end happily, but both you and the other party should be allowed to move on and grow better, healthier friendships after. rehashing Friend Group Gone Wrong instances removes that ability for not only person x, but also person y and z.

you putting out a callout says just as much ( maybe more ) about you than it does about the other person. which sucks. because i’d like to think we all have great intentions, and i’m not saying that you should swallow your pain, but it might not be the kind of thing that impacts the community at large, and maybe you should try to find a better way of working through it with a trusted friend(s)

i’m going to be very real and very blunt on this one: literally no one cares. i say that with love. i’m good friends with people who have each other on their DNI’s. establish a baseline of respect and ‘i’m not going to say anything to them about you and vice versa because there’s no need for me to do so’ and move on. but seriously. no one cares. most outside people read callout posts because they like being in the know about the drama, not because they actually care. 

person a and person b who are mentioned in the DNI / callout aren’t the only ones who are going to be affected. your friends, your mutuals, your writing partners are now all put in a weird spot where you have to pick sides on an issue you know nothing about and shouldn’t have to know anything about. you’re asking people to choose sides on an issue they cannot fully understand, and that’s not fair to them or to you. and it drives great people away. and then we all lose out on having more awesome people in the rpc.

you’re entitled to your safe space, but this is a public platform and you are also responsible for maintaining your safe space. you shouldn’t put it entirely on other people to do that for you. you can block, blacklist, make up funny names for, or spitefully erase from your many anything and anyone that you wish. but you shouldn’t make your friends do it for you.

there’s always an inherent power imbalance when any kind of drama occurs between those who have more followers / friends / connections and those who do not. and the smaller blog is always going to suffer a little bit more because they don’t have people blindly coming to their defense. 

bad moments, bad experiences, bad decisions DO NOT equal bad people. 

allow people to make up their own mind about something or someone

anywho, if you read through this whole thing i think i owe you financial compensation. but also thank you for reading / listening / considering. even if you rolled your eyes through the whole thing like “stfu lia” that’s fine. i’m just presenting an alternative thought. i’d like to once again state: i’m not judging you if you’ve made a callout/DNI or if you’re on a callout/DNI. like i literally don’t care. and frankly, in my opinion, i shouldn’t have to. because i, and you, and your friends, and your mutuals, and your non-mutuals should be allowed the space to make up their own opinion and mind on something or someone without being told that there will be consequences if they don’t agree with you. set boundaries. communicate in healthy ways. you don’t have to forgive the people who have hurt or wronged you, but you also don’t get to decide that their actions make up 100% of who they are as a person, or decide that that is the only side of that person people should get to see. 

[toosicktoocare]

emergency contact

pt 1 of 2 and also found on ao3!

(i promise i’m not ignoring my prompts- this idea just kinda popped into my head)

“Hi, may I speak with Mr. Evan Buckley?”

Frowning, Buck pulls the phone away from his ear. He doesn’t know the number; however, the area code is local, so he can probably rule out a scam call. At least, he thinks, the woman on the other line sounds very much real and not a robotic recording about to lead in with a cruise ship he didn’t sign up for.

“Uh, yeah. This is Buck—I mean Evan. This is Evan Buckley.” He clears his throat. He can hear a lot of background noise—a lot of muffled speaking, intercoms crackling. He’s heard it before, but he’s struggling to equate the noise to a particular memory, only having a small rock of dread burrowing low in his stomach to go by.

“Hi, Mr. Buckley. I’m Nurse Johns at LA General. I have you listed as the second emergency contact for Christopher Diaz.”

Buck’s stomach bottoms out, leaving him nauseous, weightless, and far too cold despite the LA sun beating in through his window and warming his bed. He shivers and forces himself upright in bed, muscles rigid, jaw a tense, jutted line.

“His father,” Buck starts into the phone, shaky, “Eddie—Edmundo Diaz—”

“—didn’t answer. You’re next on the list. Sir, if this is incorrect, I’ll need to move on to the next person—”

“—no!” Buck jerks to his feet, nudging abandoned clothes around with his foot until he finds a pair of gym shorts. “I’m… His father’s on a shift with the LAFD. Is Chris okay? What’s going on?” Composure, he thinks, is out the window. Then again, he’s never been capable of the whole ‘cool, calm, and collected’ thing when it comes to Chris. He snags the same shirt he tossed to the floor when he climbed into bed this morning after his 24-hour, a short-sleeved, blue shirt, and slips it over of his head, careful of his phone.

“Sir, I can’t disclose that over the phone.”

“Right,” Buck mutters, nodding more to himself. “I’m on my way now. Tell Chris—tell him Bucky’s on the way, okay?” He ends the call, taking the steps down from his loft two at a time. He’s only faintly aware that he’s shaking, and the rock of dread’s grown triple in size and sits heavily against his gut. He fumbles with his keys, pockets his wallet, and just remembers to slip on a pair of sandals. If he weren’t moving against a rush of fear, he’d take the time to give a mental ‘look who’s laughing now’ to everyone who’s made fun of the sandals in the last two months since he purchased them, but, the fear is a cold hand that’s pulling on him, disrupting his thoughts, chiseling against his composure.

He doesn’t dwell. He races out of his apartment, and in seconds, he’s in his jeep and whipping out of his parking spot. He knows LA well, knows the traffic patterns, and he’s unfortunately hitting lunch rush, which, he thinks, is probably similar to some twisted second layer of hell. He wishes, more than anything in this second, that he had an engine, that he could dominate the road with the power of a siren, but his jeep will have to suffice. Still, his grip on his steering wheel is tight, his knuckles fading white, when he hits the first of many red lights.

He uses hands-free to call Eddie, not surprised to get his voicemail after only two rings.

“Eddie! Chris is in the hospital—They didn’t give me any details, and I’m on my way now. They called you first. I’m next on the list?” Buck pauses briefly on that, gets lost in that fact, but then he shakes his head. “Look, he’s at LA General—just get there when you can, okay?”

He ends the calls, somehow feeling even worse, and then he tries Bobby. Logically, he knows that if Eddie’s not answering, Bobby probably won’t either. Still, when he’s teetering on the edge of panic, Bobby can talk him down, can ease him safely back to the present.  

“Buck?”

Buck’s foot slips a little too hard on the gas, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Bobby? Bobby! Where’s Eddie?”

“Currently? He’s probably making his way back to a second story window, hopefully with one of the victims of an expansive house fire.” A pause. “What’s going on, Buck?”

Buck peers around, swallows back a groan at the cars on every side of him. “Look, can you get Eddie to LA General ASAP?”

“You’re at LA General? Are you hurt?”

“No! I mean, I will be, but it’s not me—it’s Christopher. Bobby, I don’t…” Buck sighs, drags a free hand down his face. He can feel his lungs constricting. The pressure of panic’s a bitch.

“They didn’t say anything over the phone. They tried Eddie first, and then they called me. I’m—”

“—Buck, take a breath. I’ll get Eddie there as soon as possible. You be careful driving there, okay? Keep us updated.”

Buck comes back down to earth with a low breath that’s been trapped in his lungs. “Thanks, Bobby,” he says, and he means it, pushing his gratitude hard into the two words. The call ends, and Buck forces his focus onto the road, onto making it to the hospital in one piece because Christopher needs him.

***

Concussion.

It’s the only word Buck keeps coming back to. He’s being led down hallways that are too bright, too loud, and annoyingly familiar, and the nurse is explaining that Christopher took a tumble at school and is currently being monitored for a possible concussion. Buck nods when appropriate, offers a few non-verbal affirmatives, and then he’s stopping before two large, glass windows, and behind them, Chris is sitting in bed chatting with another nurse. His hand finds the glass, fingers spread out, anxiety spread even to his palms.

“You’re welcome to go in. We’ve told him you’re coming.”

Buck nods absently. He’s going to go in—of course, he’s going to go in. He just needs to take a single second to fully capture the image of Christopher alive and breathing in his mind, an image that can break through the muddle, clear his head, bring breath back to his lungs.

“Mr. Buckley?”

“Sorry,” Buck mutters, nodding. He turns when the nurse opens the door for him, and he wills away any and all fear etched deep in his face the second he crosses over into the room.

“Bucky!”

“Chris!” Buck’s no stranger to concussions, so though animated, he keeps his voice soft, and he walks toward the end of the bed, glancing at the clipboard. “How’re you feeling, bud?” He asks, satisfied to see that the doctor’s notes are promising.

“My head hurts.”

“I bet it does,” Buck mutters, sympathetic, and he drops onto the edge of the bed, one hand resting atop Christopher’s covered knee. “What happened?”

“Me and Caleb were playing firefighter, and I fell down a step.”

Buck sucks in a sharp breath, holds it in his lungs to brace for the familiar wave of guilt that’s soon to tangle in his breath, jab past his rib cage to his lungs. “Is that so?” He settles for, breathless, and Christopher’s face falls, his eyes dropping to his lap.

“Don’t tell dad. He’ll get mad.”

“Chris—”

“—Mr. Buckley, I presume?”

Buck’s never been more thankful for a doctor to walk in for he wasn’t sure how to unpackage Christopher’s quiet plea in a way that wouldn’t be considered as overstepping Eddie’s parental authority but also in a way that wouldn’t have Christopher demanding he leave.

“Uh, yeah—It’s Buck.”

“Okay, Buck. Want the good news?”

“Will it be followed by bad news?” Buck asks, one brow arched, stomach twisting. “Because his father—”

“—no bad news today,” the doctor interrupts, and Buck huffs out a quiet sigh of relief and gives Christopher’s knee a squeeze. He gives a nod, and the doctor plucks the clipboard up.

“Christopher’s been cleared of a concussion. He’s got a few scrapes and bruises, and his head will probably hurt for a few more hours, but otherwise, he’s fine. I’ll leave a note at the front desk to begin the discharge papers. He should be out within the hour.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Buck mutters, and he nods when the doctor and nurses exit, giving him space to breathe; though, he’s not sure how much he can actually breath encompassed in four, blinding walls that bring back a pressing dark cloud of memories.

“Buck?”

Buck blinks slowly, peels his gaze from the door to see Christopher smiling softly at him, poking at his side.

“Can you lay with me?”

Buck eyes the small bed, mentally works round the best way to squeeze in, to maximize Christopher’s comfort, and he slips his sandals off and climbs onto the bed, impossibly gentle when he adjusts Chris. When he’s got Christopher against his chest, he sighs, and Christopher sighs with him, content, safe.

***

“That’s the last of them, Cap,” Eddie coughs lightly, tugs his helmet off. His lungs burn faintly from smoke inhalation. It’s not bad by any means, but he’s dabbling with the idea of having Hen look him over anyway.  

“Should I help with fire…” Eddie’s words trail off when the 122 pulls up onto the scene, their members already hopping out of the engine and working the hose. “Was backup necessary?” He glances back over his shoulder. Sure, the fire’s large, but he doesn’t think it’s classified as a level high enough to warrant local support.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie whips back around, squints at Bobby. “Yeah, why?”

“Let me clarify: are you okay to leave the scene right this second, or do you need to a look-over now?”

Eddie’s still struggling to read Bobby’s tone for it’s always frighteningly composed, even in the face of emergency. “I’m okay now.” He nods slowly, and then Bobby’s turning on his heel and wordlessly gesturing him toward the engine.

He slips into the back, pausing to see Bobby sitting in the back with him, stationed across from him.

“Cap, what—”

“—have a seat.”

Eddie sits slowly, slips his headphones on, and then the engine’s roaring to life beneath him and pulling away from the scene. He’s alone with Bobby because Hen and Chimney left earlier with a patient, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s in trouble for something. He replays his actions at the house fire, yet he can’t find an error that would warrant a private conversation with Bobby.

“Buck called,” Bobby finally says, and Eddie drags his gaze from the cars moving onto the road shoulders, now finally tuning in to the fact that the sirens are wailing overhead still, the engine demanding the street with the shrill sounds and flashing lights. The sirens shouldn’t be on unless…

“Is he okay?”

“Buck’s fine. The hospital called him because Christopher was brought in. They tried you, and he was next on the emergency contact list.”

There’s dread, Eddie thinks. Dread when he rides up to a call and gathers the first, initial assessment of the situation. And then there’s bone-deep, crippling fear—fear that twists in his gut, pools into his lungs, walls around his heart. It drains the blood from his face, freezes his muscles, steals his breath, and buries his mind in a series of what if scenarios that range from grim to downright terrifying.

“Eddie, breathe.”

He does, but only because his mind is trained to respond on command to Bobby’s voice. The breath he sucks in his short and cold, and he finally reaches in his pocket for his phone. He’s got four missed calls, three voicemails, and a series of texts from Buck, all fairly close in time to the other.

He goes through the texts—he won’t be able to hear the voicemails right now, and he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach Buck’s panicked, broken voice.

[From: Buck] Chris is okay. He fell at school and hit his head

[From: Buck] no concussion. Doc said he can be discharged within the hour

[From: Buck] I’ve checked him over. There’s a bruise on his side I want to keep an eye on but otherwise he’s okay

[From: Buck] we should talk about why he fell

[From: Buck] but not until later! Sorry that last text sounded weird…

[From: Buck] discharge in 20 minutes. I’ll bring him back to yours if you aren’t able to come yet. I still have the spare key you gave me

He’s blinks around the tears pooling in his eyes, swallows thickly. “Buck said he’s okay. He fell at school.” He’s aware his voice is shaking, and then Bobby claps him on the knee.

“That’s a good thing.”

It is, Eddie thinks, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes. He works on his breathing, controlling it, counting breaths, but when they pull up to the hospital, the fear comes back, muted now, but still there, always there.

He hops out of the engine, Bobby not far behind, and in just seconds, a nurse is guiding them back. When he reaches the door and looks beyond the glass to see Christopher curled up against Buck’s chest, he breathes, deeply and fully, for the first time since he pulled himself up into the engine. Relief, he thinks, is the singular image of the two most important people in his life safe and together.

***

“Christopher!”

Buck whips his gaze from his phone where he’s got a story pulled up to read to Christopher, and he slowly turns Chris over just as Eddie rounds the bed and pulls Chris to his chest tightly. He notes, to himself, that Eddie’s in full turnout gear, that he’s got soot smudges on his face, that his jaw is a set, unwavering line jutting against his skin.

“Daddy!”

“¿Estás bien, hijo?”

“Sí.”

Buck wordlessly slips from the bed, toes his feet into his sandals. He crosses his arms and backs away from the scene, feeling all too overwhelmed, suddenly suffocated despite the brush of relief before him, and then Eddie’s looking toward him, frowning, eyes unreadable, and Buck offers a small smile.

“The discharge papers,” he motions toward a stack of papers on the end of the hospital bed. “I’ll bring my jeep around.”

“Wait, Buck—”

Buck slips out of the room, eyes cast to the ground, and he bumps right into someone, his hand coming up to fist around the turnout jacket and his head dropping against a shoulder.

“You okay, Buck?”

There are so many ways Buck wants to say no, but the one that’s most alarming, one that’s been a nagging twinge in his lungs, is the one he opts for. “I don’t think I can breathe.” His voice is breathless, and then Bobby’s guiding him with a hand to his back toward the nearest exit. The second he bursts through the double doors, he sucks in a sharp gasp that breaks way to a few coughs, and he’s being gently eased onto the edge of the sidewalk.

“Easy, Buck. Breathe with me, okay?”

Buck meets Bobby’s eyes, nods, and drags his gaze down to Bobby’s chest, watching the steady rise and fall, mimicking it, until the fog clouding his brain breaks, leaving him far too tired. His shoulders slump, and Bobby claps a hand to his shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“I didn’t know…” Buck sighs, dropping his face into his palms. He can hear his therapist’s voice reminding him that he’ll feel better if he’s more open with others. “I’m really overwhelmed right now.” He can feel Bobby’s hand tighten around his shoulder, a wordless sign to continue. “Just… Getting that call that Chris is in the hospital really freaked me out. I know he’s fine, but just… He’s the last person I ever want to see in a hospital bed.”

“Now you know how I feel every time I get a call that you’re in the hospital.”

“Bobby,” Buck groans, lifting his head to match Bobby’s smile.

“You look tired—I don’t imagine you got much sleep before the call?”

“A few hours,” Buck admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Not sure I’ll get back to sleep anytime soon. I’m exhausted, but it’s definitely going to take some time for the adrenaline to die down.”

“Do you need me to take Eddie and Chris back?”

“Nah,” Buck drags himself up to his feet, yawning. “I’m going to need to physically see Christopher safe in bed before I can even think about unwinding.” He can see one of the engines not far off in the parking lot, and he laughs quietly. “Though, I bet Chris would love to be back in the truck.” He frowns at Bobby’s turnover gear. “Did you leave right after a call?”

“I requested the 122 to come in for backup.”

Nodding absently, Buck looks back toward the doors they came from, and he crosses his arms, fingers digging into the skin. He knows that he’s taken all necessary steps when faced with an abrupt situation, yet he can’t shake the underlining burn in his stomach that he overstepped, that he didn’t get here fast enough, that he should have added a step, or even removed one, when getting here.

“You did good today, Buck.”

His shoulders slump, tension falling with them, and he huffs out a low sigh.

“Thanks, Bobby.”

***

“You keep looking at him like he’s going to disappear.”

Buck jumps; he didn’t hear the shower cut off, nor did he hear Eddie slip into Christopher’s room behind him.

“I keep thinking he might,” Buck whispers, and Eddie tugs at his arm, urging him up from the chair he’s got pulled up to Christopher’s bed. He lets Eddie guide him from the room, but when Eddie tries to ease him onto the couch, he digs his heels into the floor, and Eddie turns to him, brows furrowed.

“Buck—”

“—when were you planning on telling me I’m second on Christopher’s list of emergency contacts?”

Buck doesn’t miss the deep, calculated sigh Eddie breathes, and he opts to remain standing when Eddie sinks down onto the couch, only watching wordlessly as Eddie runs fingers through his damp hair.

“It was Chris’s idea.”

Buck blinks slowly. “What?”

“After the tsunami. When we were leaving the hospital, he mentioned how you saved him. He said he wanted you to be the person who comes to save him again.” Eddie pauses, rubs smally at the shirt fabric just above his chest. “I resisted at first—I told Christopher we couldn’t ask something that big of you, but I’ve seen countless times since then how far you’ll go for him, so I called and had you added second on the list.”

Eddie takes in a low breath, and Buck’s mutely envious because he can’t do the same.

“If I can’t get to him, it needs to be you.”

Buck’s struggling to pick something to focus on. His heart wants to chase the heat of Eddie’s words, yet the guilt, as it always is, is an overpowering force that leaves him shaking his head, backing up until the back of his leg hits the coffee table.

“It can’t be me.” He watches Eddie’s face fall, but Eddie still nods, understanding even now.

“I get it. I should have asked first. I know it’s a big responsibility—”

“—what?” Buck shakes his head again, crosses his arms. “It’s not the responsibility. You know I would do absolutely anything for that kid. It’s the fact that it’s my fault he ended up in the hospital today.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, lips in a firm line, and Buck knows this look well—it’s Eddie’s way of signaling for Buck to continue, knowing well that Buck will finish on his own, that he doesn’t need verbal prompts to guide him toward his point.

“He was playing firefighter with one of his friends at school, and he fell down a step.”

The silence that follows feels thick enough to clog Buck’s lungs. He wants to sit—his legs are shaking, but if he sits, he can’t flee as fast, and he just knows Eddie’s going to ask him to leave, to not come back. And, Buck thinks, Eddie should. Eddie should yell at him for filling Christopher’s mind with stories from work, for encouraging this imaginative behavior that dropped him onto a hospital bed.

“Is that it?” Eddie says instead, calm, and Buck frowns, jaw opening and closing, struggling for words.

“I mean, I’m waiting for the part where you tell me how this is your fault,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck sinks onto the coffee table at this, not trusting his legs to hold him upright.

“Eddie, I’m constantly telling him stories from work, glorifying the job, painting all of these verbal, detailed images that fill his mind and plant ideas.”

“And you think I don’t?”

“Eddie—”

“—Buck, we have the same job. If Chris asks me what I did at work, I tell him. I spare him the calls that don’t go in our favor, but otherwise, I tell him.”

Buck blinks slowly, mind operating around 30% capacity, and Eddie leans forward, cupping a hand to Buck’s knee.

“No one’s at fault. Kid’s got one hell of an imagination.”

“Wait, hold on. You’re not mad?” Buck expected yelling. He expected to get kicked out of Eddie’s house, and yet, Eddie’s calm before him, relaxed, a little tired around the edges, but he’s showing no signs that he’s seconds from blowing up.

“There’s nothing to be mad about.”

Buck can only blink at Eddie. He’s faintly aware that his eyes are watering, and then Eddie’s pulling him back up by the arm.

“Okay, we all know by now that you get sappy when you’re tired.”

Buck stops in the doorway when Eddie steps into the bedroom, watching as Eddie pulls back the covers and motions toward the bed. He shakes his head, one hand gripping tightly at the doorframe.

“Eddie, I’m not taking your bed. You should be with Chris. I’ll go—”

“—Chris will want you here when he wakes up. Plus, it doesn’t take but basic math to realize you’re working on only four hours of sleep after a 24, so you’d be doing everyone a favor by shutting up and getting in the damn bed.”

“Eddie.”

“Buck.”

Buck holds Eddie’s gaze, breaking it after a few, heavy moments with a weighted sigh. He shuffles toward the bed, kicking off his sandals and climbing in on the side farthest from the door, knowing that the side closest to the door is reserved for Eddie, to accommodate Eddie’s needs to be the first to act if something happens.

The bed is heaven against his sore body, and the second his head hits the pillow, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The adrenaline is fully fleeing now, leaving him exhausted to the core in more ways than one. He blinks slowly, watching as Eddie climbs into the other side of the bed, sighing loudly, and he rolls toward Eddie, studying the way Eddie gingerly rubs at his chest for the second time.

“You give your oxygen mask to someone during the house fire?” Buck asks around a yawn, and Eddie nods.

“It wasn’t for long.”

“You didn’t get checked over.” It’s not a question; Buck knows, based on the sight of Eddie arriving at the hospital looking rough for wear and donned in full gear, but Eddie still responds.

“No, but I’m fine.”

Buck forces himself up on one elbow, frown deep, brows furrowed. “You should get checked out now. I can call Hen—”

“—did you forget I was a field medic?” Eddie arches a brow, and Buck sinks back against the pillow.

“No, you always find a time to remind me. You can’t check yourself over, though.”

“And how many times have you ignored a fractured rib because you ‘checked yourself over?’” Eddie fires back, and Buck groans, draping an arm over his eyes.

They fall silent, and Buck’s body is urging him to give in to the fatigue draping over him. Still, he can’t fully settle. The adrenaline of the last hour and a half is a flame that’s almost completely burned out. Still, it flickers smally, and he rolls onto his side, watching Eddie.

“The bruise on Christopher’s side. We should—”

“—I looked, and we iced it until he fell asleep. Now, please shut up and sleep.”

[drwcn]

《 Without Envy 》 storyboard 10 - concubine/sleeper agent!wwx & prince!lwj

Other snippets and storyboards can be found on [Master List]

Exactly 851 days - 2 years, 4 months and 11 days - after Wei Wuxian arrived at Gusu and began his mission as a sleeper agent, he was activated.

That chilly morning, he walked into the pastry shop - a front maintained by a decade-long Wen spy - a walk he'd done hundred of times on hundreds of mornings since he arrived. He breezed past the packaging counter, skipped through the faded cotton drapes, and rounded behind the back staircase to the room where Xue Yang always waited for him. Only this time, it was not just his candy-obsessed, murder-happy shidi, but a face he hadn't seen in many, many months. "...Shifu?" Wen Zhuliu's visit meant the end of his carefree days. It's time. That night, Wei Wuxian did not look at either Lan Wangji or Jiang Yanli when he bid "dianxia" and "Jiang-zhuzi" good night. He pretended to retire to bed early, after washing himself of his servant's exterior and donning his robes of night-black. He laid in the dark, waiting for time to pass, and reminded himself of his true purpose. He was never meant to care about these people; love these people. Jiang Yanli was not his doting foster sister; Lan Wangji was not his beloved wangye. I am Wei Wuxian of the great Qishan Wen. Nevernight is my home. I am a spy. Gusu is my enemy. Wei Wuxian kept his eyes closed, his breathing even, and his heartbeat slow. In the lonely quiet, he waited, and waited, and waited. Until the candlelight around the princely manor dimmed to nothing, until the night grew still and the moon shone bright and high in the dark, dark sky. Reaching under the floorboard beneath his bed, Wei Wuxian retrieved his life-long companion from its hiding place and released it from its sheath. "Hello, old friend." He whispered, stroking the blade edge. Suibian's steel glistened with cold malevolence in the stark, pale moonlight.

It would be another year before WWX's identity is discovered. During that time, he lived a double life. In the day, he was Lan Wangji's precious Wei Ying, and at night, he was the blade in Wen Ruohan's hand, stealing, killing and destroying on command. His assignments were not always murder; sometimes it required him to break into secure facilities and obtain copies of certain documents. He was never alone on these jobs; there was always someone convalescing with him from within. Slowly, he began to realize just how deep Wen Ruohan's spy network had infiltrated Gusu's foundation. In a way, it excited him, to know that the posturing and pretending would soon be over, that in the near future a quick war would sweep across the land and unite the two nations. In another way, it frightened him to the bones.

Wei Wuxian killed 37 individuals within the span of a year, 37 men and women of different ranks, status and stations. He did not always know why these people needed to die; in fact, he often didn't and preferred it that way. If he didn't know the motive, then he couldn't argue against the reason, and thus could go on believing that what Wen Ruohan did was ultimately for the betterment of everyone. The men of Gusu were weak - Wei Wuxian was always told - they were not fit to rule. The people of Gusu would be better served under a united empire. He repeated this statement to himself before every job, but over time, the mantra on his tongue began to lose its flavour.

In the meantime however, Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli quickly formed a strong plan on how they wanted to live out the rest of their lives. Lan Wangji never quite enjoyed laying with women, but Jiang Yanli had just enough wickedness behind her demure exterior that things were... well, interesting. In any case, it was not long before she came to him all smiles and whispered the good news over luncheon .

"Truly?" Lan Wangji set down his chopsticks. "Hm uhm." Jiang Yanli dapped her mouth delicately. "Now, perhaps it's a good time to discuss how dianxia should go about winning A-Xian's affection. He's under the impression you've cast him aside on taishi's orders and has been giving him the cold shoulder." "I wasn't." Lan Wangji defended himself, distressed and slightly offended. "It's just, huangshu's been watching me like a hawk. I was afraid any further attempt to be closer to him would give my uncle reason to remove him from my household entirely." Jiang Yanli was sympathetic. "The summer hunt is in two week's time, and afterwards, since bixia always likes to finish the night on the river with fireworks, perhaps...." She let the sentence dangle, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Lan Wangji felt hope.

Unfortunately, a little hiccup happened before the hunt could take place. Jin Ziyan falsely believed that Wei Wuxian had fallen out of favour with Lan Wangji and was itching to show him his place. Poor Mo Xuanyu was caught in the middle. Jin Ziyan knew Wei Wuxian was an audacious one, but not so stupid that he could be easily goaded into committing a grave offence. Thus, Jin Ziyan planned to cause an incident in the garden whereby poor Mo Xuanyu would unwittingly "offend" him, and he would publicly announce a punishment that was harsher than necessary. He made sure that Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian were near by, as they usually took a mid-afternoon stroll after lunch. True to his predictions, Wei Wuxian could not stop himself for interfering on Mo Xuanyu's behalf. Then in their altercation, Jin Ziyan would fall into the pond, making it seem as though Wei Wuxian was the one who shoved him out of anger. Oh but a lowly servant shoving Hanguang-wang's deputy consort into the pond??! He was as good as dead. What's more, everything happened on the same afternoon that Lan Qiren was scheduled to visit Lan Wangji to discuss matters of court. If it was only Lan Wangji, Jin Ziyan knew Wei Wuxian would suffer little consequence, but taishi tolerated no insubordination or churlish behaviour of any kind.

Lan Qiren was incensed, livid, but he was not hasty to deal the punishment. Instead he turned to his nephew and asked, whilst fully knowing the answer, "Wangji, your household follows the regulations that govern all princely manors, does it not?" "It does, huangshu." "Then tell me what is the punishment reserved for a servant for daring to lay hands on a deputy consort and to cause physical harm to said consort?" "It....I - huangshu -" "What is the rule?" Lan Wangji knew very well that the punishment was death for any servant, maid or eunuch who dared to harm any member of the harem. But Wei Ying, his Wei Ying... "Wei Ying is very precious to Yanli and to Yunmeng-hou. As well..." Lan Wangji hesitated. "Yanli is with child again. It is still very early so we thought it best not to announce it lest we have a repeat of last time. It would not do to upset her at this time." Lan Qiren was extremely dissatisfied with his answer, but conceded for Jiang Yanli's sake. "I'm glad, Wangji, that you've found your way back to your proper companions. This Wei Wuxian clearly has been spoiled to the point of impropriety. His actions today are utterly unacceptable and cannot be allowed to go unpunished or else others would surely follow his example. Guards!" "Detain Wei Wuxian. Have him strung up on a post in the servants' courtyard and give him fifty lashes. No food nor drink. Sun or rain, he is not to be let down until dusk tomorrow." "Huangshu!" Lan Wangji's head buzzed, as though someone had struck him squarely in the temple. His chest felt tight, and his heart ached where it rebelled inside him. "Please -" "He has his life. That is mercy enough."

Wei Wuxian was stripped down to his trousers only and tied up to a post, his hands bound together above him and his bare feet never finding purchase on the ground no matter how he struggled. This fucking suck ass. Jin Ziyan you're a dead man. When all fifty lashes were dealt, even the guards were sweating through their robes. They left him dangling there in the blistering summer heat. A young maid dared to try and sneak him some water but was thwarted by an older momo. "What do you think you're doing, lassie? Did you not hear taishi, no food or drink until dusk tomorrow. Do you want lashes too? Go on! Go!" It rained hard all through the night, only easing up at dawn, but the aftermath of the storm left the air muggy and humid. Combined with the heat, it felt as though he was being steamed alive like a wheat bun. At some point during the second day, Wei Wuxian finally lost consciousness. He was not aware when Lan Wangji barged into the courtyard against Lan Qiren's explicit orders and cut him free.

Really tho, i just want this scene to happen (╹ڡ╹ ) "I'm sorry." Wei Wuxian blinked at Lan Wangji's hunched figure sitting at his bedside. "Whatever for? You saved me, dianxia." Lan Wangji, "But it was my attention that put you in such a position in the first place. Huangshu was looking for a reason to punish you since that day he saw us in my study." Wei Wuxian, "dianxia..." "I find you... lovely, Wei Ying," confessed Lan Wangji with a heavy sigh. His ears burned red not only with the embarrassment of a youth in love but with shame. "I wish for your company, even when you have no desire to be part of my harem. Now I know my mistake. I should have respected the boundaries. I should've known my attention on you would incite jealousy from the others, and as a servant, you have no means of protecting yourself. This is entirely my fault." Wei Wuxian's heart fluttered despite himself. He quickly shook his head. "No dianxia, please don't blame yourself -" Lan Wangji, "perhaps I should send you back to Jiang-fu; I'm sure Jiang-xiao-gongzi would be delighted to have your company back. You would be safe there." Jiang Wanyin had come to visit his sister the very next day after Wei Wuxian was sentenced to whipping. He was one of the most accomplishment young men of his generation, anticipated to be a great general. Nie Mingjue had thought highly of him and had expected great things from this youth. Though perhaps what the late feng-jun found truly commendable was Jiang Wanyin's complete lack of pretense and his short-fuse temper. That is to say, he did not hesitate to get in Lan Wangji's face. His sister would have chastised him, had she not been so preoccupied by her tears. Wei Wuxian, "Jiang...Jiang Cheng was here?" "He was, and he was very upset about your condition. He left many fine medicine and ointments for you." Lan Wangji sighed again. "I shall speak with Yanli. If she is amenable, then I shall make arrangements for you to go back to Jiang-fu. You would not have to put up with me any longer." Lan Wangji stood up. Wei Wuxian grasped his sleeve immediately. In that moment, he could not tell if his panic was derived from his worry that he would not be able to complete his assignment if Lan Wangji were to send him away or if he simply did not wish to part with the prince. "Dianxia - I - I don't want to leave. I - it's true I had once rejected you, but...would you think less of me if I said your attention … hasn't been unwanted for a while, that I have come to enjoy them." At Lan Wangji's widened eyes, Wei Wuxian continued quickly. "You need not give me anything, no elevation, no rank. I don't care about any of that. I am a man, I have no ability to give you children. Nor do I have any family who would benefit from your continued favour of me. I am an orphan, dianxia, I have no place to go. I just....don't send me away. Please let me stay! I'm not afraid of Jin Ziyan, or taishi, or anything!" Lan Wangji sat back down. His hand trembled when he laid it on top of Wei Wuxian's. "Wei Ying...?" Wei Wuxian smiled, still radiant despite his pale complexion. "Dianxia -" "Lan Zhan. No more dianxia, I only want to hear you call me by my name." Wei Wuxian flushed pink. The blush was real, as was the pleased little smile he tried to hide. "Lan Zhan, Wei Ying is yours, if you still want him." The worst part of that was that he meant it. Just the mere thought of being held by Lan Wangji, of being kissed by him, of... so many other wonderful possibilities, made Wei Wuxian want to hide his flaming face into his pillow. Lan Wangji smiled. Quietly, he lifted Wei Wuxian's hand and pressed a kiss to the inner side of his wrist. "Rest, I will be right here." Wei Wuxian felt his treacherous little heart soar: oh no … oh no no no no ….. (Xue Yang's voice in narration: and it was in this moment, that Wei Wuxian knew, he fucked up.) The cruellest thing Wei Wuxian ever did was give Lan Wangji hope knowing that one day he would take it all away.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm a Chinese, nationally and racially. Racial projection seems to be a common practice in western fandom, doesn't it? I find it a bit... weird to witness the drama ignited upon shipping individuals with different races, or the tendency to separate characters into different "colors" even though the world setting doesn't divide races like that. Such practice isn't a thing here. Mind explaining a bit on this phenomenon?

--

Sure, I can try. But of course, fish aren’t very good at explaining the water they swim in.

Americans aren’t good at detecting our own Americanness, and a lot of what you’re seeing is very much culturally American rather than Western in general. (In much of Europe, “race” is a concept used by racists, or so I’m told, unlike in the US where it’s seen more neutrally.) Majority group members (i.e. me, a white girl) aren’t usually the savviest about minority issues, but I’ll give it a shot.

The big picture is that most US race stuff boils down to our attempts to justify and maintain slavery and that dynamic being applied, awkwardly, to everyone else too, even years after we abolished slavery.

There’s a concept called the “one drop rule” where a person is “black” if they have even one drop of black blood.

We used to outlaw “interracial” marriage until quite recently. (That meant marriage between black people and white people with Asians and Hispanic people and others wedged in awkwardly.) Here’s the Wikipedia article on this, which contains the following map showing when we legalized interracial marriage. The red states are 1967.

That’s within living memory for a ton of people! Yellow is 1948 to 1967. This is just not very long ago at all. (Hell, we only fully banned slavery in 1865, which is also just not that long ago when it comes to human culture.)

Why did we have this bananas-crazy set of laws and this idiotic notion that one remote ancestor defines who you are? It boils down to slavery requiring a constant reaffirming that black people are all the same (and subhuman) while white people are all this completely separate category. The minute you start intermarrying, all of that breaks down. This was particularly important in our history because our system of slavery involved the kids of slaves being slaves and nobody really buying their way out. Globally, historically, there are other systems of slavery where there was more mobility or where enslaved people were debtors with a similar background to owners, and thus the people in power were less threatened by ambiguity in identity.

Post-slavery, this shit hung around because it was in the interests of the people in power to maintain a similar status quo where black people are fundamentally Other.

A lot of our obsession with who counts as what is simply a legacy of our racist past that produced our racist present.

--

The other big factor in American concepts of identity is that we see ourselves as a nation of immigrants (ignoring our indigenous peoples, as usual). A lot of people’s families arrived here relatively recently, and we often don’t have good records of exactly where they were from, even aside from enslaved people who obviously wouldn’t have those records. Plenty of people still identify with a general nationality (”Italian-American” and such), but the nuance the family might once have had (specific region of Italy, specific hometown) is often lost. Yeah, I know every place has immigrants, and lots of people don’t have good records, but the US is one of those countries where families have on average moved around a lot more and a lot more recently than some, and it affects our concepts of identity. I think some of the willingness to buy into the idea of “races” rather than “ethnicities” has to do with this flattening of identity.

New immigrant groups were often seen as Other and lesser, but over time, the ones who could manage it got added to our concept of “whiteness”, which gave them access to those same social and economic privileges.

Skin color is a big part of this. In a system that is founded on there being two categories, white owners and black slaves, skin color is obviously going to be about that rather than being more of a class marker like it is in a lot of the world.

But it’s not all about skin color since we have plenty of Europeans with somewhat darker skin who are seen as generically white here, while very pale Asians are not. I’m not super familiar with all of the history of anti-Asian racism in the US, but I think this persistent Otherness probably boils down to Western powers trying to justify colonial activities in Asia plus a bunch of religious bullshit about predominantly Christian nations vs. ones that are predominantly Buddhist or some other religion.

In fact, a lot of racist archetypes in English can be traced back to England’s earliest colonial efforts in Ireland. Justifying colonizing Those People because they’re subhuman and/or ignorant and in need of paternalistic rulers or religious conversion is at the bottom of a lot of racist notions. Ironic that we now see Irish people as clearly “white”.

--

There are a lot of racist porn tropes and racist cultural baggage here around the idea of black people being animalistic. Racist white people think black men want to rape/steal white women from white men. Black women get seen as hypersexual and aggressive. If this sounds like white people projecting in order to justify murder and rape... well, it is.

Similar tropes get applied to a lot of groups, often including Hispanic and Middle Eastern people, though East Asians come in more for creepy fantasies about endlessly submissive and promiscuous women. This nonsense already existed, but it was certainly not helped by WWII servicemen from here and their experiences in Asia. Again, it’s a projection to justify shitty behavior as what the party with less power was “asking for”.

In porn and even romance novels, this tends to turn up as a white character the audience is supposed to identify with paired with an exotic, mysterious Other or an animalistic sexy rapist Other.

A lot of fandoms are based on US media, so all of our racist bullshit does apply to the casting and writing of those, whether or not the fic is by Americans or replicating our racist porn tropes.

(Obviously, things get pretty hilarious and infuriating once Americans get into c-dramas and try to apply the exact same ideas unchanged to mainstream media about the majority group made by a huge and powerful country.)

--

Politically, within the US, white people have had most of the power most of the time. We also make up a big chunk of the population. (This is starting to change in some areas, which has assholes scared shitless.) This means that other groups tend to band together to accomplish shared political goals. They’re minorities here, so they get lumped together.

A lot of Americans become used to seeing the world in terms of “white people” who are powerful oppressors and “people of color” who are oppressed minorities. They’re trying to be progressive and help people with less power, and that’s good, but it obviously becomes awkward when it’s over-applied to looking at, say, China.

--

Now... fandom...

I find that fandom, in general, has a bad habit of holding things to double standards: queer things must be Good Representation™ even when they’re not being produced for that purpose. Same for ethnic minorities or any other minority. US-influenced parts of fandom (which includes a lot of English-speaking fandom) tend to not be very good at accepting that things are just fantasy. This has gotten worse in recent years.

As fandom has gotten more mainstream here, general media criticism about better representation (both in terms of number of characters and in terms of how they’re portrayed) has turned into fanfic criticism (not enough fics about ship X, too many about ship Y, problematic tropes that should not be applied to ship X, etc.). I find this extremely misguided considering the smaller reach of fandom but, more importantly, the lack of barriers to entry. If you think my AO3 fic sucks, you can make an account and post other fic that will be just as findable. You don’t need money or industry connections or to pass any particular hurdle to get your work out there too.

People also (understandably) tend to be hypersensitive to anything that looks like a racist porn trope. My feeling is that many of these are general porn tropes and people are reaching. There are specific tropes where black guys are given a huge dick as part of showing that they’re animalistic and hypersexual, but big dicks are really common in porn in general. The latter doesn’t automatically mean you’re doing the former unless there are other elements present. A/B/O or dubcon doesn’t mean it’s this racist trope either, not unless certain cliched elements are present. OTOH, it’s not hard for a/b/o tropes to feel close to “animalistic guy is rapey”, so I can see why it often bothers people.

A huge, huge, huge proportion of wank is “all rape fantasies are bad” crap too, which muddies the waters. I think a lot of people use “it’s racist” as an easy way to force others to agree with their incorrect claims that dubcon, noncon, a/b/o, etc. are fundamentally bad. Many fans, especially white fans, feel like they don’t know enough to refute claims of racism, so they cave to such arguments even when they’re transparently disingenuous.

--

Not everyone here thinks this way. I know plenty of people offline, particularly a lot of nonwhite people, who think fandom discourse is idiotic and that the people “protecting” people or characters of color are far more racist than the people writing “bad” fic or shipping the wrong thing.

But in general, I’d say that the stuff above is why a lot of us see the world as white people in power vs. everyone else as oppressed victims, interracial relationships as fraught, and porn about them as suspect. Basically, it’s people trying to be more progressive and aware but sometimes causing more harm than good when those attempts go awry.

[tothemeadow]

hi!! um, since you're open for requests, could i maybe ask for some spicy nsfw for akaza and an f!reader with marechi? preferably one who'd actually be willing to give a little blood? i'd love to see how he reacts to the temptation, considering his reservations with women >v>;; i hope that's ok! if not i totally understand, and thank you regardless for your lovely writing, i've been really enjoying reading through your work <3

Alright, so this request really caught my attention. Back before the Mugen Train hit theatres, I was thirsting over Akaza with somebody and I had this idea of an Akaza dry humping scenario stuck in my head ever since. 

This was my excuse to finally write it 👀

‘the taste of marechi’ / Akaza x Reader

warnings: NSFW, semi-public sex, blood drinking, dry humping/grinding, slight impregnation kink

words: 2,349

-

The marechi. The most delicious, powerful blood a human can have. It’s the forbidden fruit that only so few demons are blessed to have a taste of.

It’s what flows through your veins.

But of course you don’t know, since you’re a lowlife human. Your lifespan is short, your life itself dull. You aren’t aware of the sweet, sweet, liquid gold flowing in your body. You don’t how much demons want you, to taste you.

To devour you.

Now, some demons are utter heathens like the others. Some have standards. Take Akaza, for instance; as he watches you trek through the nighttime streets, he could easily jump you, rip your heart out with his teeth. Why you’re walking alone at night is a mysterious unbeknownst to him. You should certainly know better – there’s more predators than just demons that stalk the night.

It’s a simple rule of his not to eat women. There’s no way for you to defend yourself, for one, and the fact that his food supply comes from women is another point entirely. He tells himself he should just walk away and let you be. That’s what he should do, but his body refuses to leave.

In the distance, he sees a shrouded figure stagger onto the same street you’re walking on. Perched on the sloping roof of a nearby house, he’s essentially able to the entirety of the small town. As the figure draws closer, he can tell that it’s a middle-aged man. His clunky movements tell Akaza that he is clearly drunk. Akaza scoffs at that; oh, to be a pathetic human, having to rely substances to feel a single damn thing.

“Hey, doll!” the man suddenly calls out. Akaza curses under his breath – he must’ve seen you.

Glancing up, you see a strange man walking in your direction. Even from where Akaza sits, he can see your body tense up. Alright, that’s enough for him to spring into action.

Jumping from the roof to another, Akaza draws closer, his eyes locked on the creepy man. He’s already dangerously close to you, a drunken slur of compliments and suggestions spilling from his gross mouth. You slink away, trying not to make any sudden movements. The man follows right after you, his hands extended before him; you screech as he grabs onto your arms, a scowl crossing his face as you struggle in his hold.

A growl rips itself out of Akaza’s throat as he lands on the ground. A cloud of dust kicks up around him from the sheer force. He watches as you squirm in the man’s hold, struggling to break free. The man promptly slaps a meaty hand over your mouth and curses loudly when you bite down on his palm.

Akaza’s on him in seconds; he rips the man off of you, a snarl cracking his face. The man cries out as Akaza throws him like he’s nothing more than a rag doll. He grunts as his back collides with the siding of a building, a sickening snap filling the night air. Akaza turns to your trembling form. You stare at him, eyes wide, your hands clamped over your mouth.

“He was going to take advantage of you,” Akaza grunts. “Come on; I’ll take you home.” Quickly taking your hand in his, he drags you away from the unconscious – maybe even dead – man.

“Hang on!” you yelp.

It’s the first time he’s hearing your voice, but Akaza immediately decides he already likes the sound of it. He complies to your request and comes to a complete stop.

You yank your hand out of his grip. “Who are you? And what did you-“ You cut yourself off as Akaza turns around, golden irises and blue sclera rendering you speechless. Your eyes dart over the dark blue markings of his face, follow them down his body. You audibly swallow. “What are you…?”

Akaza scoffs. “Somebody who just saved you from some creep, obviously.” He rolls his eyes. “Damn weaklings. You’re lucky you’re a woman.”

You gawk at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean? One moment you’re saving me from some stranger, and then the next you’re ridiculing me. I didn’t ask for your help.”

“So you were just going to let him have his way with you?” Akaza quirks an eyebrow. You frown in return but don’t say anything. “That’s what I thought.”

You tongue the inside of your cheek in irritation. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Akaza doesn’t miss the way you stare at his muscled arms as he crosses them over his chest. “I’m a demon, sweetheart.” He cocks his head, his pink eyelashes fluttering. “Or do I have to spell it out?”

A demon? Seriously? But those were only a myth!

Your eyes trail of his markings once more. Everything about him seems inhuman: the markings, the colors of his eyes, his hair. The sheer amount of strength he holds is a different matter entirely.

“Do you have a name?” you croak.

Okay, now that takes Akaza by surprise. Normally, he’d only tell people his name after he’s deemed them worthy. You’re nowhere as strong as him, and from your reaction alone he can tell you’re not a part of the corps committed to taking his head.

“Why do you want to know?” His eyes lock onto the way you bite onto your bottom lip.

“…So I can thank you.”

Akaza’s eyes dart back up to yours. “You want to thank me?”

Slowly, you nod. “You saved me for a reason, right? You could’ve easily killed us both…” You wring your hands, your brows knitting together.

Akaza realizes that you’re right. He could kill you at any moment he wished, but he chose not to. He still doesn’t want to. Your words roll around in his head; he genuinely doesn’t know what to say. With every minute that passes, you visibly grow more nervous. Your fingers clutch onto the fabric of your yukata, and your teeth mindlessly gnaw on your lip.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. He’s ready to tell you to stop. Only pathetically weak people act like this. And he’s ready to tell you off, he really is, but then that smell smacks him right in the face. It’s rich and sweet, just like the world’s finest wine. His mouth waters as it fills his nostrils, makes his head spin.

Marechi.

His stare is intense as you release your bottom lip, tiny droplets of blood sticking to the plump flesh. Heat stirs in the bottom of his abdomen. He stands rigid, his breathing turning heavy.

“Akaza?” you ask, voice gentle. You sound concerned. Your pink tongue flicks out, wipes away the blood.

No, Akaza wants to roar. It’s mine.

Without fully realizing it, he frantically grabs onto your hand. Opening your mouth in a silent question, a surprised yelp escapes instead as Akaza drags you between two houses and away from any possible prying eyes. You grunt as your back meets a wall.

“Akaza, what’s wrong-“

Swooping in, Akaza promptly presses his sturdy body against yours as he captures your lips. Your eyes shoot wide in surprise, but then they quickly fall shut as he does wonders with your mouth. He eagerly sucks on your bottom lip, moaning as more droplets of your blood break the surface and meet his tongue. With one hand on your hip and the other pressed against the wall behind you, Akaza kisses you hungrily, passionately. Your hands scramble to clutch onto his bare shoulders, desperate for something to hang onto.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Akaza pants as he forces himself to break away. You stare after him, a dazed expression on your face. Your lips are swollen, tinted red from both your blood and the force of his kiss. He moans at the sight, a familiar flame sparking in his abdomen.

“Akaza,” you breathe. You yank on his haori, urging him to come closer. His kiss is intoxicating, leaving you drunk and craving for more. Guiding his lips back on yours, you clutch on the short strands of his hair. Furiously, he sucks on your bottom lip, drawing more of your delicious blood.

A nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that he should stop. It’s against his morals to hurt women. But he’s not really hurting you, is he? He’s only drinking your blood, nothing more. He takes back the comment about humans having to rely on substances to feel anything. Your blood is doing things to him; his own blood is spiking in temperature, his heart is thrumming against his ribs, and – oh gods­ – that heavy feeling lying at the bottom of his guts.

His hips buck on their own, his growing arousal nudging your hip. He groans at the friction, the sound deep and husky. You swallow it entirely, your fingernails scratching his scalp. A frustrated keen slips from your lips as he pulls away again; this time, though, he’s frantically yanking the material of your yukata up.

Are you seriously going to do this? You don’t even know the guy! Hell, you’re positive he killed somebody! Yet you can’t deny your own heavy breathing nor the slick gathering between your thighs. And the look he gives you is so sinful, his strange eyes shining with lust. You let him do what he wants, bunching the bottom half of your yukata up to your hips. You moan as his cock grinds against your quivering pussy.

Slathering open-mouthed kisses all over your neck, his hips keep up their relentless pace, his cock practically fucking you through his pants. Your undergarments are completely soaked through; you’re probably getting the front of his pants wet, but you don’t care. You follow his pace, grinding your pussy desperately against his cock.

You’re so dizzy, high off the pleasure he’s giving you. His teeth skim the surface of your skin, but you can feel the hesitation in his movements. You whimper in need, wishing he’d just do it already. “Bite me,” you murmur. “Fuck, Akaza, bite me.”

Akaza openly pants into your neck. “I can’t,” he grunts. His cock kicks in his pants. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

“Akaza,” you whine. “Gods, please, bite me, bite me, devour me.”

A growl emits from the depths of his chest as he gives into his carnal desire; heat bursts in your neck along with the sharp pierce of his teeth. He’s careful only to break the surface of your skin, but fuck it’s enough to have your delicious blood flowing into his waiting mouth.

Desperately clawing at his back and shoulders, you shamelessly grind against him even faster. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head from it all. Throaty little moans leave his mouth as he drinks your blood, his hands grabbing onto your thighs and hauling you upwards. You quickly snake your legs around his lithe hips, the head of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants.

“So good, Akaza, oh my gods,” you babble.

“Gods dammit,” Akaza snarls as he yanks himself away from your neck. He holds you up with a single hand as the other pushes his pants down, his cock kicking up and smacking against his stomach. Like the rest of him, his cock is covered in dark blue markings. You don’t get much time to appreciate it, though; pushing your undergarments to the side, he slips his cock into you with one brutal thrust.

He bounces you on his cock, his mouth finding its spot on your neck. You moan loudly at his ministrations, the head of his cock reaching far and hitting against the sweet spongy area. Your nails tear into the skin of his shoulders; if it weren’t for that, you’re sure you’d float away. His cock is deliciously thick, fills you up so good every time your velvety walls suck him in.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he growls. You answer him in a fit of stuttering. “Your pussy is as good as your blood,” he says into your ear. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” He ravages your body, your slick emitting sinfully wet noises with each stroke of his cock. “I’d fuck a baby into you if I could.”

Throwing your head back, you moan loudly. Your walls quiver around him, your orgasm coming closer and closer. As if sensing your growing need, Akaza drops a hand between the two of you, his fingers seeking out your clit. He rubs harsh circles into the nub, pinches it between his fingers. You clench down around his cock, a mantra of his name echoing into the night.

“More, Akaza, more!” you beg.

Akaza’s hips are bound to leave bruises on you if the force of his thrusts is anything to go by. You convulse around him, your toes curling as you cry his name out. You cum around his cock, your slick going everywhere. The front of his pants and your thighs are completely soaked.

“Fuck, did you just squirt?” Akaza groans. Sinking his teeth into you once more, he grunts as he shoots his load into you. Warmth floods your system, and the head of Akaza’s cock pushes it further into you yet. A mixture of slick and cum drips between your legs, soils his pants and the ground below.

He’s breathing raggedly as he finally halts his thrusting motions. You shake from sensitivity, your thighs trembling from the strain of clinging onto his hips. Akaza helps you down and immediately pulls his small haori off; crouching onto the ground, he slings one of your legs over his shoulder. He curses as he takes in the sight of your puffy lips covered in white.

“Fuck, that’s the best thank you gift I’ve ever received,” he tells you as he gently cleans you up.

You sigh at the feeling of his fingers against your slit. “I can do a lot more than that.”

Golden irises focus on you. “Is that a statement or an invitation?”

You flash him a tiny smile. “Take me home and I’ll show you.”

[ana-benn]

This was requested 😘

Three's Company

Warnings: mfm poly relationship, it's filthy.... I don't know. Also I wrote it as snippets along the relationship timeline so that's a thing.

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

There had always been drawbacks to 'dating' Tyler. You'd followed him from Toronto to Boston looking for a change of scenery, and eventually the two of you started hooking up. It was a completely casual, and you'd take little breaks here and there to see other people. Initially though it just made sense. You cooked together, hung out together, and occasionally slept together. You felt like amplified best friends, and it worked for where you were in life.

Of course his trade to the Stars was a little unexpected, but it brought you two a little bit closer. Another move, and the decision to get a dog settled you both down and made you start thinking about maybe making a serious go of your relationship. Then he'd brought Jamie over, and you were done. He was like the opposite of Tyler and you loved it. Shy, and sweet but the ability to be ferocious bordering on animalistic.

Tyler was more goofy and fun, with a passion that left you feeling weak, but overall he was way more high energy than Jamie. You'd gotten close to Jamie as he and Tyler built a relationship, and you didn't know how to broach the subject with either man. You wanted them both, and it was so obvious to you that if you could make it happen for the three of you that was ideal situation.

Of course being as, while you and Jamie both had a shy side, Tyler did not and he full on approached the subject over dinner one night. You'd nearly swallowed your chicken whole, and Jamie choked on his beer at Tyler's proclamation that the two of them should share you.

"Tyler," you hissed.

"What? Come on babe, we both know you'd be into it," he grinned. "I've seen you check Chubbs out."

You couldn't deny it, so you acted maturely and stuck your tongue out at him, while Jamie stared in between the two of you.

"I'd be willing to try it," Jamie offered after a moment. Tyler lit up like Christmas then.

"Yes! I knew this would work out," he beamed wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

That first night was awkward and it took a while to feel completely comfortable. It seemed no matter what you did someone was being left out, and you weren't used to splitting your focus in bed. It seemed as though when Tyler would thrust Jamie would pull, or vice versa, and you quickly felt overwhelmed by the amount of hands on your body. Finally though as you laid in-between the two men you realize just how perfect it all felt.

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

After that first time it seemed like none of you could stay away. Jamie had tried to back off, not wanting to overstep, but you'd shown up at his door with Tyler in tow and the three of you had set up ground rules. You'd be free to sleep with either or both of them, whenever or however no hold barred. You threw out that they could sleep with one another if they wanted to, and then laughed as they both looked at you completely unamused. Of course as time went on you almost became convinced that the were, even if neither mentioned it to you. You had set up a limitation that if they wanted to sleep with other women you did prefer that they used protection. Both of them thought about and decided that they didn't want to do that. You knew it wasn't exactly fair, but you weren't going to argue either.

You'd gone back and forth on living arrangements for months after that. Transferring between Tyler's and Jamie's, before deciding that you should probably get a place all together. You'd make sure each of the boys had their own space, but you couldn't keep track of where any of your stuff was and it was driving you crazy.

As you moved in though you realized your one mistake, it seemed these two were completing constantly.

Who loaded more boxes? Tyler claimed it, but you'd noted Jamie taking a couple more than him. Not that you would tell anyone. You just laughed and shook your head.

Who brought in more boxes? Definitely Jamie, Tyler was outside showing the dogs their new yard.

Who put more boxes away? That was you, but then again you didn't really want them touching your clothes or trying to put dishes away.

Who set up more electronics? Tyler, hands down. Jamie had a hard time managing his own spotify account, and Tyler would be pissed if he missed any golf.

All day it went like that. You couldn't help but laugh at their pitiful faces when they lost one of their challenges either. You'd just pull them into a hug, and stroke their hair while high fiving the winner.

You'd thought through all the different options for bedrooms, and eventually decided that your room would be the common room. If the three of you decided to spend the night together, which you often did, you'd do that in your room. Jamie and Tyler each had their own rooms, so that they could decompress or be separated if the need arose.

That first night though, you felt completely relaxed. Both men had followed you up to bed and before you'd even finished your nighttime routine Tyler was behind you, lips on your neck. He walked to towards the bed with his hands guiding your hips. Once you were in-between Jamie' thighs he pulled you into himself, and pulled your chin up. He trapped your lips in a searing kiss, before his hands began to wander.

Tyler moved to cup your breasts, while Jamie palmed your ass, and they seemed to work in sync at trying to turn you into jello. They'd rotate between your lips and neck, and as soon as one broke for air the other was pulling your face back towards them. Teasing hands, gentle lips, co-mingled with the scratch of facial hair on your skin, and you'd never been so happy that most of the time all three of you slept in the nude. Jamie eventually moved back onto the bed pulling you with him, and resting you over his hardness. Instinctively you ground down on him, causing him to groan out.

Tyler walked around the bed, and Jamie flipped you over and started preparing to enter you from behind. Meanwhile Tyler nudged your lips with his cock, instinctively you opened up letting him enter your mouth. He and Jamie both groaned over you as they slid home, and you felt deliciously full. At this point the three of you knew your dance well, so as Jamie started moving so did Tyler. Jamie usually took the lead, so he would thrust and Tyler would follow, keeping you in a perfect rhythm. The ebb and flow of them worked your body into a state of utter bliss, and before you knew it you were spasming around Jamie. You vaguely heard him swear as you fell under the waves of your own orgasm.

"FUCK," Jamie yelled as he sent ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Before you could react, or even fully recover you felt Tyler (who'd pulled out of your mouth when you'd orgasmed) pull you onto his own cock. If Jamie was rough, and feral with his thrusts Tyler was meticulous and operated with precision. Jamie wanted to throw you into an orgasm, thriving off of the intensity. Tyler want to draw them out of you, wanting to be in control.

Tyler worked your clit as his slowly thrust towards his own completion, you felt yourself quivering within minutes. Jamie leaned forward catching your lips in his, as Tyler worked your neck again. Finally you cried out as you clenched around Tyler. Satisfied he allowed himself to release deep inside of you, he held your hips as you slumped forward into Jamie.

You were aware of Tyler whispering praise to you as Jamie grabbed a towel to clean you up. Tyler got the covers pulled back and after you were cleaned up Jamie slid in on the other side of you. Your head on Tyler's shoulder, as Jamie wrapped his tattooed arm around you. You fell asleep completely warm and comfortable.

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

The downside to your relationship was easily that you could only publicly lay claim to one of the guys at a time, and it had just been easier to stay Tyler's girlfriend. As you stood outside the locker room waiting for the guys to come out you noticed the crowd of girls gathered around by the barricade in their Benn jerseys and it made you see red. You tried really hard to hide your jealousy, but it wasn't always do-able. Tyler came out first wrapping you in his arms, excited after a win.

"Ugh, I wish they all went like that!" He exclaimed, spinning you around. It took him a moment to realize your excitement was a little faked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's stupid," you mumbled. Jamie probably would've left it alone, but Tyler liked to pick. He thought exposing where your weaknesses were made you stronger as a unit.

"Nope, gotta talk about it," he sing songed as you waited for Jamie.

"Ugh, fine," you huffed. "It's just hard knowing we're going to walk by those girls over there and there's nothing I can do. At least people know we're together. Jamie's like this free man, you know? I feel like I have no public claim and it sucks."

Tyler looked like he wanted to laugh, which caused you to roll your eyes, "It's not funny Ty."

"What's not funny?" Jamie asked as he walked out of the locker room. You couldn't help but appraise how good he looked too. You wanted to kiss him... But you knew that wouldn't happen until you were in the car. Meaning first you had to brave the throngs.

"Someone's jealous," Tyler answered, as you blushed.

"Oh, really?" Jamie laughed.

"You guys both suck," you said as you stomped away.

They laughed as the followed you, as Tyler shouted, "You're hot when you're mad,"Causing the girls you were passing to go crazy.

You turned around and flipped them both off, before resuming your march back to the car. Surprisingly Jamie showed up before Tyler, and you quirked an eyebrow.

"He's signing jerseys," Jamie explained.

"You know it's just as strange for me too," Jamie said after a long moment. You turned and looked at him, confused. "I have to give vague answers about who I'm seeing, or make sure if I post a picture of us together Tyler is there.... It's not any easier just because some girls think I'm single. I don't feel single. I'm so crazy in love with you it blows me away, I don't want to hide or pretend that this isn't real. It is, and I need to know that you know that."

You launched yourself at him then, fusing your lips to his as you leaned over the console, "I love you too, Jamie," you said. "I don't question your love. I just wish I could express it more publicly."

You settled back into your seat, and you noticed Tyler walking towards the car. He pouted as he got in the backseat.

"Just get my number tattooed on you," Jamie joked, winking at you as Tyler got settled.

"Well you are my favorite," you played along.

"Excuse me," Tyler interjected. "If you're getting anyone's number it should be mine! I like tattoos more," he proclaimed. "Besides I thought you were mad at Jamie, now you're ganging up on me!"

"What can we say Tyler, we're just emotionally healthy," Jamie joked. "You're the one who decided to hand out and flirt."

You laughed as Tyler grumbled in the backseat.

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

Fifteen days. The words felt like an echo in your mind, resonating with self pity. Jamie and Tyler would be gone for fifteen miserable days, and someone had to stay home with the dogs. Gerry laid his head in your lap as you sat on the couch, and both boys were packing.

"I'm mad at you," you whispered to him. He looked at you, before deciding to kiss your cheek. "Yeah yeah, you're forgiven," you sighed getting up off the couch.

"Jamie!" You called out, walking up stairs.

"What?" He yelled from his closet, you went in search of him.

"What are you doing?" You whined.

"I'm packing baby," he said gently. Kind of confused.

"You're supposed to be the responsible one, why'd you wait until the last minute?" You groaned flopping on his bed. It had been almost a year in this house and you could count on one hand the number of times he'd slept in here. Tyler got banished more to his room than Jamie ever did.

"Because you insisted that it was more important that we play Mario last night," he reminded you.

Tyler came wandering down the hall just then, "Hey Jamie, do you have any..." He laughed when he saw you. "Someone's feeling whiny huh?"

"You have no idea," you pouted. "If I kneecap you can you stay home?" You asked sitting up.

"They'd sideline me, I'd still have to go," he reminded you.

"Jamie," you pouted. "You're the captain, can't you do anything?"

"Sure," he lied, wanting to antagonize you. "But I won't." He grinned.

"You're both awful," you grumped. "I'm going to spend so much money while you're gone."

That one got Jamie to laugh, "And that's different... how?"

You sighed dramatically, as you headed for the door, "I don't like either of you anymore."

You heard their laughter as you went in search of something to keep you distracted. You wound up just cleaning the kitchen, and when you did you found a business card for the tattoo artist that the guys used. You'd never gotten one, but you did want one. It gave you an idea, and you tucked the card into your back pocket as you heard the guys coming downstairs.

Tyler kissed you first, a playful nip on your lips followed by a slow dance with his tongue. Jamie was more forceful, crushing your body into his as he cupped your face. They really were two halves that made you feel whole, and you felt so overwhelmed by how much you simply just felt for them.

-------

When the guys got home, they were surprised you weren't at the door waiting like normal. Instead you were out in the pool with the dogs. You smiled brightly as they came out to greet you.

"The fearsome warriors return," you giggled.

"Ah, mi'lady twas a long journey. We have returned more victorious than not," Tyler played along, while Jamie shook his head chuckling.

"Well, I got you a present," you smiled, getting out and walking towards them.

"And here we just brought laundry," Jamie grinned catching you by the waist and kissing you deeply.

You moaned at the taste of his lips, trying to deepen it, before you heard Tyler clear his throat, "What about me." You laughed at his playful pout. Extracting yourself from Jamie and kissing Tyler. There was more playfulness there. Little nips and he drew your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing you.

"Now what about our present," Tyler wiggled his eyebrows.

"Not that you perv," you playfully slapped at him. Then appraising the two of them you added, "Well not yet anyway."

You undid the leather cuff on your left wrist and proudly showed off your new tattoo, "Look!"

You had a small heart inked on your skin with the numbers 914 in the center. You grinned broadly as they took it in, Tyler as usual reacted first. Kissing you deeply, while Jamie grabbed your wrist and kissed the mark on your flesh.

"Absolutely perfect," he grinned.

Tyler nodded his agreement, "Yep, I agree."

[candychronicles]

quarantine // k. bakugou

A/N: this is my take on the kink experimentation bnharem server collab! hope you enjoy!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,534

WARNINGS: face-fucking, pegging, smacking, dom reader, implied knife play

SYNOPSIS: being stuck in quarantine is not easy, especially for heros who are so used to being active. in order to help your anxious boyfriend, you hatch a plan, one that will allow him to be relaxed while delving into your desires.

Want to enjoy more kinks? Head on over the the masterlist! 

things had taken a turn for the worse: people were getting sick, people were dying, over a novel virus. panic had settled in thick as the world raced to gain control of the situation. many had begun to hoard things like toilet paper and hand sanitizer, while many simply ignored what was going on and continued to party the night away.

strict protocols were put in place to curb the spread of the virus like closures or revisions of rules over places like restaurants and bowling alleys, gatherings of 100, 50, then 10 or more were prohibited, guidelines and updates were constantly being blasted so people could stay aware of what was going on. eventually, it came to a point where stay in place orders were mandated and eventually enforced. nobody was allowed to go in and out, distribution of food and water were manned by national guards, and only the most essential of workers, like police and government employees were allowed out of the house. 

the only other exception to the rule were pro-heros, who were invited to news, police, fire stations to report the facts and quell anxiety about the virus. villains were still flooding the streets, even more so with quiet streets and empty buildings, and with police and national guards being split so thin to begin with to care for the citizens, pro-heros were forced to take in an extra workload.

however, things with the virus only continued to get worse, and as more and more villains congregated with their newfound freedom, many got sick and decided that their life wasn’t worth galavanting around. and so the time of needing an influx of pro-heros dwindled out and with that came shifts, just enough to keep the peace and help where it was needed without risking any spread. even though these men and women were heros, many were still susceptible to illness and it was important to take precautions as much as possible. 

this meant that Bakugou was stuck inside, subjected to the same punishments as anyone else who tried to leave the house without good reason. it would be another three weeks before it was his turn to work again and you could feel the frustration boiling under his skin. you had attempted to console him, to get him to relax, but his energy was too much and your words were fruitless.

your brain had worked tirelessly to attempt to figure out what you could do to help. he needed something different, something that would stimulate him enough to release his energy while also keeping within quarantine guidelines, something that would make him feel alive within these four walls. with those thoughts in mind, your body moved of its own accord, padding around your small house, attempting to find something that would help.

massage? no, he wouldn’t sit still long enough for that. working out? no, he does that every day. 

just as you were about to give up all hope, you stumbled upon your box of toys Bakugou had used the other night on you. all sorts of fun things were in there and each one got plenty of use. while he prided himself on being more than enough to satisfy you, he was more than happy to experiment and have fun.

hmm, experiment? 

that one thought sent you spiraling. you wouldn’t be able to get any new toys, and a new sex position was boring enough. a new kink needed to be experimented with. it was backbreaking work to get Bakugou to listen to you in the bedroom, but you knew with the right tools, combined with his frustration, it just might work. 

your plan was thankfully enacted only a few short hours later. Bakugou, finishing a shower, had exited the bedroom with nothing but a towel slung low over his hips, his happy trail curly and glistening from the water on his body. you had found your favorite orange lingerie, the color similar to his hero costume, lacy in all the right places and hugging your frame deliciously. 

“well, well, well, what do we have here?” you heard his husky voice approach you, tracing his finger appreciatively over the fabric.

“what we have here is a stress reliever. i know you’ve been anxious about being pent up in here. so have i, so i figured we might have a little bit of fun tonight, try something new.”

you stood up slowly, the fabric rustling as you reached up to cup his face in your hand, bringing your lips together in a soft kiss. you began backing him up to the bed until his knees hit the mattress and he sat down with a soft thud. you followed his body, pushing him back until he was flat on his back, crawling over him, feeling the hardness of his cock through the towel that was dangerously close to falling off.

you positioned yourself so you were level with his eyes, leaning down to ghost your lips over his ear, whispering, “do you remember our safe word?”

he nodded in response, too lost on the way you felt on top of him.

“good, because you’re going to need it.”

you got up without warning, reaching towards the bottom of the bed where you pulled out your toys, skimming your fingers over the various rubber and plastic figures, hand settling on a bottle of lube.

“what are you up to?” he asked, unusually meek sounding.

“do you trust me?”

“yes,” he responded instantly, breath hitched as he watched you continue to rummage around the box, pulling out both the blindfold and a long forgotten strap on, something that you had kept hidden for quite some time and never had the chance to use it. but tonight, tonight you would ravish your boyfriend.

you only nodded out in response as you brought the items over, dropping them on the bed unceremoniously. 

“sit up,” you commanded, crooking a finger towards Bakugou.

he obliged without question, though his face looked like he had a thousand he wanted to ask. you pulled the blindfold slowly over his eyes, running your fingers up through his hair as you straddled him, effectively removing the towel from his waist, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his neck, biting and sucking as you went along.

Bakugou was unusually quiet, only breathing heavily. you placed a hand over his heart and felt that it was racing.

“are you okay? do you want me to stop?”

“fuck no. i mean, yes, shit, i’m okay,” he answered.

you only hummed in response, continuing your worship of his body, feeling the way his pulse jumped as you bit down on a sensitive point on his neck. you pushed him back down again on the bed, this time adjusting him so his head was on a pillow and his body was fully laying down. when he was fully settled, you adjusted yourself so you were straddling his head, lingerie pulled to the side and cunt dripping in anticipation of what was about to go down.

“i need to hear you beg,” you stated simply, looking down to see his reaction.

“i think i should be telling you that,” he retorted with a cheeky grin.

“oh no sweetheart. i can take care of myself better than you, i think.”

with that statement in mind, one of your hands found its way to your cunt, experimentally flicking your aching bud, collecting the juices and going back in, harsher this time. your whines and the sloshing sounds of your pussy were all the indication Bakugou needed to know what you were doing. he brought one hand up to attempt to bring you down but you swatted it away, continuing to tease him as you teased yourself.

“no touching. not until i hear you beg.”

you whined at the feeling of your own fingers against your clit, rocking yourself to create more friction.

when Bakugou scoffed and tried again, you slapped his face, hard.

“i said beg.”

if you were able to see Bakugou’s eyes, you would’ve known that his pupils were blown wide with lust and desire. while he often wanted, no needed, to take control, this was nice, he had to admit.

“yes, mistress. please let me taste you, please,” you heard him, a whiney undertone to his sultry tone.

you immediately lowered yourself onto his face, murmuring how good of a boy he was as you felt his tongue lick up all your slick. his hands came experimentally up to your waist, wanting to see if you would swat him away, but when you only encouraged him, he gripped tighter, almost as if you were his anchor.

you continued to ride his face, praising him and yelping his name, getting lost in your own high. with one swift slap to your ass, he commanded you to cum and you did, leaking all over his face. he licked up every inch, hungry as a dog for your essence.

when you came down from your high, you tutted, upset at how he flipped the situation around so easily. you removed yourself from his face as he pulled off the blindfold, hair wild from you grabbing it.

“get on all fours,” you commanded, eyes blazing fiercely in the dim light from the bathroom that he forgot to turn off.

“what? why?”

“if you want to act like a dog, barking out commands, acting like you’re starving for my pussy, then you’ll get fucked like a dog. on all fours, now.”

when he didn’t comply immediately, you yanked his body to the edge of the bed, flipping his body over and sticking his ass in the air. Bakugou was too dumbfounded to realize what was going on, not even realizing that you had the strength to manhandle him, but before he could regain his composure, he felt something warm and sticky on his asshole.

you had warmed up the lube in your fingers around his ass, watching as the hole puckered around nothing. slowly, you inserted one finger, watching for signs of pain, but all you saw was a confused yet extremely pleased face. experimentally, you crooked the finger around, in and out, watching as Bakugou’s breath quickened and his hands fisted the sheets.

you pulled your finger out, smirking as he whined at the loss of your digit but quickly realized what was coming as you began inserting two fingers back into his fluttering hole. he gritted his teeth at the intrusive feeling but quickly relaxed as you continued to pump in and out of him, scissoring to loosen him up, applying more lube to keep things safe and pleasurable.

once you were satisfied with your work, you removed your fingers, wiping them haphazardly on the sheets, not caring. right now, you were too excited about what you were going to do to your boyfriend. he looked so innocent, eyes boring pleadingly into your own. you were so used to being dominated, tossed around like a ragdoll, and though you never really complained because Bakugou always took care of you, it was an exhilarating feeling to be in control of someone usually so stubborn and hard headed.  

you lubed up the strap on, warming it up in your hands. it felt awkward on your body, but you took a few experimental thrusts in the air and got the hang of it quite quickly. 

“hurry up already and fuck me,” Bakugou half pleaded half demanded.

without hesitation, you raised your palm and smacked his ass, hearing him hiss in both pain and pleasure.

“you’ll get fucked, don’t you worry.”

slowly, you lined the tip up to his ass, watching as he shook it in the air, clearly desperate for some sort of friction. you pushed the tip towards his waiting hole, feeling immediate resistance.

“relax baby. i’ll take care of you, i promise.”

you continued to push, making sure to take your time, until you felt the strap on bottom out, sinking into his gaping hole. amazement crossed your face as you watched the fake dick slide in and out of him, as you watched Bakugou clench up and then release all the tension in his body. soft whines and pants were heard from your boyfriend and you watched as he began thrusting himself back on your cock.

“i’ll go faster if i hear you beg,” you cooed, tracing your fingers down his back and over the curve of his ass, smacking it once more and then soothingly rubbing circles over the now red skin.

“fu-ugh, nnh please fuck me. please fuck me so hard (y/n), mistress, ma’am, fuck, i’ll call you whatever, just fuck me.”

you arched your brows in shock over hearing your boyfriend beg so freely, but who were you to deny a pretty man with a pretty ass? picking up your pace, you began slamming into Bakugou again, telling him how good he was doing, how pretty he was, how good he felt.

he seemed to appreciate the words, whining and stuttering through his emotions, too caught up in his own pleasure to be able to string coherent sentences together. you continued to thrust in and out, building up a sweat but enjoying the sounds and sights of your boyfriend being demolished to even really notice. you felt him tense up, his whines getting louder, and with a cry, he came, sticky ropes of cum shooting out onto the sheets. he collapsed on the bed not soon after, too spent to even care about laying in his own load.

you carefully pulled out, watching as his hole puckered and clenched around the sudden emptiness. you removed the strap on, throwing it on the floor and crawling onto your boyfriend, laying your slick body on his own.

“how was that?” you asked, hopeful yet concerned.

“s’fucking good,” he mumbled back, still reeling from what had just happened.

once he gained his breath back and his senses, you clambered off of him and plopped down, too tired to care. he got on all fours and slowly climbed over to you, pulling you into a searing kiss, murmuring his thanks against your lips.

when he pulled away, you saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes that meant he was up to no good. you gulped in anticipation, waiting with baited breath for what he was about to say.

“you know princess, you really surprised me tonight. hell, i even surprised myself. but tomorrow, tomorrow i will get back at you.” 

you looked up at him through hooded lids, lashes batting innocently as you pondered what he had in store.

“i know you’ve asked before if we could try some riskier kinks. i’ve been hesitant because i wasn’t sure you could handle it, but after tonight, i know better. you showed me tonight that i belonged to you,” he started, chuckling at the thought,” but tomorrow, i’ll carve my fucking name into your back, just so you’ll know that you really belong to me.”

your pussy clenched immediately at the thought, eyes open wide at his suggestion. sure, you had fantasized about, er, riskier kinks but never had you thought he would agree. maybe, you thought, maybe this quarantine won’t be such a bad thing.

TAGS: @redbeanteax​ @softforshigi​

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[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Sweet Dreams

Part One | Part Two

Chase Collins x Reader

Word Count: 1,931

Warning: contains physical intimacy and some mature language

Summary: You’ve been away for weeks and Chase has no problems Using to prove just how much he misses you. 

It was cold and snowy outside, but the bed was cozy, the comforter wrapped around you thick. Added with a mattress with the right level of firmness and fluffy hotel pillows, and sleep came easy.

In one moment, you were curled on your side, drowsily watching the occasional flash of headlights that filtered in through the blinds. In the next, everything went black. The black was absolute, but not frightening. It was the kind of black that made you feel safe, like when you closed your eyes after a long day and shut everything else out.

Suddenly, you felt another presence in the dark and knew you were no longer alone. A crooning voice whispered in your ear. “Open those eyes for me, pet… there you go… that’s it.”

It took considerable effort but you manage to flutter your lids open like the sweet voice prompted. Something in that voice made it impossible to resist listening to it and you sighed in relief when you felt the voice’s fingers stroke your scalp in reward.

Gathering more strength now that your eyes were open, you turned your head toward the presence and saw that the fingers and the voice belonged to the same person. One that you knew. Knew very well, actually, seeing as how he was your boyfriend.

“Chase, what are you doing here?”

He smiled that signature smile of his. The one that always seemed so sweet at first glance, but masked the edge he normally tried to hide. “What? A guy can’t visit the love of his life?”

His words had you fully awake and you sat up, the darkness transitioning into the familiar view of your bedroom. “Wait. Are you real?” You peered around, your eyesight quickly adjusting. Saw your alarm clock on the nightstand. The piles of clothes that needed to be put away sitting on top of your desk.

He merely laid back on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. “Well, not physically. But that doesn’t mean it’s not really me.”

You looked again and noticed how the edges of the room looked blurry, like someone had smudged the lines of the ceiling and floor. But everything else appeared perfect and you had definitely felt Chase touching you just now…

“So it’s a dream then,” you concluded. You smacked his chest with the back of your hand after a moment. “You promised to stop being so reckless with your powers, you idiot.”

“This isn’t reckless. I haven’t seen you in two weeks. That qualifies this dreamscape as an emergency in my book.”

He was right about that part. It had been weeks since you’d last seen one another. You had been traveling for research related to your master’s degree program and wouldn’t be flying home for another few days. In hind sight, that fact alone should’ve been enough for you to realize this was taking place in a dream space.

“As much as I love hearing that you miss me, this doesn’t count as an emergency, Chase.” He pouted, resting his head on your lap so he could rub his face into your thighs. “But since you’ve already went and done it… I happy you’re here.”

“Good. That means I can move to the next phase of my plan,” he murmured under his breath as if accidently thinking out loud. Which was a lie, of course. Chase was so self-aware that he never said anything by accident. If he said it out loud, it was because he wanted you to you hear him.

“Next phase?” you asked, playing along with his game.

“Well, you see—I think best if I just show you.” He picked up his head to press a kiss to your covered thigh, making sure to make eye contact with you. There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes.

His kisses moved upward to your hip. To your stomach. To your ribs. To your neck. Until he finally reached your mouth. He kept it very chaste, opting to press a fleeting closed-lip kiss to the side of your mouth. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you shivered.

He pulled back, holding your face securely in his hands. “What do you say, hmn? Shall we continue?”

Before you could consciously think about it, your head was nodding up and down. The mood instantly changed from sweet touches to hungry intent. Black started leeching from the pupil to completely cover both of Chase’s eyes and you knew you were in for it.

You saw was the flash of his fire rimmed eyes and suddenly you were laid flat out on your back. The sheets were cool against your naked skin, bared completely nude for Chase’s own viewing pleasure. A blindfold took away your vision, leaving you in darkness once again. Unlike when you were trying to fall asleep, you were now hyper-alert for any sounds or touches in order to compensate for the loss.

Next, your arms were pulled up above your head. A quick test proved that your wrists were wrapped in sooth silk, likely conjured by your boyfriend, and bound to your headboard; your arms wouldn’t be moving until Chase allowed it. Your heart was already hammering in your chest and nothing had even happened yet.

He parted your legs so that he could position himself in between them. He spread them into a wide ‘v’ and spanked one of your thighs. “Keep them open, okay? Otherwise they get tied up too.”

He moved up your body to hover over your chest and you made sure not to move your legs. Chase demanded obedience and he was petty enough to leave you tied up, and untouched, if you didn’t follow the rules.

He leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his warm breath raising goosebumps around the area. The touch seemed even more sensual now that you couldn’t see it coming. He alternated between strong sucks and playful flicks of his tongue. Not wanting to leave the other out, his hand crept up to grasp the bud with his fingers, stroking it masterfully until it hardened into a peak.

You sighed in bliss, the thread connecting your sensitive nipples to your sex lighting up. He wasn’t satisfied though.  

“I know you’re louder than that. Come on, let me hear you,” he said pinching your nipple. The pinch made you squirm and he followed it with a drawn-out lick to ease the pain.

The familiar duality of hard-soft treatment got you to release your first moan of the night and even though you couldn’t confirm it, you just knew that Chase had a smug grin on his face. “Louder,” he insisted darkly. The rumble of his voice combined with his sinful touches had you mewling, your back arching to keep his mouth on you.

“That’s more like it,” he purred.

With a parting lick, he detached himself completely and you had no idea what he would do next—your hearing no help since your heavy moaning drowned out every other sound. He left you in suspense for a few minutes, your body wound tight, and it wasn’t until you shifted your legs that he made his move.

“Uh uh uh,” he tsked in a sing-song voice. “What did I say? And I thought you were going to be good for me.”

“I do,” you breathed. “I promise I want to be good!”

His nails dug in to the flesh of your thighs, forcefully, his fingers gripping tight enough to leave marks. More silk wrapped around your ankles and it yanked so that you were forced into a split. It wasn’t the max limit of your flexibility, but it was enough to feel a stretching sensation in your muscles.

Without warning, he cupped you in his hand which had you bucking your hips. You were already slick and he coated his fingers, running them over you to make you even more slick while you trembled. Once he was content, he pulled away again and you grunted, restless on the bed.

“Patience, pet. I’m thinking.”

His gaze was laser focused on your sex as he stroked near your groin. He wasn’t sure whether to continue using his hands or if he should switch to his mouth. He was watering for a taste of you, but you really hadn’t earned that treat…

Oh well, he sighed. It couldn’t be helped. You needed to be taught a lesson. Besides, he knew you would look even better once you were a writhing mess.

He curled his fingers and pumped you once. Caught by surprise, you moaned lewdly, your hips canting to follow his movements.

“Here’s what’s going to happen—you’re going count every pump I give you until you get to fifteen. Then, if I want, I’ll use my mouth. Deal?”

It sounded like a trap. There was no way it wasn’t. Being stroked instead of spanked? Chase was a text book definition of a smooth talker who could sell ice to Eskimos. As good as the offer sounded, you knew it couldn’t be as easy as it seemed. Having no choice but to accept, you nodded.

He pumped again, slowly and with a tantalizing stroke at the end that had you straining against the silk bonds. And then he pressed his thumb down on a sensitive spot of nerves and made harsh, tight circles.

“One,” you gasped, lightning streaking through you. If it was that good after only one, there was no way you were get to fifteen without cumming. And that would be all the excuse he needed to deliver a harder punishment. You were definitely in trouble.

He went to touch you again when you were interrupted by a distant knock. Chase went deadly still and you turned towards the sound, still blindfolded. Another knock sounded, louder than the first time.

The restraints holding your limbs disappeared, followed quickly by the blindfold. All around, your bedroom was slipping away piece by piece and faster every second until just the bed remained. Confused, you faced Chase only to see him trembling in fury.

“Dammit,” he snarled. Then it all went blank.

Blinking your eyes, you found yourself back in the hotel room. A bit disoriented, you were awake enough to hear more knocking coming from down the hall. You heard a door open and a heated flurry of hushed whispers as the person knocking was presumably admitted into their room. The door slammed shut and then all was quiet again.

You picked up the clock from the bedside table and groaned in disappointment when it read 2:46 AM. Unfortunately, it would be while before you were able to fall back asleep now that you were wide awake. Down sides of being a particular sleeper.

And not only would you be unable to go back to sleep immediately, you were now left turned on with no boyfriend to finish you off. Your only consolation was that Chase was just as frustrated as you. Perhaps even more so.

It wasn’t often he wore his emotions clearly, especially in the bedroom, but his expletive more than gave him away, his parting snarl still echoing in your ears. He was pissed at being denied. Served him right for using his powers irresponsibly like that.

You amused yourself by imagining that he’d get so worked up, he’d call to finish what he started. A highly unlikely, but very intriguing fantasy. But then your phone lit up from where it peeked out under the covers to announce an incoming call.  

You smirked in the darkness.

Looked like your fantasy might not be as unlikely as you thought.

_______________

My first time writing for Chase! Was it alright? Thanks to @dhampiravidi​ for agreeing that he’s a kinky one. And thanks to anyone who reads! 

[i-like-plan-m]

I was thinking more about tatted lwj and your response and the tattoos are lwj’s way to feel more freedom outside of the rules and values that his family keeps. He gets to express himself and break the rules without it actually affecting his relationships with his family since his family isn’t ever going to see him shirtless or naked. Like you said it’s like a secret little rebellion!

He starts off with a small simple bunny in his ankle and it slowly spirals out of control as he ends up getting addicted to getting tattoos and soon he has a whole sleeve and tattoos curling around his sides and spreading across his chest and down his back.

He also has one that starts at his waist and spreads down his hip and below his jeans and wwx just wants to know how far down does it exactly go?

ok, loving these prompts, they’re making words work for me tonight and also they’ve all been fantastic prompts so thank you!! 

[Posted to Ao3] 

“So,” Wei Ying said, and promptly flushed to the roots of his hair when it came out as a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You have… tattoos.”

“I do,” Lan Zhan agreed, apparently unbothered by Wei Ying’s dumbfounded stare.

Really, this was too much. How could he be expected to function, knowing Lan Zhan had tattoos, like the delinquent Lan Qiren always accused Wei Ying of being.

Of course, there was nothing delinquent about these tattoos. No, these were lovely, graceful sweeps of color, a blooming vine curling its way down Lan Zhan’s spine, wrapping around his hip and disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

Wei Ying wanted to follow it with his mouth.

“When…?” he trailed off helplessly. They’d been friends for years, ever since high school, after an admittedly rough start wherein Wei Ying had done everything in his power to get Lan Zhan’s attention and Lan Zhan had been infuriated at the mere sight of him.

“I have had many sessions,” Lan Zhan said, and tugged a long sleeved shirt over his head. Wei Ying wanted to whine when the riot of color vanished from his sight, hidden beneath a blue sweater that he used to like, because it was soft and fitted and highlighted Lan Zhan’s extraordinary shoulder to waist ratio.

He did not like the stupid sweater anymore, Wei Ying thought grumpily. Now he knew it had been an accomplice, hiding Lan Zhan’s tattoos from him.

The audacity, he thought indignantly, fully aware that he was being irrational and not caring even a little. Fuck that sweater.

“Why’d you get them?” He asked when he finally remembered how talking worked. Mostly he was just grateful he hadn’t said, “Take it back off right this instant.” or, “Can I touch?”

Lan Zhan paused in the process of making tea— when had he gone into the kitchen? Wei Ying wondered in a daze— and glanced over at him.

“The first was a gentian flower, for my mother. I was eighteen. And… angry.”

Because he’d never been given the time and space to grieve, Wei Ying knew. They’d talked about it before, the restricting rules of Lan Zhan’s childhood. The way he’d been told how to feel, how to act, told to forget about his mother because she wasn’t coming back.

Wei Ying nodded to show he was listening, and took a step closer. Lan Zhan, busy running long fingers gently over his wrist, didn’t seem to notice. “The permanence of a tattoo appealed to me. Once I had it, no one could take it from me.”

No one could take her from me, Wei Ying heard.

“And then?” He asked softly, climbing onto one of the barstools to watch Lan Zhan move around the kitchen with a steady competence that Wei Ying watched with quiet interest disguised as attentiveness.

To his surprise, Lan Zhan’s ears flushed red. Wei Ying perked up, gleeful as always when Lan Zhan got embarrassed around him, the most shameless person on the planet, at least according to Jiang Cheng.

Because Lan Zhan was too good for him, he gave Wei Ying an honest (if reluctant) answer. “A rabbit on my ankle.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasped, delighted. “A bunny? You got a bunny tattoo?”

“I like rabbits,” Lan Zhan said mutinously.

“What next, what next?!”

“…Another rabbit, so the first wouldn’t be alone,” Lan Zhan admitted, ears positively on fire now.

He was so cute Wei Ying wanted to die. He settled for covering his face with his hands until he could control his expression again.

There was no way he could take more of this, so Wei Ying asked instead, “Does your family know?”

“My brother,” Lan Zhan said, and slid his left sleeve up to show the lovely blue flower decorating his wrist. “I showed him this after I had it done and he…”

Uh oh. “Was he mad?” Surely not; Lan Xichen’s only care in the world was for his little brother to be happy.

“No. He cried, a little, and then we spent the whole night talking about our mother. He remembers more than I do. He had many stories to tell me that were… different than what I’d been told growing up.”

“So he liked it? What about the rest?”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan hummed in agreement. “He got a matching one, on his hip. So he could hide it easily.”

Wei Ying leaned over the countertop, propping his chin on his hands and grinning at Lan Zhan. “What else do you have hidden under that sweater?” He asked, and then wondered what the hell was wrong with him. “I mean tattoos,” he added hastily.

Lan Zhan, though, just raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the kitchen island. “It would be easier to show you.”

Wei Ying’s brain promptly stalled out.

Lan Zhan sipped his tea and waited patiently.

“Show me?” He managed through a throat that was suddenly very dry. Lan Zhan made a low noise of acknowledgment. “Like… take your shirt off again?”

“It would be difficult otherwise,” Lan Zhan said, and the amused note in his voice made Wei Ying straighten, indignant. Lan Zhan was fucking with him. With him, Wei Ying.

Since when had his sense of humor included teasing Wei Ying? Well, he’d show Lan Zhan!

“Okay,” he said, so confident and assured it could be nothing but a lie. But Lan Zhan didn’t call him out on it, just raised a brow. Set aside his tea, and…

And took off his shirt. Slowly. Revealing an inch of skin at a time, soft pastel colors blurred into Lan Zhan’s stupid flawless skin, splashes of color that seemed so bright all of a sudden, the gravity of the room shifting to orbit around Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying’s breath caught. He hoped it wasn’t audible.

“You cannot see much from over there,” Lan Zhan observed. His arms were sculpted from years of handstands, the rest of his body lean and muscled from a religious running and swimming routine.

“No,” Wei Ying agreed faintly. He slid off his stool, encouraged when his knees didn’t give out, weak as they felt. He inched his way around the counter, eyes glued to the play of ink across muscle every time Lan Zhan shifted in place, every time he took a measured breath.

Wei Ying swallowed hard. Halted just within arm’s reach, and found himself unable to look Lan Zhan in the eye. The asshole had called his bluff, Wei Ying realized with some disbelief. He was having a hard time being annoyed about it, because… well, it got him within touching distance of his half-naked best friend.

His half-naked best friend who had miles of warm skin inked with soft colors and hopeful, blooming flowers. Little creatures— more bunnies, a small dragon with intricate blue scales, hints of claw and tooth and fang— were shrouded within a veritable garden lovingly carved into Lan Zhan’s body.

So many secrets hidden within. It felt like a metaphor for Lan Zhan, the little things Wei Ying had worked so hard to learn, to coax out of him, to wait patiently for Lan Zhan to come to him, all carefully wreathed in protective vines and a canopy of petals.

He reached out, unable to help himself. Lan Zhan stood very, very still as Wei Ying’s palm settled over his heart, measuring the beloved drum of his heartbeat. It was ceaseless. Reliable. As unwavering as everything else about Lan Zhan, someone so dependable and trustworthy that Wei Ying had lost some of his own sharp edges as a result.

He’d learned what it meant to have faith in someone, a conviction that was unshakeable and everlasting, and somewhere along the way he’d slipped right into love.

Lan Zhan’s hand came up to wrap gently around his wrist. Not to remove it, just to hold. “You’re quiet.”

“Your tattoos are giving me an existential crisis, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying admitted.

Lan Zhan frowned, looking uncertain for the first time this evening. “Is that bad?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. He cleared it, fingers tracing the lines of the ink, following the path as each shape faded into the next so seamlessly they appeared to be one.

Lan Zhan’s abdomen flexed in response to Wei Ying’s soft, trailing touch as it drifted down. And down. And down. He sucked in a breath, watching Wei Ying with so much intensity it burned.

“How far down does it go?” Wei Ying asked, tugging lightly on the edge of Lan Zhan’s pants.

“Find out for yourself,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying looked up, shocked, and bit his lip uncertainly. It was the tipping point; Lan Zhan surged forward, his giant hands coming up to cup Wei Ying’s face, to hold him still as he kissed Wei Ying until they were both breathless and dizzy with it.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, too dazed to feel embarrassed by the way he was clinging to Lan Zhan to remain upright.

“You wanted to find out how far they go?” Lan Zhan asked against his mouth. Wei Ying made a helpless sound in response. “Mark your words,” Lan Zhan said, low and heated, and hauled him towards the bedroom.

Wei Ying was beginning to suspect he had been outplayed at his own game, but just then Lan Zhan dragged his mouth over the sensitive tendons of Wei Ying’s neck and suddenly he had more interesting things to occupy him.

He’d deal with everything else and all that it entailed later.

Much later.

[bisexual-inuyasha]

The Hook

Chapter 2: Getting to Know You

Prompt: “I shouldn’t be here.” “Well you are. Don’t even think about leaving.”

The next morning, Ling woke up alone. Ed had reminded him Al expected him back. And besides, Ling was all talk. He could kiss Edward Elric but anything more would have to wait until he dealt with his suitor situation. It wasn’t cheating, he knew. But that didn’t mean it was right.

Was he a suitor when he never bothered to ask? Ling’s eyes were itchy with lack of sleep. His cheek tingled from where he’d slept on it. God, mornings sucked. Especially early mornings after a late night.

Even still… he smiled. Last night had not been a total waste. He wrapped his fingers around something warm and smooth, something that had rested against his curled stomach through the night.

“Young Lord, I’ve brought you a snack before your meeting. You barely ate yesterday, so I brought extra.” Lan Fan’s voice carried through the doorway, especially loud. “Do you need anything to drink?”

“He’s gone, Lan Fan.” Ling sighed, sitting up. He was decidedly less dressed than when he’d gone to his rooms. By the time Ed left he was too tired to shrug into his sleep clothes. He’d been missing a shirt and his pants had already been half off. He’d just stripped into his undies and fallen asleep under a mountain of blankets.

“What’s that?” Lan Fan sat across from him, her legs crossed and posture careful. “A gift?”

“You could say that.”

It was only a small cat figure, crudely carved from a soft wood Ling had never gotten around to figuring out on his own.

“It’s. Um, cute?”

It wasn’t. It looked awful. Edward wasn’t artistically inclined in that way. Ling couldn’t care less. “Thank you.”

“Speaking of gifts, you’ve got another. It arrived this morning.” Lan Fan took a bite of Ling’s food. “You should eat.”

“What was the gift?” Ling scooped up a mouthful of rice. “Who was it from?”

“Not Edward Elric.” Lan Fan spoke around her food. “The other man you’re supposed to be involved with.”

Ling’s throat felt dry. He coughed. “We’ve certainly not been meant to be involved yet, Lan Fan. That won’t happen for another month. You know there’s quite a long engagement process in Xing.”

“Yes, Sire. I’m aware.” She closed her eyes. He watched as she considered for a moment. “When you are ready for my opinion I will be sure to give it.”

Irritation flared through Ling but he let it pass. Lan Fan was always free to give her opinion. The only thing putting him off was that he knew what her opinion was. And that she was right. He took a deep breath and pushed a smile onto his face. “I await the day.”

Today was not like the last two. He had so much to do. It was not like his engagement meant the kingdom stopped running. And his hands-on approach to ruling meant he couldn’t shove many duties onto his advisors and court. He was entangled in all of the decisions, from clan relations to trade negotiations. He had all the details and all the paperwork.

So he dragged himself up, splashing cool water on his face. Lan Fan raised an eyebrow at his undress.

“It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

“No, that’s true. I used to kick your ass when you’d wake up half naked after getting mugged in the Hua clans.”

“I wish you wouldn’t remind me of starving days.” Ling put on a pouty face. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to respect me now, Lan Fan? I’m working hard as emperor.”

“I have the utmost respect for you, Sire.” She smiled at him, and it was genuine. She wasn’t too angry at him, then. “I just want you to be careful. You are walking in a thin place. The thin places are difficult to keep you safe in.”

“You don’t have to protect me from everything, Lan Fan.” He gathered up his robes. With a celebration came the expectation of finery. “Though if you want to help me into this ridiculous outfit, I’d appreciate it.”

She did, and by the time his first round of consultation was to start, he was fully dressed. His hair was pulled back today, in the proper style. He arranged his expression into an indifferent coolness.

“Don’t forget, Sire. You’ve got the matter of the gift to deal with.”

His stomach clenched. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget it.”

When she wasn’t looking, Ling snuck the little cat into his pocket.

The mysterious suitor’s gift was on his mind through the whole morning. As his constituents asked about the borders of their fields and the negotiation, he ran his thumb over the figurine in his pocket and tried not to look towards the table where the gift waited for him.

A maze of questions and conflicts and negotiations later, he was being led to the gift. A no stuck in his throat. Refusal built like a physical pressure in his chest. The urge to leave was so strong his hands shook with it.

His advisors were clueless. And of all the days, Lan Fan was busy with other affairs. She wasn’t even in the palace. For the first time since he was inaugurated, a clammy sweat broke over his forehead.

He stood at the box. He didn’t care what was in it. It wouldn’t change his mind, whatever it was.

But accepting the gift was a furthering. For every step into Xingese tradition he took, the expectation he would follow through grew. Maybe this is why he just stood, staring at the box, for several minutes.

The longer he took, the heavier the silence around him grew.

Low rumbling started in the back of the crowd. A few people grumbled and a couple shouted as someone aggressively, and rudely, shoved their way through.

Ed pushed his way near the front, a notebook in his hand, his metal fingers clasped around a pen. Ling heard him shout over the thin wall of people ahead of him. “Well, get on with it. How else are any of us supposed to know what’s in it?”

Ling laughed. He pulled the fabric wrapping from the box. It was a nice enough fabric. From far away, the cloth had just looked like a boring eggwhite, but up close he could see damasked swirls twisting around the corners. The box was equally almost boring--cream, slightly darker, with a line of gold around the opening. His expectations were low.

And good thing.

The gift was a simple, expensive shaving set. Ling felt like this was something Fu would have enjoyed. However, he, with his lack of facial hair and attachment to his other bodily hair, had no use for it. He quirked a brow, put the nice, ivory handled blade back into the oversized box beside the crystal container of what he could only assume was cologne. Maybe?

A single boom of laughter sounded from the general vicinity of Ed, but no one else seemed to think anything of the gift. And then, to his horror, one of his advisors cleared their throat.

“For when he is here, Sire. To shave your husband.”

Ling carefully closed the box. He was trying, and failing, to look nonchalant.

“Sire, should we respond with a gift in kind?”

Ling ground his teeth. “I will be in my room, crafting a response for my… suitor.”

He’d chosen the word specifically for its connotation of uncertainty. A suitor has not been accepted yet. The advisors all glared, and a few of the crowd closest to him gasped. He could feel the burning in his cheeks. Anger, embarrassment, and maybe a smidge of disappointment flooded his thoughts. He needed to be out of here.

Murmuring grew behind him, growing to a small roar as the heavy doors to the court closed behind him.

It was hard to stomp through all his layers but he did his best.

The kitchens were busy when he arrived. Lan Fan was elbow deep in a bowl of dumpling filling. She took one look at his face and picked up the bowl to move towards him.

“We should go, Sire,” she finished kneading the ingredients together and dumped the bowl into the arms of another kitchenhand. “Your face may frighten the staff.”

He shuttered his expression, pushing the emotions and thoughts deep inside until he could be somewhere private. It was not easy, and from Lan Fan’s face he could tell he was not fully successful. He tried, though, and that was the best he could do.

“It was bad?” Lan Fan spoke under her breath while she washed her hands.

He couldn’t speak on it. It was insulting, actually. The kind of gift given to a stranger. But worse so, because it was a gift truly meant for the gifter--a gift of expectation. A note that said one day, he expected Ling to serve him.

He did not become Emperor to serve over-confident old men.

The thought made him bristle. His face contorted into a sneer, despite his best efforts to keep a neutral expression. He turned away, so that only Lan Fan could see him. “It is best discussed somewhere else.”

She didn’t respond, only dried her hands and hurried from the room. Ling followed, though he could only go so fast without tripping over the length of his robes. The hindrance was especially frustrating, and even more so because he wanted to move. To push himself, quicken his steps and his body until he couldn’t hardly breathe.

He already didn’t want to do this.

He had a growing list of reasons to refuse.

Except.

Except there was a reason he accepted in the first place.

It was enough to fuel the fire inside him higher, until he was nearly bursting at the seams in his shuffling pace.

Finally, they were in an empty room. A quick glance around told him it was an empty washroom, and if not for Lan Fan’s very blatant disinterest in men, they may have been in trouble. As it was, she only slammed the door closed (a cathartic sound, though it did nothing for his thrumming body.) When she turned towards him, there was only concern. He hadn’t realized he’d expected anything less. But now, some tightness around his lungs loosened.

He’d been expecting a reprimand.

“What was the gift?” She started pulling his robes off of him.

Briefly, he wondered if this was unusual. The thought left his mind as soon as it crossed. He shifted his shoulders to help her remove the uppermost layer. “It was a shaving set.”

“Hm?” She moved to his front, untying a sash. “But you don’t have any facial hair.”

“It wasn’t for me to use myself.” Ling’s hands shook again. “Hua explained. It was for me to use, on him.”

Lan Fan’s fingers fumbled on the sash. “That doesn’t make sense, Sire.”

“It was meant as exactly what it was.” Ling stepped back and finished undoing the sash to his underrobe himself. “A notification of expectation. A signal that he wants me to be a doting husband.”

“I can see how in some twisted way that makes sense.” Lan Fan frowned. “Though he must be aware it doesn’t give a good impression.”

“He doesn’t think he has to care. He offered his hand in marriage without knowing me, Lan Fan. He wasn’t taking me into account at all. He wants Xing.”

“No.” She sat on an empty countertop. Her expression bothered him. “Not just Xing. He wants you, too. Sire.”

His skin felt raw. Only a few days ago, that may have been a relief. Now it was an irritation digging its way into his blood. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s been keeping tabs on you through the advisors. He has asked specifically after your health and happiness. The reports have been mixed, but he’s asked more than once.”

For a moment, Ling went cold. “Have any of them mentioned--”

“No. No mention of him. But the Amestrian does seem interested in you, specifically, Sire.” She frowned. “Though, I can say from your reaction to the gift that it’s a hopeless cause on his part.”

“What do I do?” He sat on the floor. At least a dozen tailors would be scandalized at his treatment of his clothing, but what did he care? Those same tailors complained every time he wore an outfit a second time.

“I cannot answer you, Ling. I’m sorry.” She smiled. “You should go to breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.” He was too angry to feel hungry.

“Ed will be there. Surely, he will calm you down.” Lan Fan smiled. “Besides, you should at least try.”

Ling closed his eyes. “I’m not putting the robes back on.”

“You’ll scandalize us all, Sire.” But she was still smiling when she said it. “Please, at least keep your head around the boy.”

Ling blushed. He left, tired and still irritated.

He ignored the stares of the others. Admittedly, his under robe and darkest, loosest pants were not the usual outfit for an emperor. It would take until tomorrow for the rumors to reach outside the kingdom. And when they did, he’d solidify them with his announcement of withdrawal from the marriage.

What had Ed called it?

A soft rebellion.

He sat, heavily, in his seat at the top of the table. Ed and Al sat near him, like they had the night before. Soon, this would become noticeable. Soon, he’d have to deal with all of the fallout from there. Right now though…

“I like your new look.” Ed tapped his fingers on his glass, taking a deep drink. He stared Ling down, questioning. “It’s certainly to stir up some talk around here. Especially with how you stormed out earlier.”

“Surprised you noticed over all your laughter.” Ling stretched in his seat. The dining hall was chilly as the flame of his anger started to wane. “Al, you wouldn’t believe how loud your asshole of a brother laughed at me in my own court.”

“I’m sure he didn’t laugh half as loud as he snored.” Al contemplated, rubbing their chin. “Though I guess he didn’t do much snoring in your room last night.”

Ed and Ling both squawked a protest but Al just snorted.

“I gotta say, though. Your kitchen knows how to make a roast quail that just melts.” Al took a bite, a nibble really, and savored it.

“Al’s a bit of a foodie. In fact, I don’t think they’ve ever enjoyed a place we’ve visited as much. They go on and on about the food here in the room. Do you know how much I had to hear about the sugared sweet potatoes? That was a half hour rant at least.”

“They were good! And one of the cooks said she’d share her recipe with me.” Al’s eyes narrowed, a slow and innocent smile spreading across their face. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t had to hear--”

“Ha! An-any way.” Ed waved his arm, the shine glinting with the bright lights of the room.

Ling caught the metal fingers in his, and Ed’s face lit up like a cherry sparkler. “Did you polish this?”

“Uh…” Ed’s mouth fell open as Ling openly observed the newly cleaned screws and gleaming plates. “Well, yeah. I mean, if I’m going to be modelling for an emperor, I figured it best be up to emperor’s standards.”

“Silly Edward.” Ling pulled the hand towards his face, checking the wear and tarnish. The scuff was still noticeable at the thumb, bits of unreachable fade peeking out from beneath overlapping metal. “I like your hands either way.”

Al coughed. “People are going to notice if you guys keep all that up.”

Ling dropped Ed’s hand and turned to his food. “So you say the quail is good?”

His appetite did return. He ate steadily through baked quail, quail egg dotted rice, taro starch candies, fried squash blossoms, sweet tomato filled dumplings. Occasionally Al would ask about a dish and he’d explain whatever he knew--not usually very much--and they’d write down a few notes to ask about later. And occasionally, he’d glance over to see Ed, a wide grin on his face, eyes alight, cheeks still tinged pink, and his heart would stutter.

This was the feeling he’d dreamed of as a kid. This excitement buzzing through him whenever he looked at Ed. The easy comradery between himself and the two brothers.

Ling leaned over, keeping his voice quiet and his body language inconspicuous. Al didn’t even look up.

“Let’s meet up where we met the first time, tonight.”

Ed nodded, and they continued through their meal until Ling had to excuse himself.

If Ed’s face turned a deeper shade of red, Al didn’t mention it.

As much as Ling was enjoying his scandalous outfit, he couldn’t justify doing any more official work in it. He changed into a simpler, less heavy version of the outfit he wore that morning. He hadn’t seen Lan Fan at breakfast. He assumed she had a good reason for wherever she was. Still. He wanted to tell her he’d made up his mind.

He toured through the city, overseeing repair projects and brokering deals between bickering businesses. The people weren’t quite sure what to do with him. And he was still learning exactly how to be what they expected of him. His advisors had tried to shepherd him into similes of past emperors. He chafed under their pressures as they tried to fill a shell they’d formed for him. The worst times were when they could cite legitimate reasons for their herding.

For example, he was exposed and in danger while out in the towns. So therefore, they must be able to have him well guarded. This very logical set of observations was followed with therefore every step he made had to be very meticulously timed and prescreened. Theoretically, he would spend only a small allotted time at each job, and no more.

One thing was always true, no matter how meticulously planned his outings. Each job multiplied. If he showed up to discuss the demarcation of a farming plot, the result would mean that already grown crops would have to be divided. Inevitably, a dispute would have to be settled. Then, as is only polite when you’ve just told at least one person they’ve less crops than they thought they did, he’d sit for a tea.

Today he didn’t get to lunch. Or back for another round of celebrations. And this was the way it always went, for any of his days he spent out with the people.

It was his favorite part of the job.

By the time he returned to the palace he was exhausted deep in his very bones. The robes, lighter he’d thought than the earlier ones, weighed him down. And still, he had dinner to go through. And the aftermath of this morning to handle. He wanted to sleep.

Then, he remembered.

He had a meeting. After dinner.

His steps still dragged, but a little less.

He made his way to his room and collapsed in his bed.

Only to jump up a moment later, shouting. “What the hell?”

A body wiggled under his covers. Fighting his way from a mountain of plush blankets, Ed’s head popped up. “Oh, you’re back. You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

A soft smile lit his face despite the heaviness of his limbs. “I can’t half ass a job with the people. They’d never forget and the bitching wouldn’t end for years. Probably until I died.”

“Even during your engagement?”

Ling scoffed. “Don’t play with me. You and I both know that’s a sham.”

“You sure?” Ed hugged the covers to his chest. Ling thought it was awfully cheeky that the Amestrian could sleep in his bed, wake up, and immediately start asking prying questions. Maybe he should have been bothered. Instead he was mildly impressed.

“Am I sure that the supposed suitor of mine who I’ve never met, who has no reason to have any interest in a decades younger new emperor in a country with an assassin problem, is nothing more than a sham of political leverage?” Ling slid his top off. He’d put it back on before dinner. But now, he needed to be lighter.

“Leverage? And what does that mean, for you?”

This conversation was a heavy one. Heavier than the exhaustion in his bones. Heavier than the robe he’d allowed to slide onto the floor. Heavier still than the thoughts that had been running through his head all day. “Do you know how I became Emperor?”

Ed frowned. “You fought your way through the other heirs, made alliances, made deals. That’s how every Xingese emperor ascends, right?”

“No. I’d have never been able to fight my way through 43 heirs.” Ling rubbed his eyes. “Promises. I made promises to those I didn’t need to fight my way through. Promises that their clan wouldn’t starve. Promises that I wouldn’t mercilessly kill those clans whose heirs I did have to fight through.”

“Sounds better.” Ed smiled. Ling didn’t.

“If I promised you, right now, that I would fix Amestris for you. That utilizing my marriage to your ruler, I would root out and destroy the corruption that causes Amestris to spread into neighboring countries like a virus. How would you feel?”

Ed’s face shifted, first to anger then to thoughtfulness, before finally landing on doubt. “How could you, even if you did marry him? Amestrians aren’t trusting. They’ve been in war after war--”

“Exactly. And yet, with the resources of Xing, the possibility arises that I could. And this is the possibility I’m faced with. Right now, I’m new, and my rule is based on promises that are thin until I fulfill them. And some of them will only be fulfilled when I die and haven’t killed off the opposing clans. When people aren’t used to honesty, believing in good things will become impossible.” Ling sat on the bed, pushed aside the covers. Ed was still dressed in this morning's clothes. As any normal person would be, Ling decided. “Having a strong military force behind my decrees would go a long way to making people take me seriously.”

“Sounds cowardly to me.” Ed crossed his arms. Ling was going to have to reign this conversation in, or he’d get no sleep before dinner.

“Yes, cowardly,” Ling wrapped his arms around Ed’s waist. “I’m certainly cowardly enough, but maybe not enough for this.”

Ed fought back his grin, but to no avail. “Well, I can’t believe I was lured all the way to the palace under false pretenses.”

“You mean you don’t want to become my mistress?” Ling placed a kiss against Ed’s throat. He wouldn’t usually be so forward, but he had found Ed in his bed.

“Don’t think I’ve got the legs.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to anyway.” And then Ling pulled Ed down, curled around the small statured boy, and fell asleep.

This way, exactly, was how Lan Fan found them. Ed, lying awake in Ling’s arms, and Ling, deep asleep.

“He seems relaxed.” Lan Fan shut the door quietly behind her. “This is good. I wanted to talk to you privately anyway.”

Ed sputtered. “He’s right here, it’s not like we’re alone.”

Lan Fan gave him a deadpan stare. Then she opened her mouth, talking loudly. “Ling! Oh, Ling, it’s an emergency, Ed is cutting off my leg with his automail arm. He’s going to kill me Ling, watch out!”

Ed gaped, waving his free hand in her direction. “Stop it stop it stop it! What are you doing?”

But Ling didn’t wake up. He only snuggled deeper into Ed’s chest, wrapped his arms tighter around Ed’s waist, and hummed contentedly.

“So, as I was saying.” Lan Fan on Ling’s desk, glancing through some of his pictures. “You came here before he got back. Before lunch. You must be hungry.”

“Starving, actually.”

“Careful, he’s got to be starving too.” She rested her chin on her hand, staring him down. “He’s been known to nibble in his sleep.”

“You two are close, yeah?”

“What are your intentions with the Emperor of Xing?” She uncrossed her leg, hopping down from the work desk. “How can I trust you?”

“We had an interesting conversation about trust earlier.” Ed looked up to the ceiling. “I don’t have any intentions, to be honest. I barely know him.”

Lan Fan was at the edge of the bed now. He could feel her cool touch on his leg, a threat more than a comfort. “That’s not a very comforting answer, considering what’s on the line.”

“You couldn’t very well trust me if I lied to you, could you?” Ed swallowed. “I like him. I have since I saw him half-passed out in the garden. He was so far gone he couldn’t stand, and he thought the flowers were stars.”

“It’s hard to understand why you went out after him.” Lan Fan’s grip on his leg tightened. “I had assumed he wanted to be alone. Why didn’t you?”

“I--” Ed hesitated. How much did he want to tell her? “I’ve had that look on my face before. The one he had when he went outside. I hadn’t wanted to be alone, then.”

“So you just took a chance? Followed a hunch?” She sat on the bed. Ling shifted beside him. “And then stayed out there with him, until we found you.”

“He doesn’t remember that part, I think.” Ed spread his fingers over Ling’s arm. “He asked me to lay with him. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“You really don’t want anything from him, do you?”

“Just a chance.” Ed turned his face into Ling’s hair. “A chance to get to know him.”

“He wants you to.” Lan Fan sighed. “It’s time to get ready for dinner, now.”

“Right.” Ed ran his fingers through Ling’s hair, careful to keep the metal from tangling. “I should probably go. You probably wanted to talk to him, yeah?”

“I think it would be best.” Lan Fan didn’t move. “After all, it wouldn’t do for you two to arrive at dinner together, again.”

Ed moved carefully, lifting Ling’s arm and sliding out from beneath him. “He sleeps like a log.”

“Only after his visits to the people. It drains him but he loves it. He doesn’t do well sitting still.” She stood before Ed could reach the door, hand outstretched. “I think you’ll love him, before too long. I wish you good luck, Edward Elric. It is no easy task loving Ling Yao.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s worth it, every step.” Her hand hung in the air, waiting. “But he is emperor. And he doesn’t understand how important he is.”

“I make no promises.” He shook her hand and left, feeling somehow that he had made a vow, despite his claims.

Maybe he was already a lot deeper in than he thought.

They didn’t sit together at dinner this time. Ling was dressed in the robe he’d worn to town, only slightly rumpled, and smiling at everyone. A few people had attempted to ask him about his show over the gift this morning. He waved off their questions easily and changed the subject.

He’d even had one of the waiters sneak a baked taro bun over to Al, who had greedily devoured the whole thing. But he didn’t look at Ed.

Lan Fan stuck to his side, slyly moving him away from the less pleasant visitors. Ling pretended not to notice, but at one point he grew frustrated with a conversation, grabbed her around the waist, and did a circle around the room with her, ignoring any woh tried to talk to him. She laughed at him, and he ended up laughing with her. It was only a single round but it was enough to stir up the murmuring all over again.

The abrupt change had successfully signaled a change, however. The groups of people chattering needlessly started to break up into smaller groups, and music began playing. Ling watched as people stopped paying attention to him, concerning themselves with their own conversations.

He took a deep breath and sat down, rubbing his hands over his face. “God, that was becoming insufferable. I receive one shaving set and everyone has jokes and questions.”

“I think it’s more than that, Sire.” Lan Fan stretched. “Are you keeping your appointment?”

“A good emperor always does, right Lan Fan?” He grinned at her.

She squeezed his hand. “Just guard yourself, sire. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

He stuck his tongue out. “You’re always so serious. Never want to just have fun.”

“I have all sorts of fun when I’m with you, Sire.”

They both burst into giggles. He stood, brushing at the wrinkles on his top. “I’ve best get going. Ed disappeared quite a few minutes ago. He’ll be worried if I don’t show up soon.”

“Sire?” She tugged on his sleeve. “You do deserve to be happy. Don’t let any of us make you doubt that.”

A lump rose in his throat. “And is that your official opinion, Lan Fan?”

“That is always my opinion, Sire.”

He was still riding the high of knowing he’d be able to rely on Lan Fan, even if he made the selfish decision, even if he allowed his pride to rule just this once, when he made his way to the archway. Ed sat beneath, staring up at the tiny white flowers that dotted overhead.

“They do kind of look like stars, if you cross your eyes a bit.” Ed thumped back, stretching his arms above him.

“You’ll never reach them. They are the stars, after all.” Ling sat down and matched Ed’s pose.

“Do you remember asking to watch the stars with me?”

Ling shook his head. “No, I don’t. But I’d like to get the chance to try for real.”

“Well, that’s all up to you. I could always be your mistress.”

“You wouldn’t, you’re far too moral for that.” Ling hummed. “No, I’m going to call off the engagement. I can’t follow through with it.”

“Is this because of me? Don’t make a decision like that because of me. We just met, after all. What if we like different music or something?”

“Don’t worry. I’d probably have made this decision even if I hadn’t met you.” Probably. Maybe. Ling hoped he would have. “I’ve given up a lot to be Emperor. But I feel like this would be giving up more than I could actually bear.”

“I won’t argue with you.” Ed turned on his side. “I can’t say I wasn’t hoping.”

Ling opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a hand grabbing his arm. Lan Fan was here, and she’d obviously hurried.

“Lord, there’s been a development. We’ve just received word.”

Ling frowned, his brow pulling together. “What is it? Is everything ok?”

Lan Fan looked towards Ed, and then back to him. “Your fiance is heading here, to meet. He cites a misunderstanding as the cause, but I fear he may have learned of,” she made a vague gesture towards Ed. “Your extracurriculars.”

Ed’s face turned red again, a sight that would have usually sent Ling into cheery, warm feelings. But now his stomach felt it was digging its way into the dirt.

He would be meeting his suitor after all.

Ed grabbed his hand, already sitting up. "I shouldn't be here. People are bound to start showing up soon to congratulate you."

Ling didn't let go of Ed's hand as he moved to leave. "Well, you are. Don't even think about leaving me here."

Ed stopped, looking to Ling uncertain. "But--"

"Please."

And so Ed stayed, waiting for Ling as advisors came to tell him he only had two days before the King of Amestris arrived.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Her Brother's Blood is on His Hands

(Originally written for @heart-pirates-week for Ikkaku’s day with the prompt “Family” but ended up being delayed until now. Inspired by discussions with @shambledsurgeon and @medicus-mortem)

Ikkaku awoke slowly, the persistent beeping of a heart monitor resembling that of a particularly slow but annoying alarm clock. She tried to sit up but a sharp pain in her side dissuaded her, so she was forced to remain on her back, looking around at the sterile walls of the infirmary. She was hooked up to an IV, there were several machines monitoring her vitals, and she could feel the pressure of tightly-wound bandages around her torso and arms.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Law said from the chair at her bedside, putting down the medical book he’d been reading. The circles under his eyes appeared darker than usual, but his grin was comforting and sure. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d have to resort to drastic measures to wake Sleeping Beauty.”

“Law?” she asked weakly, grimacing at how hoarse she sounded due to the dryness of her throat. “The fuck happened?”

“Gonna have to be more specific,” he stated as he carefully helped prop her up enough that she could safely drink some water. “Do you mean how did you end up here? Maybe the extent of your wounds? Or how about what, exactly, I did to the fucker who hurt you?”

Her eyes widened as she recalled what had happened. She’d been taking a walk with Jean Bart, venting about how much she hated that they were now government dogs because Law’d insisted on handing the Navy one hundred hearts. They’d run into a squad of Marines. Her brother’s squad, to be exact. Ushi had decided it was pointless trying to climb the Navy ranks the normal way, and thus had come up with the idea of sucking up to the Celestial Dragons. And what better way to do so than to return to Saint Rosward his wayward slave?

Heart clenching at the thought of her shipmate being handed back over to those bastards, she asked, “Is Jean—”

“He’s fine. Discharged yesterday,” Law promised, nodding towards the empty bed on the other side of the room. He picked up a chart, studying it as he continued, “Needed a lot of stitches for the lacerations across his back and arms, but nothing life-threatening.”

“Good,” she sighed in relief. He hadn’t been killed or taken. Jean Bart would continue to live as a free man for a while longer. He deserved that much.

“Was quite the sight, seeing him charging towards the ship, covered in blood, carrying you like a baby while you bled out from a stab wound,” he commented, voice even, though there was an unmistakable tightness in his jaw. “I’m just glad he managed to tell me who’d done this to you two before he passed out.”

White teeth sank into her bottom lip, guilt pulsing through her. That’s right. It hadn’t exactly been a victory. They’d managed to take down most of the Marines, but Ushi had managed to get behind her, and then there’d been excruciating pain as he’d driven a knife deep into her side…

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she whispered, black curls hiding her face as she hung her head in shame.

“The hell are you apologizing for?” he asked, gold eyes flicking up from the clipboard and narrowing in displeasure.

She wrung her hands, anxious and guilty. “Jean Bart got hurt because of my family baggage.”

“He got hurt because of an opportunistic asshole who decided that Jean being under the protection of a shichibukai didn’t matter,” he snapped. Pausing, he took a deep breath to compose himself. “The fact that said asshole came out of the same uterus as you is irrelevant.”

“We both know that’s not true,” she countered, refusing to look at him. “He targeted the Hearts because of me. He always has. And he wouldn’t have been able to go after Jean Bart if I’d let you kill him years ago. Or killed him myself. You deserve a subordinate with the stones to kill her own brother.”

Internally, she berated herself for that last part. None of this would be a problem if she’d just toughened up and put an end to that bastard. Why did she always seem to stop herself? Morality? Because she knew how heartbroken her parents would be? Because even years later, she was still scared of her childhood boogeyman?

Her thoughts were disturbed by the clipboard lightly smacking her on the head in reproach. It didn’t hurt, but Ikkaku rubbed her head anyway, frowning up at her captain. “You trying to knock me unconscious again?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to stop talking bullshit,” he retorted. He glared at her for a moment before letting out a sigh, a tattooed hand falling heavily on her shoulder. “Ikkaku,” Law stated, tone brokering no argument, “what I deserve is a subordinate with the stones to stand up to a power-hungry bastard looking to sell her nakama to a bunch of delusional inbred freaks, which that’s exactly what I’ve got. And what you deserve is to not get stabbed in the spleen by your own blood.”

Well. It was hard to argue that logic. “I guess. But next time—”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“You don’t know that.”

The hand on her shoulder fell away to flip through the pages of her chart. “Ikkaku, you nearly bled out before you even got to the sub. You’re lucky Shachi and Penguin share your blood type and were basically tripping over themselves to donate. I had to replace your spleen and left kidney, and if that knife had gone in at a slightly different angle, he could have punctured your stomach or lung. In other words, this bastard nearly cost me my engineer. You’ve known me for goin’ on five years now; do you really think that once you were stable I just sat around twiddling my thumbs while I waited for you to wake up?”

Dark eyes widened in realization. “Did you kill him?”

“Would you be mad if I said I had?”

No. Not at him at least, but she still felt like she’d let him down by not being able to do it herself. “He shouldn’t have been your problem to solve.”

“You’re right. He shouldn’t have been a problem,” he replied harshly. Before Ikkaku could internally berate herself further, though, Law ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and there was a spark of guilt in his eyes. “No Marine should have even touched you guys. That’s supposed to be one of the fucking perks of being a shichibukai. I told you when I took this damn title that you be safe and look how that turned out.”

Yes, that had been a major argument between them, hadn’t it? For Ikkaku, not wanting to be affiliated with the World Government hadn’t just been a matter of pride or general hatred for the bastards who ran the world – she’d been afraid. Terrified that her brother would be waiting for her around every corner. That he’d find a way to get her alone, to finish the job he’d started when she was seven, to finally get her out of his hair. Law had promised she’d be safe, that he wouldn’t let him so much as breath near her. Eventually, she’d come to believe him, but things hadn’t gone to plan.

“You can’t blame yourself for Ushi not following the rules, Law,” she insisted. Yeah, she could have berated him for not listening to her, but in reality, Law’s logic had been sound; Ushi shouldn’t have dared to try anything. Ikkaku didn’t just have the Hearts protecting her anymore – the Navy itself had become another obstacle in his way. She should have been safe.

However, even she hadn’t fully considered why Ushi would go this far, but in hindsight, it made sense. Last she’d checked, he hadn’t been promoted in a while. Hadn’t advanced as quickly as he wanted or earned any accolades for heroism like everyone back home had been expecting. He was a commodore still – not even a rear-admiral, and his name didn’t strike fear into the hearts of pirates like Smoker’s did.

Because he’d been put on a pedestal, her brother had always gotten away with everything, which had only enforced his cruel and abusive nature. The whole island had believed that he’d become a famous Marine and boost their reputation, which was why they’d been willing to overlook the bruises that littered his sister’s arms, or the fact that she’d gone missing for three days while under his care.

If he’d come home a failure, everyone would have to finally admit he was nothing but a twisted, cruel bully. And instead of accepting the blame for enabling, they’d likely make him answer for his crimes.

But more than that, he’d be forced to accept that he was never that special to begin with, and she knew a man as arrogant as him wouldn’t be able to bear that.

Shaking her head, she almost felt pity for him. “Ushi was desperate, and desperate men are unpredictable as fuck. You couldn’t have known he’d be crazy enough to try to suck up to the Celestial Dragons.”

“Neither of us could have known, but I still could have protected you better,” Law retorted, crossing his arms. He still didn’t look fully convinced of his own absolution, but he declared quite plainly, “The fact is, brothers shouldn’t murder their younger siblings, or even try to.”

Well, not even Ikkaku could argue that.

But actions had consequences, and there was still a strong chance Law’s retaliation, justified or not, would bite him in the ass.

“Ushi might have been no one special, but the Navy’s not going to be happy about you killing one of their own,” she said, genuinely worried. Even if Ushi had been going against orders, shichibukai weren’t supposed to attack their Marine allies. What if they decided to strip Law of his new title? Sure, she hated that he was a government dog, but it was a vital part of his plan to take down Joker, and if that had been stripped away because he’d recklessly pursued revenge on her behalf…

The way he smirked at her belied that he didn’t share even a fraction of her concern. “The Navy’ll have a hell of a time pinning a murder on me when there’s no evidence. It’s unlikely he was ordered to attack you and Jean Bart, so there’s no paper trail. The man was obsessed with advancing up the ladder, so likely only a select few are even aware you’re related, thus no one knows of his unfortunate connection to the Heart Pirates. And unless they plan on gutting a bunch of Sea Kings and piecing together chunks of half-digested flesh, I doubt they’ll find enough of his body to even determine his cause of death.”

“You fed him to Sea Kings?”

“His remains, at least. As for how I killed him…well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

It was highly doubtful what he’d done could be described as boring, but Ikkaku decided not to press him. Knowing Law, it had been slow, painful, and had probably involved dissection. “You didn’t have to do all that for me, Captain.”

He dismissed her concerns with a casual wave of his hand. “Of course I did. You’re family. Besides, if I hadn’t, the rest of the crew would have gone after him themselves, and they wouldn’t have done as good a job covering their tracks. Or made him scream quite as loud. No offense to them, but conventional torture methods just can’t match the agony of having your heart slowly crushed to a pulp.”

Was she a bad person for not feeling sick at the thought of her oldest brother—her own blood—being subjected to the Surgeon of Death’s sadism? That instead of anger or disgust, she felt relieved? Sure, he was a massive piece of shit who deserved to die for everything he’d done to her, her other brothers, and who knows what else, but he was still family, wasn’t he?

No. The Hearts were family. Law was family. He was right – Ushi was blood, but he wasn’t her brother.

Law’s brow furrowed with concern and he reached forward, cupping her cheeks and wiping tears away with his thumbs. Ikkaku hadn’t even realized she was crying.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely guilty. “I shouldn’t have overstepped like that. I should have at least waited until you were awake and asked—”

Though she was tired and weak and it took far more effort than she’d like, Ikkaku lifted her arm and flicked Law squarely in the forehead. He didn’t quite flinch back, but he did give her an annoyed grunt, but his brow did smooth out when he saw her bright smile.

“Thank you,” she said, cheeks streaked with tears but voice warm with love and affection and gratitude. It might take a while for her to fully accept that Ushi was no longer laying in wait at every Marine base, but for now, she could breath a little easier. The monster from her childhood had finally been vanquished.

Trafalgar Law might not have been a knight in shining armor, but he was something better. He was the big brother she’d always wished for.

Relieved that she wasn’t angry, Law gave her a tiny but sincere grin back. His engineer was alive, safe, and giving him that sunny smile that could light up a room. Well worth the blood on his hands, and quietly, he vowed to keep her, and the rest of his Hearts, safe from whatever hell might come their way.

They were a loyal bunch of fools, but they were his family. He’d set the world on fire before allowing anything to happen to them.

A hand adorned with the word DEATH retreated from Ikkaku’s cheek to ruffle her hair. “Don’t mention it.”

[musette22]

is it weird that I can't even look at their pics right now (seb and chris) because I can't help but feel icky and disappointed? the recent evens reminded me that they are truly two rich and privileged white men who are so dumb just cos they wanna get some. I'm out. Maybe in a year or so I'll check what their projects are. maybe never. I just can't right now. what a shame.

Okay guys, I’ve been debating over whether or not to “open my big mouth” about this (as one anon so sweetly put it once), but I’ve been getting quite a lot of messages like this one and I think I do want to share a few thoughts with you all. I’m going to put them under the cut because this is a long one, and I don’t want to clog up everyone’s dash ❤️

First of all, let me just make it clear that I am fully aware of the severity of this pandemic, especially in some places, including in the US, and that I am in no way trying to make light of any of it or undermine how serious this situation is for a lot of people around the globe right now, many of you included. It’s a terrible situation, and it’s far from over. I’m also not aiming to be an apologist for the bad decisions of privileged white males just because I have a crush on them, because that idea is abhorrent to me, but I’m aware some of you might still feel like I am, and that’s your right.

Having said all that, I am getting a bit worried about all the posts I’ve seen about how people are angry and disillusioned with Sebastian and Chris’s behaviour. I’m not trying to invalidate your disappointment, because it’s totally fair to wish they’d made different decisions, more akin to the decisions you yourself presumably would have made. And if that disappointment goes deep enough then it is absolutely fair if you want to unstan them and stop following or supporting them (that does not extend to sending them hate though, that is not in any way acceptable, no matter how disappointed we are).

But, as anon rightfully points out, the fact of the matter is that they are privileged white male celebrities. This is not news. They (especially Chris) have been successful celebrities for a long, long time, and with celebrity come certain privileges. They can afford massive houses in LA and big apartments in expensive areas in New York City, for instance. They get to go to cool parties, they get free stuff, everyone kisses their ass. They get paid exorbitant amounts of money (Chris much more so than Seb of course) that bear no direct relation to their work and responsibilities anymore, at this point.

And that’s not to say they don’t work hard, they do - but so do most of us, and we’re not getting paid nearly as much as them. It’s inherently unfair, but that’s what celebrity culture (and capitalism) are. Now, I’m not saying everyone has to blindly accept the status quo and just ignore how unfair it all is – far from it. In some ways, I wish more people would denounce celebrity culture, because it is in some senses terribly toxic and unfair. But listen, if you want to stan celebrities because it brings you some joy in this fucked up world, then I think that’s also perfectly understandable. That’s what I’m doing too. And to stan celebs (at least of the calibre of Chris and Seb) we need them to be famous, otherwise we wouldn’t even know them and we would get no content to consume. They are famous because they are in Hollywood movies, and they are in Hollywood movies because they play the Hollywood game - to some extent, at least. Playing the Hollywood game means everything from flying all over the world for movie premieres and leaving a huge carbon footprint, to going to glitzy parties where there a are lots or questionable people present, to “lying” in interviews because of contractual obligations - and sometimes it also means playing along with fake PR rumours or relationships, even if it’s bad PR.

I know people are worried about Chris, and especially Seb, being “bought” by Hollywood and its money and temptations, and losing his integrity and that he won’t be that sweet, soft-spoken, well-read boy who loves his mom anymore. I personally believe that so far, both Seb and Chris have managed to maintain an impressive level of integrity throughout it all, and I’m still hopeful that that isn’t going to change (much).

But it’s not realistic to have the same expectations for them you would have for your loved ones for instance, because they’re not. We have zero relationship to them as people, and they owe us nothing. They give us movies and pictures of their pretty faces, and occasionally good advice or lovely hugs at comic cons, but that’s all we’re gonna get from them. They are not our friends or potential partners. They’re human of course, and in that sense just like you and me, meaning they have feelings and thoughts and a right to privacy and they make mistakes, but their circumstances are wildly different from most of ours. They’re surrounded by the Hollywood circus. They are PART of the Hollywood circus, because they’re actors and if you want to be a successful movie actor you have to play the game to some extent. Sebastian cannot be expected to be home all the time and decline going to parties because he prefers staying in with a good book even if he did prefer that, because that way he’d never be noticed by the people who matter, and who could get him where he wants to be. He said it himself, he’s an ambitious guy. He wants bigger roles, bigger challenges. And he’s not going to get them if he doesn’t do some annoying, dumb shit sometimes, unfortunately.

In my view, that doesn’t make him a bad person who doesn’t care about anyone but himself, but it does make him a privileged human. Being a privileged human also entails some responsibilities, though – if you don’t want to become corrupt, you have to make sure you also use your privilege for good. And in my opinion, both Sebastian and Chris do that. They use their voice and their money to help people less fortunate than them. That’s part of that integrity I was talking about. Some of you may disagree, and that’s fine, but this is how I view it.

As for everyone who is upset with them for traveling to Europe during a pandemic and not wearing a mask in public: I completely understand your frustration, and I am frustrated too. This is literally a deadly virus and it has to be taken very seriously, and unfortunately, they’re not taking it very seriously right now, and that kind of sucks. But the truth is, neither of them are breaking any rules and neither of them is being more callous than the majority of people in the countries they’ve been seen in are. The situation in most of Europe is stabilising (not everywhere, and the UK isn’t doing all that great to be fair), and governments are reopening their countries and facilities. Wearing a mask in the street is not mandatory in either Spain or the UK, except for in specific situations such as public transport or if you’re in certain professions. The rules here are different from those in New York etc. because they have been adapted to how each country is faring. 

I live in the Netherlands, and no one here is wearing a mask in the street, not even in the hospital or at the doctor’s, and yet the situation continues to stabilise (I hope to god it stays that way, but that of course remains to be seen). From my friends in Spain and the UK I have heard the situation is much the same. Yes, Sebastian is acting differently from how he did in New York, but he’s in different circumstances too, so that makes sense. Moreover, both Chris and Seb will have been tested before traveling, because they’re privileged celebrities who have access to testing even where lots of normal folks unfortunately don’t.

Now, I’m not saying both guys shouldn’t just have stayed put and not left the country (especially a country where the virus is still rampant), because they should have, and they’re both dumbasses for not doing so. I am definitely disappointed that they’re not being smarter and more considerate about this, but I recognise that my disappointment in part stems from the fact that I put them on a pedestal that I shouldn’t have put them on in the first place. And I know a lot of you are mad at them for flying to Europe “just to get some”, but that is disregarding the fact that both Sebastian’s holiday and Chris’s trip to London seem to be at least partially for PR reasons, most likely pushed and arranged by their agency. The exact extent of how much of it is PR is still a little unclear to me at the moment, but I think it’s fair to assert at this point that they did not just fly to Europe to “get some.”

I know this is ridiculously long, but I have been thinking about all of this a lot these past few days and wanted to get those thoughts out! I hope most of you can understand where I’m coming from here. Love you guys ❤️

[darkmulti]

My Game, My Rules

Vampire!Taehyung x female reader

BTS

⚠️Warnings: starvation, heavy smut, whipping, rough sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, choking, slapping, somnophilia, degradation, bondage, biting, use of toy, anal, blood

Not non con, but some people may consider it to be

But just in case👇

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

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02:37

“Please stop! I’m begging you! Let me go!”

“If I let you go, then who am I going to eat?”

The deafening silence soon became dreadful screams. The shadows clearly showed a man biting into someone’s neck and sucking the life out of them.

The girl witnessing it all, shuts her eyes and tries her best to block out the piercing screams. Her owner Taehyung, comes out of the shadows with a sinister smirk on his face.

“Y/N! My dearest and sweetest Y/N! Come here baby girl. Crawl to me, my little whore.”

He yells enthusiastically

“Yes master”

She weakly whispers out. The girl was completely drained of energy. Taehyung gave her very little food and only fed her every 3 days. Every other day she was brutally fucked over and over.

Y/N made it to Taehyung’s feet and she looked up at him with puppy eyes.

“Please do whatever you want to me, master.”

Taehyung smirks at his little slut and picks her up.

“Let’s go, I’ve got something to show you.”

He brings her to the newly renovated sex chamber.

Whips, chains and countless amounts of sex toys display on the walls and tables. The view made the girl tremble. He was gonna use all of it on her.

“M-master. I-I’m scared.”

“Don’t worry babygirl. I won’t go too hard on your first day.”

He reassures her in his low, soothing voice.

“N-no, p-please tae.”

“Shh, you can’t start crying now! We didn’t even start yet!”

Taehyung places her on the bed and hands her a harness.

“Put it on.”

She struggled to put in on, but after she figures it out, he pats her on the head. “Good girl. I bought you a little something.” He takes out a velvet, pastel pink, collar that had a hoop on it. “Here let me put it on you.” He puts it around her neck and puts it on the tightest one.

“Daddy!”

She weeps out.

“I can’t breathe!”

“That sounds like a problem to you.”

Y/N now had to force air to go up and down her neck, to keep herself conscious and well… alive.

He attaches a leash onto the collar and ties it on the bed frame. “Good job baby. You’re not complaining for once.” He spanks her ass, then puts it up in the air. The man ties down her body with chains and puts a butt plug in.

“Ouch! Daddy!”

Taehyung hushes the girl then looks for the pink velvet whip that was matching with her collar. He takes it off the wall and pets the soft side.

“This will do.”

He murmured to himself. His fingertips trace her beautiful, smooth skin before whipping her as hard as he could.

“Master! Not too hard!”

She cries out.

“I’ll go as hard as I want because I fucking own you cunt!”

He hits her harder in the same spot, making her yelp.

“Apologize to me! Now!”

“I’m very sorry master! You can do whatever you want because you own me.”

Y/N starts to sob uncontrollably, turning Taehyung on even more.

“I love your sweet little cries. You pathetic little bitch.”

He puts the whip aside and quickly unbuckles his belt.

“Take me you fucking whore.”

His furious tip pushes in, but Taehyung couldn’t hold back any longer and starts fucking her cunt viscously. His hips begin moving at an inhuman speed, and the girl helplessly lays under and takes it all.

“Daddy! Slow down please! I can’t keep up!”

The girl miserably chokes out.

Taehyung growls and grabs her hips. He slammed it on his cock back and forth, while her tits swing gracefully.

“Daddy please slow down! I’m still human please!”

“I don’t care what you are, I’m still gonna get a good fuck out of it.”

His balls kept slapping her pussy harder with each thrust. He pulls her hair back and the collar stops her from breathing.

She couldn’t exactly do anything because her hands were tied down, so she screamed and cried to get her daddy’s attention.

But Taehyung was fully aware and enjoyed every second. Her hair being pulled back, and tears constantly running down her cheek, while his godly cock pounds into her swollen pussy. It was a perfect moment.

He finally lets go of her hair and she scrambles to catch her breath.

“Daddy I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum and I’ll add three more rounds!”

“What? That’s not fair!”

“It’s my game, it’s my rules!”

With every word he said a hard thrust followed. Her arms started to wobble because she was too weak to keep herself up. Taehyung ruthlessly thrust into her a couple of times and she cums all over his cock, then caves in.

“I’m sorry for cuming my master. I-I couldn’t hold it, I'm very sorry!”

“Prepare yourself for three more rounds because you know I don’t give you any mercy.”

“No Taehyung please! Not too rough!”

He removes the soaking butt plug and throws it behind him.

“How about the ass?”

“No no no, Taehyung stop!”

A firm spanks shuts her up and Taehyung roars at her,

“What’s my fucking name cunt?”

“Daddy or master.”

She innocently responds

“Then why are you referring me to my real name?”

“Because you’re not listening to me!”

“Don’t you fucking dare talk back to me.”

He slaps her ass three times in a row, making her whimper and cry out apologies. Taehyung had the perfect way to deal with her behaviour.

“See if you like this.”

His monster cock squeezes it’s way into her small, tight asshole. Taehyung shivers at the feeling; while she screams into the bed sheet. He pushes himself a little further into her, and sees her hole rip apart.

“P-p-please…. daddy please!”

“Please what?”

“Stop!”

Taehyung takes his cock out and laughs at the girl.

“Oh look at this. Is this blood?”

His pointer finger enters into her butt and blood leaks out.

“Fucking delicious.”

He flips her over into missionary style and pitilessly slams his cock into her cunt again. The vampire leans down and bites into her neck, while his hips move faster every second. He pushes down on her stomachs to feel his cock destroying her insides.

“You feel that slut? That’s my cock that’s destroying your insides!”

She slaps her across the face and all she could really do was sputter.

“I'm close babygirl.”

Taehyung intertwined his huge hands with her tiny hands. He fucks her into the mattress until the girl starts to wail under him, which means she’s gonna cum.

“Oh daddy, fuck fuck fuck!”

She frantically trembles under him, and her walls begin to clench around his cock. A tingly explosion happens in her lower abdomen making her zone into la la land. She felt everything and nothing at the same time. Tears kept going and she tried her best to breath. Taehyung gave her a finishing slam, knocking her out. He cums deep inside her pussy then kisses her lips.

“I’m sure you love me too.”

——————————————————————————

Fuck, that took me forever!

Edited🔐

Xoxo, N❣️