#neck muscles the consistency of butter

[dagasinfilo]

[softagenda]

favors amongst friends (kuras)

kuras x reader(f)

injury / interlude in the clinic

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

He must have noticed the lights on, and yet Kuras still strode undaunted into the examination room. His gaze alighted on you immediately, and a gentle smile curled his full lips. “Ah, my favorite patient.”

You smiled back, a little sheepish. “Your most consistent one, at least.”

_____________________

The clinic was cold and quiet when you slipped inside through the back door, lockpicks stowed safely in your coat pocket. As you shook off drops of rain from your hood and dropped it on the coat stand, the lantern on the counter sparked to life, filling the room with a white, clean glow.

The stool where the good doctor usually perched sat empty. You tugged at the doorknob to his office, found it firmly locked, and listened at the hinge of the door for a moment. No soft shuffle of papers, no dainty chimes of bottles kissing as concoctions passed between them.

He’s out, then.

You hesitated, before inspecting the gash on your arm. A soulless had taken a cut of flesh on your return to Eridia, nearly catching the bag of valuable potions ingredients you’d brought back to sell. There were a couple things in there that you thought Kuras might be interested in buying: thalus roots, spotted sunshrooms, a particularly thick undu stem that could be stored and siphoned from for months before it’d run out. You’d intended to trade treatment for a discounted rate, but perhaps you should try your luck elsewhere. 

Distaste hollowed your stomach at the thought. The local clinics had a habit of prying whenever you’d been forced to visit, finding excuses to try and remove the bandages wrapped around your hands. 

Kuras never pried. As patient and steadfast as a saint, he would wait, golden eyes soft and alluring, an effortless grace that seemed to coax others to open themselves up like flowers to the sun.

Though you’d rather seek treatment here, you might be short on time. Blood continued to drip sluggishly from the wound and, from within the open gash, the muscle and tissue inside seemed to be darkening, pink flesh graying like rot.

Poison or a curse, you couldn’t be sure.

Just as you prepared to shrug your coat on and brave the storm, the front door opened with a tingle of bells.

He must have noticed the lights on, and yet Kuras still strode undaunted into the examination room. His gaze alighted on you immediately, and a gentle smile curled his full lips. “Ah, my favorite patient.”

You smiled back, a little sheepish. “Your most consistent one, at least.” 

“How may I assist you this evening?” he inquired graciously, his hand gesturing toward the exam bench. 

You huffed under your breath before placing one boot on the stepstool and lifting yourself onto the edge, the sheet crinkling under you. You looked him over as he turned toward the counter and swept a few papers neatly into a leather book.

Kuras had clearly been out in the storm for some time. Rain had soaked into his hair and coat, the edges dripping fast onto the tiled floor. His long mane of hair stuck wetly to the coat, a few curling locks caught in the gilded plates of his coat. His face looked dewy soft, his fan of lashes thicker with moisture. Drops trailed perilously slow down his thick neck, skirting the edge of that high collar.

Heat pooled in your stomach, a strange restlessness harrying your limbs.

You cleared your throat and glanced down. “Ran into a soulless on my way back today. Turns out, not all dark, mysterious strangers are happy to see me,” you quipped.

“A fault on their part, I assure you.” He approached and leaned over you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over your lap. “May I?”

“Will I need to strip down this time, doctor?” You asked, striving for innocence but struggling to keep your mouth from trembling into a smile.

“Rolling up your sleeve should suffice, from a medical standpoint,” he replied smoothly, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. His golden eyes narrowed in mirth. “Though I certainly wouldn’t be opposed.”

Flushing slightly, you tugged your sleeve to your elbow and offered it up. As he craned his neck to inspect the wound, a couple raindrops fell to your skin. 

Kuras frowned. He straightened up and murmured, “just a moment.” Two strides of his long legs later, he had vanished into the back room. A moment of silence passed before he returned.

You sucked in a quick breath. 

The massive, white coat that draped his form was gone. 

Smooth, coffee skin was laid bare on his shoulders. His sleeves cinched around his biceps with gold cuffs, the fabric thin and see-through to the forearm before wrapped in flowing white silk. His hair, before flowing freely down his back, had been tied back simply with a leather thong.

He looked so different in that moment - so much more open and unguarded and tangible - for all that he’d only bared his shoulders, that the sight took your breath away.

“My apologies for the lack of courtesy and the delay,” he said, producing a clean towel from his pocket and dabbing carefully at the spot where the raindrops landed.

“Kuras, you’ve sewn this same arm back onto my body,” you said with a short laugh, still grappling for equilibrium. “You could drip acid on it, and I’d still be grateful.”

His brow furrowed more. “While there are valid applications of acidic substances, I would consider them a last resort.” He folded the slightly damp side of the towel inward before using the folds to carefully hold your arm and inspect the injury. “It would be most abhorrent to risk tarnishing your skin.”

A flutter of feathers stirred in your stomach. Still, you joked with an edge of bitterness, “Yes, my precious, corpse gray skin that drives people to insanity. Can’t risk that, or I’ll never trap a partner.”

Kuras paused. He looked down solemnly at you through his fan of lashes, the gold of his gaze molten and bright. “Beauty lies within the eye of the beholder,” he replied, his voice low and achingly gentle. “You have always been beautiful in my eyes.”

The intensity of him - his voice, his gaze, the way his body seemed to curl around you, a shield against what would harm you - each word genuine and strong, as though he spoke a undeniable truth of the world, cut you to your core.

Your head turned, eyes lowered, flinching against it even as your chest grew warm and full. 

For a long moment, you struggled to reply, your jaw clenched tight as your heart pounded in your chest. 

Kuras seemed to sense, as he always did, the riotous feelings inside you, because the next moment he had retreated to the counter and begun pulling various ingredients from the shelf, his head lowered to give you a moment of privacy.

The gratitude that welled up inside you threatened to boil up through your throat, tears stinging at the back of your eyes. 

“There does appear to be a venomous residue within the wound,” he murmured, deep and scholarly in tone, his mien serene as a moonlit pond. “I have encountered a similar substance before with other patients. Certain species of soulless grow mutations that secrete toxins into the bloodstream of prey, in their claws or fangs, not unlike the parotid salivary glands of snakes.”

You listened quietly as the frantic race of your heart settled, letting his velvet voice lull the storm inside you. Rain pitter-pattered against the window and battered the roof above, occasionally subsumed under a rumble of thunder.

Calmed once more, you faced him again, your gaze lingering. 

Without the coat, his large, willowy form was in full view: his broad back tapering to a slender waist, prim ass, and impossibly long legs. Dark, curly hair trailed down his back, still wet and soaking into his silk shirt. The lamplight shone around him, tracing his body in an edge of white light even as his shadow encompassed the room.

His head turned, the gold hoops at his ears sparkling, and surveyed you for a quick moment before gliding closer. In one hand was a bowl of smooth dark green paste, in the other fresh bandages. He set them on a metal table by the exam table by a bowl of clean water and a pile of cloth before reaching within a box and withdrawing a pair of white silk gloves. 

As he perched on the stool, his body leaned into your space. Heat rolled off him, as though he had swallowed a star.

“We will apply this poultice for now, monitor for infection, and then reconvene to sew the wound closed.” Kuras pulled on the silk gloves and, after a quick, searching look of your face, took your arm in hand and began cleaning the wound.

You held still and breathed through the pain - at times a dull ache, others pinching and acute. Rinsing the wound brought searing heat that had your teeth clenching tight, trapping any sound that attempted to escape up your throat.

The doctor’s treatment, from the outside, looked more like a dance than medical practice. He did not coddle or cajole, nor castigate or belittle, as was the style of other doctors you’d seen - instead, Kuras worked with utter silence and composure, all of that overwhelming intensity focused on the task at hand. Each movement was efficient, graceful, and imbued with an exquisite gentleness that would endear even the worst of enemies to him. 

Each dab of poultice like the brush of a master painter. Each stitch into flesh the weaving of a master dressmaker.

Poetry in motion. Medical practice envisioned in art form.

The treatment seemed to pass quickly and effortlessly. One moment you were gripping the side of the exam table as he smoothed the creamy poultice over the wound, the next your inflamed, gray skin had been wrapped comfortably in fresh bandages.

“How does that feel?” Kuras inquired, removing the gloves with a small flourish.

“Good as new, doc,” you replied with a sigh. 

He smiled, his eyes thinning with pleasure.

“Excellent. Then your next priority should be a good night’s rest.” His large hand curled around the side of your arm, his palm feverishly hot even through the thick bandage. “Allow me to escort you back to the Wick.”

He rose from the stool and began to pack away the poultice bowl and bandages.

Your left hand replaced his, holding that fading heat to your skin for a little longer, as your gaze wandered to the window. Rain continued to batter the window panes, the sky outside an endless abyss.

It was tempting to ask if, rather than venture out in the pelting rain, you could remain there, in the clean, cozy atmosphere of the examination room. You could lie back on the exam table, draw your cloak (or his) over your body for added warmth. You’d bet all the coin in your purse that you’d sleep like the dead.

But you couldn’t intrude on his hospitality any more than you already had. Heavens knew you’d arrived in the middle of the night. You’d probably delayed his own well-earned rest before the next endless line of patients would arrive at his door at dawn.

“I’ve got some things for you,” you said, rising from the exam table to grab your satchel.

Kuras gave you a bemused look over his shoulder. “You know well that I require no payment for my services.”

“Not payment,” you denied, well used to this debate. “Favors amongst friends. You mentioned a few days ago that your stock was low on a few items.”

One thin, dubious brow rose, but he inspected the haul you offered from the satchel with the calculating interest of a man well-used to haggling in the market for prime ingredients. “I will purchase them from you.”

“They’re a gift,” you insisted.

Kuras’s eyes narrowed, his full lips frowning. “The value for the undu stem alone would fetch you a generous price. More than enough to lease a private residence in Lowtown.You cannot think me so crass as to take advantage of you in this way. ”

You hid a smirk. For all his manners and professional admiration for Leander, his quiet but strong dislike for your current accommodations grew more obvious by the day. 

“Never,” you replied easily, adding, “Neither so crass as to thrice refuse a gracious gift from an appreciative friend.”

Kuras held your gaze for a moment before a cat-like smile curled across his lips. “I seem to have been out maneuvered.”

“Out mannered, more like.”

“Then I concede and accept your gifts with gratitude,” he said, his voice velvet smooth and mirthful. “I will endeavor to use them well.”

“Do as you will,” you quip. “Roast them for lunch, it’s your choice.” As long as they’ll be useful to you.

He took the ingredients with careful hands. The undu stem, which took you both hands and significant strength to lift, he took in one hand. He carried them into the office and stowed them away properly in glass containers before returning his coat draped over his arm.

“Shall we?”

You watched him take the shoulders of the coat in hand, preparing to sweep the heavy fabric over his back, before stopping him.

“Wait.” You hesitated, licking your lips. “Won’t that be uncomfortable? With your hair, I mean.”

Kuras paused, his eyes wide, before that gentle smile reappeared. “You need not concern yourself with me. We’ve only a short walk, after all.”

“It’ll get tangled, though.” An offer sat on the tip of your tongue, enticing enough to embolden you to speak it. “I could braid it for you.” You cleared your throat and fought the urge to stare down at your boots. “Nothing - nothing fancy, or anything. But it would help.”

“Your injury…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing.

“It’s fine, really. I’m not in any pain, and this would be - nothing.”

Kuras seemed to mull that over, his face inscrutable.

After a long, tortuous moment in which you wished you’d kept your mouth firmly shut and resolved to keep it shut for an eternity, Kuras nodded. “Then I accept.”

Your jaw dropped. “Really?”

“I must admit my surprise, but the prospect intrigues me.” That cat-like smile returned with a vengeance. “Unless you would like to rescind the offer? But surely, my friend, you’d never be so crass to do so.”

Oh, you - 

Flushing hotly under your clothes, you squinted at him. “I seem to have been out-maneuvered.”

“Out-mannered, I believe, was the term you used, and just so.” 

With an air of smug satisfaction and humor, Kuras draped his coat over the exam table, then crossed the room in two strides to withdraw an antique brush from a drawer. He perched once more on the stool, one golden eye glancing over his shoulder. 

You take the brush, looking it over. It’s a beautiful piece, comprised of gold filigree and a stunning mother of pearl inlay on the back. The bristles were soft but firm, scratching lightly against your palm as you tested the feel. The gold handle was a cool, easy grip, its engraved markings depicting flowers, feathers, and what looked like an eye pressing against you through the veil of your bandages.

Gripping firmly, you surveyed the waterfall of dark hair in front of you, your heart beating fast.

With a fortifying breath, you gathered the heavy, silky length in your hands and started from the ends of his hair, stroking the brush as gently as possible. Despite how wet and woven the strands were, there were very few knots to tease out.

Kuras sat peaceably for several minutes, still as a statue in prayer, before he asked, “Have you done this for others?”

You paused, now smoothing the hair at the middle of his back. You thought about what to say for a moment, but the truth seemed easiest. “My mentor. She had long, red hair that would frizz at the slightest spit of rain. Every morning, since I was old enough, I would tie up her hair for her.” It had been a small but daily act of care that, with time and distance, you had eventually realized she never reciprocated.

He hummed softly but said nothing more.

When you reached his neck, your hands danced with delicate caution, holding his earrings out of the path of the brush. Kuras seemed to stiffen ever so slightly whenever your fingers brushed his skin, but soon relaxed back into his posture. 

Once you had brushed smooth from the crown of his head to the dusky purple ends, you set the brush down on the exam table and began to braid.

A rhythm soon developed, your fingers twined the hair into five sections and began weaving them together, each pull drawing to the very tips of the hair to prevent bunching at the bottom. The movement was made effortlessly easy as the hair was still damp and content to be handled.

All the while, Kuras sat patiently, his hands clasped in his lap. When you finally reached the end of the braid, now well past his waist, he finally broke from his vigil and held a black leather tie from the crook of his finger.

You tied the braid securely before letting your hands smooth down the braid, testing for any loose sections. The braid itself looked immaculate: neat, tidy, his dark hair gleaming in the soft lamplight. “Is that comfortable?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. A heavy sigh followed, his shoulders drooping, before he rose to his feet. He turned around, his hand drawing the braid across his shoulder and inspecting the work. 

Somehow, his face seemed different than only moments before. A tension you hadn’t known existed in his bearing had been smoothed out: his brow clear, his lips parted, those captivating golden eyes softer than you’d ever seen.

Then, he met your gaze, his musician’s hand stroking down the braid, and smiled. “Thank you. That was… truly an experience I will not soon forget.”

You froze, still caught, the world narrowed in on that single, sweet smile.

He draped the coat over his shoulders, showing particular care with his braided hair, before gliding forward. With a firm hand on your waist, the heat of him radiating through your clothes, Kuras coaxed you toward the back door. 

“Now, let us step into the night.”

________________________________

a/n: thank you for reading!

[onyxhealthy]

How to get abs at home without equipment

The most important thing you need to know about getting abs is that “Abs are made in the kitchen”. This quote means that when you start your abs journey, your main focus should be on your diet. Controlling your diet is the most important thing when it comes to making abs. You should eat in a calorie deficit of at least 500 calories. Reduce 500 calories from your daily diet. Eating in a calorie deficit would reduce the fat layer on your stomach and make the abs look more defined. People who tend to have lower body fat percentages, usually have an appearance of defined abdominal muscle. Not only your diet, but your workout also matters when you are looking for a great abs definition. Both your diet and workout will give you desirable results.

What should you eat to get abs?

Now you know that you have to eat in a calorie deficit to get abs. But, the important question is what you should eat. So, your diet should include fruits, vegetables, lean protein, unrefined carbohydrates, and healthy fats. And, try to consume as little as junk food as possible while you are on your journey.

You can consume any type of fruit or vegetable you like. And, for lean protein, try eating greek yoghurt, beans, peas, lentils, white meat, poultry, cottage cheese, fish (white fleshed), peanut butter, lean beef, etc. Next for unrefined carbohydrates, you can have whole wheat/multigrain bread, brown rice, barley, quinoa, bran cereal, oatmeal, etc. Now, for healthy fats, you can eat fish (salmon, mackerel, herring, lake trout, sardines, and albacore tuna), seeds (chia seeds, pumpkin seeds, flax seeds, etc), olive oil, beans, eggs, nuts, etc.

So, including the foods mentioned above, abs get faster and more defined.

What workout should I do to get abs at home?

Now, let’s talk about the workout plan. There are a lot of exercises that you can do in order to get abs. But, the most important thing to keep in mind when you are following an abs workout is that you should focus on increasing the reputation and the sets of the exercise. Increasing the reps would help you to get abs faster because the abdominal muscles are made up of slow twitch muscle fibers, and these muscles best react to low weight and high repetition. But, the abdominal muscles also consist of fast twitch muscle fibres and these muscle fibres react, best to heavy weight and low repetitions.

So, if you are a beginner, try to increase your reps more than the weight. Because increasing the weight would make it a lot more difficult for you to work out and get abs at home.

To get abs at home, you should follow the exercises given below:

1.Planks

Plank helps to strengthen the core and improves posture. This exercise targets abdominal muscles.

Keep your palms, knees and feets on the ground.

Now lay down on your stomach and stretch your legs.

Straighten your legs so your knees come off the floor and your body is in a straight line from the back of your head to the back of your heels.

Hold this position for 45 seconds and then you can bring you knees down

Repeat 3 sets of 45 seconds.

2.Crunches

This exercise helps to squeeze your abs. And also helps to engage the core.

Lay down on your back. And then fold your knees.

Put the palm of your hands behind your head.

Straighten your neck. Now, with the help of your abs, try to roll your head, shoulders, neck up.

Now as you go up, try to exhale and squeeze your abs.

Then come back down while inhaling.

Repeat this exercise 30 times and do 3 sets.

3. Bicycle crunches

This exercise helps to define the abs and initiate a great burn in them.

Lay on your back. Raise your legs in the middle of the air. Make sure that it is not too high and not too low.

Put the palm of your hands behind your head, straighten your neck.

Now using abs, bring both the alternative knee and elbow close to each other. If you are doing this with your right leg, make sure that the left leg is straight at 45° angle.

Then do the same with the left leg. In this process, try squeezing your abs.

Keep inhaling and exhaling during this whole process.

Repeat the exercise 20 times and do three sets.

4. Russian twists

This exercise basically focuses on oblique muscles. This exercise will help you to reduce your side fat.

Sit on your hips. Take your legs up at 45 degrees. Leave your legs up.

Join the palm of your hands and tap down your hands on the side of the ground near your hips.

In this process, try squeezing your side muscles.

Exhale and inhale during the whole process.

Repeat this exercise 20 times and do 3 sets.

5. Mountain climbers

This exercise will help you work your lower abs.

Get up in a plank position.

Tight your core, fold your knee and bring it in between your elbows.

Jump and change the leg.

Repeat it 20 times each side and do 3 sets.

6. Windshield wipers

This exercise will help you to tone your lower belly and side lower fat.

Lay on your back and make T with your arm.

Now lift your legs off the ground and make a tabletop position and legs should be parallel to the ground.

Rotate your hips to one side without letting your feets touch the ground.

Then lift your legs again to the top and repeat this on the other side.

Do it 20 times each side and do three sets.

7.Hip dips

This workout will help you to make your waist ting abs tight.

Get up in a plank position. Now just touch your elbows to the ground and make a 90° angle with your arms.

Without moving your upper body, twist your hip area to the right side. Bring it back up and repeat it with the left side.

Repeat it 20 times and do 2 sets.

8.V up

With the help of this exercise, you will get a very defined abdominal muscles shape.

Lay on your back. Left your upper body and lower body at the same time making a V shape with your body.

While lifting your body in a V shape, use all the power of your abs.

After you lift your body come back down and this will count as one rep.

You can do this access 10 times and can do 2 sets.

Follow the diet and workout plan given above to get abs at home. And, the workout plan given above can be done 5 to 6 times a week.

[noisymentalityalpaca]

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[headfullofpresley]

You and me, kid

You and me, kid ─ always and forever.

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader (can be Austin!Elvis as well)

Word count: 4324 (woops)

Warning/notes: SMUT SMUT SMUT, y/n is a bold ass bitch, mentions of cigarettes/cigars, blood, biting, crying(?), English is not my first language so bare with me cuties. I wrote this with late 60s!Elvis/early 70s!Elvis in mind, but other than mentions of the International/Vegas there’s nothing that indicates so, so you can read it with any era in mind.

Most of the vampire stuff is inspired by TVD and TO.

Part 2 is here!

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‘‘I pick my poison and it’s you, nothing can kill me like you do. You’re going straight to my head and I’m headed straight for the edge.’’

You knew the wisest thing to do was to stay far far away from Elvis Presley. With that killer smile that showed off his perfect pearly whites and voice as smooth as butter, he had girls all over the world in hysterics. You had never met one girl who did not swoon over Elvis Presley and even though you’d never admit it out loud, you weren’t any better. You shouldn’t find it hot when his lips were covered in your blood when he’d pull back from your neck, you shouldn’t be moaning when he lapped up the stripe of crimson fluid that spilled down the length of your neck and down your collar bone. But here you freaking were, shivering in both pleasure and pain as you straddled the raven haired vampire that could end your life in just a mere second.

But Elvis wasn’t planning on ending your life, not in this moment and if it were up to him, not ever. Ever since laying eyes on you and being close enough to you to smell your natural scent through that sweet perfume of yours, he couldn’t bare to stay away from you. Before he could even taste you, he had already become addicted. You were hired as a cigarette girl at The International a few weeks before Elvis’ first show there and although it wasn’t exactly your dream job, you did like it. It paid well, you got to meet a lot of interesting people and the boss had offered you to stay in one of the rooms for free until you had enough saved up to rent the small apartment you had your sights set on located in the neon capital of the world. Las Vegas was equally scary as exciting, but for now, there was no other place in the world where you’d rather be.  You had worked the floor for most of Elvis’ shows at the hotel and while you were enjoying a free concert during work hours, he had different ideas when he noticed you prancing around with the small tray of smokes and snacks around your neck. Neither did he miss the way your legs seemed to go on for days in your work outfit which consisted of a short tight fitted white dress, not leaving much up to the imagination of who ever laid their eyes on you. And he hated the thought of that.

After his first show, he immediately made a request to have cigars delivered up to his suite, asking for you specifically. Mistaking your co-workers’ looks of worry for jealousy, you happily accepted the offer. You still remembered the first time he sank his sharp fangs into the soft flesh of your neck and how you cried in pain, trying to fight him off in a panic. Looking back on it now, it just made you laugh. After that night, you went up to the suite every night with your little tray, becoming just as addicted to him as he was to you.

‘‘More.. I want more,’’ you whined softly as your fingers were tangled in his dark locks, trying to push him back to your neck. The strength he possessed was no match for your weak arms, his fingers wrapping around your small wrists to pull your hands out of his hair as he pulled his head back. A deep laugh rolled off of his tongue, the wet muscle sticking out to swipe away some of your blood that stained his lips. You were watching his every move with dazed eyes, every single one of your muscles and senses on high alert, as they were always were in his presence. He was so intoxicating, so enchanting. Every time you’d enter his space, the world around you disappeared, as if it never even existed. Everything you once believed in made no sense at all anymore and worries that would cloud your mind during the day vanished like snow melting underneath the heat of a winter sun.

‘‘Easy, girl,’’ he grinned as he reached his hand out to your face, gently grabbing your chin with his thumb and index finger, pulling your face closer to his. You could feel his warm breath on your skin and it made your eyes flutter shut, a small gasp leaving your mouth without you even noticing it. ‘‘We have all the time in the world,’’ he whispered and you didn’t answer, instead eagerly waiting for his plumb lips to touch yours, but it never came. The small kiss he planted on the corner of  your mouth wasn’t enough and you opened your eyes, pouting as you slapped his chest. The action only made him laugh and his hand moved from your jaw to your hair, caressing some fly away strands behind your ear. You followed his clear blue eyes as they wandered over every detail of your face, grabbing his other hand to boldly place it on your left breasts which was still hidden behind the fabric of the piece of black lacy lingerie you were wearing. With a grin tugging at your lips, you placed your hand on top of his, making him squeeze the flesh in his palm. His eyes shot up to yours as he smirked, shaking his head a little before he laughed softly.

‘‘You’re so impatient,’’ he hummed softly, though you didn’t miss the warning tone that hinted at his voice. You didn’t care, and he knew that. Which was one of the reasons why he took a liking to you so much. Sure, you screamed his ears off the first time he had you the way he wanted to, but with a little bit of compulsion he had you right where he wanted you. You were here completely on your own accord. He told you the truth, only compelling you to be quiet when he’d feed from you and not to tell anyone what he was, but other than that you wanted to be here. You wanted to be with him, no matter how dangerous it might be. You removed your hand from his, running it through his hair instead as you sighed theatrically. ‘‘Well, you stopped feeding on me, so I need to be satisfied somehow,’’ you said, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you pulled your hand back and abruptly lifted your hips off of his lap, though before you could even make it off the bed, he had you pinned down on the mattrass, trapping your hands above your head. That damned grin appeared back on your face, making Elvis’ eyes darken a little as he moved his knee in between your legs. ‘‘So mouthy too. You never learn, do ya, sweetness?’’

You opened your mouth to give him another sassy remark that was already burning hot on your tongue, but he shut you right up when his large hand slipped in your panties, two of his fingers easily finding your clit. Your mouth formed into a small ‘O’ shape, before you sank your teeth into your lower lip as he skillfully started circling his fingers against your most sensitive spot. Your legs automatically spread further, tightening the fabric of your panties around his hand. You should feel exposed underneath him when he was looking at you with those hungry eyes, maybe a little shy, but instead it made you feel a certain sense of power. While Elvis knew he had you right where he wanted every time, you had him in the same way. You had the power to turn this man into a moaning mess if you wanted to and while that happened many nights before, tonight you felt like being a bit of a pillow princess. Being a cigarette girl was hard work, after all. Elvis’ grip on your wrists tightened as you moaned pornographically when his two fingers were removed from your clit and dipped inside of your velvety walls instead, making him groan at the feeling and the sound that left your mouth. He was getting you ready for him as he softly fingered you, thumb circling your clit as he leaned down to plant soft open mouthed kissed along your jawline and in your neck, licking up some of the dried blood that still tainted your skin. You were always ready for him, but you grabbed onto his hair to keep him close and allowed him to spoil you with his long fingers. As he curled up his fingers when he was knuckle deep inside of you, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hands tugged at his locks, toes curling against the sheets. He immediately knew he found your special spot and lifted his head a little to look down at you, his own lips parted as he was concetrated on making you feel good. You grabbed his face in between your hands, torso rising from the bed as you pressed your forehead against his.

‘‘Fuck,’’ you cursed, tip of your nose touching his. ‘‘I love you,’’ you moaned absentmindedly as you captured his lips in a sloppy kiss, but he was quick to pull back. His fingers came to a stop and as you opened your eyes to look up at him, you felt your blood run cold. Shit. You had completely ruined the night. This was surely the last time you’d ever see Elvis Presley, let alone be this close to him. He pulled his fingers out of you and you had to bite your tongue to hold back a whine. You braced yourself to be sent away and to never come back, you were sure he would spare you the ‘’humans and vampires could never be together’’ speech. You sat up as he now on his knees in front of you, ready to leave, but instead you were roughly pushed back in the place  you had been writhing underneath him a few seconds ago. ‘‘I didn’t say you could leave, doll,’’ he grinned with a teasing head tilt, fingers hooking under your panties. You didn’t even have time to react as he slid the fabric down your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. You were never seeing those back. Leaving the suite without your panties underneath your work uniform had been normal after meeting Elvis. The underwear he wore disappeared as quick as yours did and when he grabbed your ankles and put your legs flat against his chest, all your earlier worries flew right out of the window. You didn’t care that he didn’t say it back, knowing what was about to come now. You were okay with the fact that those three little words would probably never leave Elvis Presley’s mouth, as long as he’d fuck you and make you forget about the world and everyone else in it.

Your entire body felt as if it was being lit on fire when he slipped the tip of his cock through your folds, mixing your juices with his own arousal. With his arm wrapped around  your thighs, you were completely trapped in his grip and the only thing you could do was moan and grab onto your own hair. You didn’t want him, no, you needed him. Needed him so bad to the point where you were nearly to tears and he knew it. He knew it so damn well. But he loved teasing you more than anything. He loved shutting you up and leaving you speechless, he loved making you groan out desperately when he rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit. Though every single time before you even had the chance to protest and tell him to just fuck you already, he pushed himself inside of you. No matter how needy you were and how ready you were for him, he was always gentle the first few seconds, making sure you were doing okay. He always waited for your approval, whether it was a small nod or you just straight up telling him. This time you went for the nod, not being able to form a coherent sentence when he was balls deep inside of you. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he started thrusting, picking up speed every few seconds and your toes were curling with every thrust. The room was filled with the smell of sex and cigars he had smoked beforehand, moans and grunts that were coming from both of you bouncing off the walls. You were sure that anyone who would walk by the door outside of the suit could hear what was happening on the other side of the door but neither of you seemed to give a damn. He was intoxicated with you and the feeling of being burried inside of you, his plumb lips kissing the side of your feet as his hands were wrapped around your ankles. Your hands were flying to the sheets and you could feel your nails digging into the palms of your hands through the silky fabric you were squeezing. You’ve been with other men before Elvis and though you had always been adventurous in the bedroom, nothing could ever compare to this. No one could ever compare to this man. As you opened your eyes to look at him, you felt your heart flutter inside your chest, tears burning in your ears. God, you loved him so much, but you could never be with him. And that damn near killed you.

Elvis’ movements slowed down as he noticed a tear rolling down your cheeks, slowly bringing your legs down as he let go of your ankles. He leaned down and captured your lips in a slow kiss. One that was filled with passion, lust and love. You wanted him to love you back as much as you did. You wanted him, all of him, for the rest of your pathetic human life. Instead of your tears scaring him off, he stilled his movements and caressed your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the tear that rolled down. He slowly pulled out of you and took your hands in his, letting himself sit back against the head board of the bed. ‘‘C’mere, princess,’’ he whispered and you did as told, letting him pull you along and on top of him. You planted your knees on the bed on either side of his waist, grabbing onto his shaft to guide him back to your entrance. You slowly sank back onto him and leaned into his touch when he cupped your face, kissing the palm of his hand. ‘‘My pretty doll. Even when she cries,’’ he grinned teasingly, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, rolling your eyes as you quickly wiped away a tear, placing your hands on his shoulders. ‘‘Shut up and let me fuck you in peace,’’ you said with a wiggle of your eyebrows, moving your hips as your fingertips played with the hair in the nape of his neck. He let you use him for your personal enjoyment, hands resting on your hips as he gently guided your thrusts. But you didn’t miss his eyes lingering at your neck most of the time, tongue hungrily licking his lips. Since he had met you, he gave up on useless blood bags and nameless girls in his bed. The only person he fed from was you and while he just had a taste earlier, you knew he was still hungry. Your hands moved from his neck to your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail with your hands as you slightly tilted your head, exposing your skin to him even more. You grinned as his fingers dug into your hips and looked at him with soft eyes, smiling sweetly. ‘‘I know you’re hungry for more,’’ you whispered, giving him the approval he wanted and needed. While he had fed from you a few times before to the point of you nearly fainting, he didn’t want that to happen again. He never fed you his blood to heal up either because he was scared that something would happen in the time his blood was in your system and you would be cursed with immortality just like he was. You, on the other hand, would not mind that at all and has been scheming and cooking up ideas to get his blood in your body. You didn’t wanted to sit there on his bed after sex, sipping your orange juice and munching on the snacks you carried on your work tray. You wanted to be like him, strong and powerful, and you wanted to be with him for the rest of forever. ‘‘Take as much as you want. I’m a strong girl, ya know,’’ you grinned his way and he eyed you suspiciously, laughing softly as he replaced your hand in your hair with his, his other hand in between your shoulder blades as his lips were on your neck without him even questioning anything you had in mind. Your eyes fluttered shut as you slowed down your thrusts a bit so it’d be easier for him to do what you wanted him so badly to do. As his lips parted and you felt his pointy fangs pressing against your flesh, your hands flew to his shoulders. You clung onto him for dear life, moaning as pain rushed from your neck to your brain, clenching your jaw. Elvis felt your muscles tensing and softly caressed your back, drawing small circles on your skin with his fingertips. It relaxed you as it always did and soon the pain turned into pleasure, your head hanging in your neck as you were still moving your hips slow and gentle. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders, fingers disappearing into his dark locks once more as you pressed your chest against his, wanting to be even closer to him than you already were. His hand that was on your back moved to your ass, his palm squeezing the flesh softly as he sucked on your neck harder and it didn’t take you long to see white. He could hear the sound of your heartbeat slowing down and your muscles weakening, but when he was about to pull back, you pushed your hand against the back of his head with the strength you had left inside of you, not allowing him to move away. He could easily pull back seeing as he was much stronger than you were, but he figured you knew what you were doing. He also knew how stubborn you were, always reassuring him whenever he felt like he took too much from you, and that you liked it when it happened. And that was the truth. You loved being pampered by him when he had gotten you dizzy and he loved pampering you, but your slowing heartbeat was worrying him now. You wanted to keep him right where he was, but your muscles couldn’t keep your arm up anymore and you let it fall down his back, slumping alongside your own body. He pulled back and looked at you and the state you were in – even when he nearly drained the life out of you, you were still grinning at him. And you were still gorgeous doing so.

He had you lifted off of his lap and laid down on the bed in a second and you closed your eyes, smiling to yourself like a fool. He wasn’t going to be happy with you, because you were giving him an ultimatum tonight. You knew it was selfish and you shouldn’t let him choose, but you wanted this with every fibre of your being. You figured he’d forgive you for it later. You could faintly hear him walking around the room and the sound of glasses clinking along with the noise of the mini fridge door opening and closing. As you felt the bed dip, you slowly opened your eyes and looked at the man in front of you, holding out a glass of juice. ‘‘Y/N, drink, c’mon,’’ he urged you, sitting down behind you, your back pressed against his chest. He put the glass to your lips and you immediately turned your head, shaking your head. ‘‘I’m not drinking that,’’ you said weakly, though there was a hint of determination in your voice. The only juice you wanted was his blood. You heard him sigh deeply and even though you couldn’t see, you just knew he was rolling his eyes. ‘‘It’ll make you feel better, baby. Drink up,’’ he tried again, letting the glass follow your mouth with you avoiding it each time. He didn’t want to but laughed softly, making you weakly laugh along. You sat up as far as you could, slowly turning around in his arms to face him with a soft smile on your face, eyes droopy and dazed.

‘‘I think there’s something else that will make me feel better,’’ you said, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your lips, kissing the palm of his free hand. He immediately knew what you meant and what you were up to and put the orange juice on the night stand, returning his attention back to you. His jaw clenched as he gave you a warning glare, though he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. Turning you, spending the rest of his life with you without any worries clouding their minds. But you were young and full of life and he was scared that one day you’d get bored of him, blame him for what he had done to you. He didn’t miss the determination in your eyes and he knew you wanted this. You had dropped hints here and there but he always declined. He couldn’t bare the thought of you hating him. ‘‘Elvis, please. I want to be with you,’’ you said with a soft sigh, placing his palm against your cheek. ‘‘Forever and always,’’ you added, hoping to persuade him with your sweet words and pouty lips. He sighed deeply, staying silent for a long time. Too long for you. You huffed and threw his hand down on the bed, crawling over to the night stand to reach for the orange juice, giving up hope. Before you could even lift the glass, he pulled you back in between his legs and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

‘‘I need to know you’re sure about this, doll,’’ he said sternly, his eyes boring into yours. Excitement made your heart flutter and you tried to grab onto his wrists with as much strength as you could, nodding your head immediately. ‘‘Transitioning is not easy. Being a vampire is not easy, Y/N. I need you to know that the first few weeks, maybe even months, will be hard. Certain things will be impossible for you, like having ch-’’ You stopped his rambling by pushing your finger against his lips, not even wanting him to end that sentence. You never thought about having children and there was always adoption, right? Right now, all you could think about was being with him.

‘‘I know, Elvis,’’ you said, smiling softly at him as you removed your finger. ‘‘I want this. There is nothing in the whole wide world I want more than this. You and me, always,’’ you leaned in to kiss his lips and he kissed you back, letting go of your face he was still holding. As you pulled back and looked at him expectantly, he sighed and ran his hands through his hair before moving his palm to his lips. Your weak heart skipped a beat as he sunk his teeth into his own palm, drawing blood. He looked at it for a second before he reached it out to you and you stared at the crimson fluid running down his palm and forearm. ‘‘Hurry, baby. It’s going, going aaand-’’ he laughed as you wrapped your lips around the small wound he created, eager because it could heal up any second. You sucked the blood off of his palm, ignoring the metallic taste on your tongue as you made sure to lick his hand clean. The two small punctured wounds had healed up and there was barely any blood left, apart from some on his arm. You could immediately feel your energy returning to your body and your cheeks regained its lively color again, wide eyes finding his.

‘‘Okay, now kill me. Break my neck,’’ you said impatiently as you sat there on the middle of the bed on your knees, eyes squeezed shut nervously. Elvis opened and closed his mouth in disbelief, not even knowing what to say as he just watched you sit there for a few seconds, laughing. Honestly, breaking your neck would be their fastest option and he knew how impatient you could get. ‘‘Stop laughing! Hurry and do it. I wanna quit my job by the end of the night,’’ you urged him on, only opening your eyes when you felt his lips against yours. He pulled back, hands moving to your jaw. He gently pressed his forehead against yours, smiling as his eyes found yours. He didn’t even ask if you were sure anymore. He could see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you were urging him to snap your neck right here and now.

‘‘You and me, kid,’’ he whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours. ‘‘Always and forever,’’

‘‘Always and forever,’’ you breathed out, repeating his words. One more kiss was planted on your lips, before the world went black and your body prepared itself to return with a whole new hunger for life.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

journey, m | ot7

full title: journey to the dick

pairing(s): ot7 x reader

summary: A Cinderella story but it's a dick pic. Yup, that's right. You find a dick pic on your phone and make it your mission to find the owner of said dick. Time to fuck the seven hottest guys you know! Onwards!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of alcohol consumption / partying; horny crack, everyone radiates chaotic energy and wants to fuck; reader is comparing their dicks to above-mentioned dick pic so there's a lot of talk about dick, did I mention there's a lot of dick? dick; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics in some scenes, m-receiving oral, cowgirl, penetrative sex, doggy, spanking, handjob, thigh fucking, dance studio sex, overstimulation, fingering, dry humping, 69, face-sitting, photography during sex, m-masturbation, being cummed on (neck / chest [a cum necklace LMAO] + hand), film studio sex, wall-fucking, being overheard / walked in on during sex (and not giving a shit, oops), implied car sex, implied threesome); non-idol!AU - ot7 x sex friend!reader; each member has their own scene

appearances based on the 'Butter' jacket photoshoots yes, the opening line is #50 of my prompt list LMAO title comes from Journey to the West, except it's dick because that's way more important. also, yeah, this is basically a harem hentai, but it's you and BTS, woohoo! :D

--

"Whose dick pic is this and why it is so inspirational?"

Park Jimin craned his head over to look at your phone, black hair brushing against your forehead. "Damn! That is an incredible dick."

"What are you guys talking about?" Kim Taehyung muttered, yanking your phone out of your hand and peering at the screen. His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up into his dark brown hair. "Oh, ho! What a high-quality specimen of a dick."

"Why is it on my phone though?" you frowned, taking your phone back from Taehyung. You were sitting next to Jimin on their sofa, contemplating the great mysteries of the world. The black phone case had a cute mouse holding a large sewing needle and sitting next to a spool of sky-blue thread. "I didn't take this one, sadly."

"Maybe you were real drunk," Jimin offered.

"I haven't been real drunk since I projectile vomited in your guys' parking lot."

"That was last week," Taehyung reminded you, smiling amusedly.

You narrowed your eyes. "Look, it was a bad breakup."

"You went on, like, two dates," Jimin laughed, smacking you in the arm.

"It had potential!"

"Yeah, a potential dumpster fire," Taehyung added, rolling his eyes as he sat down on the other side of you. "I know you go for the quiet, nerdy ones, but you're just–"

"Brash? Forward? Ready to sit on dick at any second?"

Jimin was being very helpful.

Taehyung shoved Jimin's grinning face away. "It's a conflict of personality and yours is quite intense, so maybe you should try and be more open-minded about other options."

You frowned, not enjoying this pep talk that you probably needed. In fact, you avoided said pep talk at all costs. You reached back and yanked on Taehyung's ponytail. He prodded you in the left breast in response, glaring. You smacked his hand. He smacked your hand back.

Hey, when you don't have a good reply, resort to violence, right?

You looked back down at your phone. Swollen, red-purple, a good thickness. Nice length too, so hard it was sticking up without the assistance of a hand. You could spy the white pre-cum beading at the engorged tip. It was a strangely clear and well-composed photo. Black boxer briefs. Blue jeans, white shirt.

Fuck.

Could literally be any guy in the history of existence.

You turned the photo to Jimin. "Someone must have taken it last night when I couldn't find my phone for those two hours."

Jimin nodded. "Yeah, seems like it."

"You remember anyone in this outfit?"

Jimin snorted, wrinkling his cute nose. "Everyone was in jeans and a white t-shirt. 'Cause there was that wet t-shirt contest later that night, remember?"

You scratched your head. Ah, yes. Taehyung won. Man looked fucking amazing thanks to working out his arms and chest the past month. Was it solely for the purpose of a silly party gimmick? Maybe. You weren’t complaining though. You did what any good friend would do.

"Oh, right. Who won?"

Taehyung grabbed your shoulders and violently shook you. "I did! Obviously – ah, fuck you!" His tone quickly changed when he realized you were laughing like a maniac, doubling over in a pile of giggles with Jimin. "You're the worst," Taehyung pouted, holding his arms protectively.

"I'm just kidding, don't be mad," you chuckled, reaching over to hug him. He accepted it, but not without continuing to pout. You nuzzled his neck, placing soft kisses on his skin. "I bought you your favorite breakfast when you were hung over this morning, come on now."

His dark brown eyes shifted back and forth before letting out a long, deep sigh and hugging you back. Damn. He had a nice hug now thanks to these arms and his broad chest. He smelled like warm chamomile.

"I worked hard for these," he mumbled.

You patted him on the back before releasing him and holding up your phone. Back to the first order of business.

"Is this your dick?"

Taehyung scrunched up his face. "No? But I don't look at my dick at that angle either."

You puffed your cheeks and turned to Jimin.

"Is this your dick?"

Jimin plucked your phone from your hand. He tilted his head to one side. Then the other.

"Lemme check."

Then he stood up and started walking to the direction of the bathroom. Still holding your device.

"Uh..."

You trailed off.

Taehyung blinked.

The bathroom door closed.

Pants unzipped.

"PARK JIMIN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

-

"You have to be kidding me, Jimin."

"Be reasonable. I can't get hard from this dick pic. Don't you want to know the owner of said dick?"

You pursed your lips and squinted at your phone, standing in Park Jimin's and Kim Taehyung's shared bathroom, because they were roommates and your friends. The mysterious discovery of said dick pic from last night's party sparked this Journey to the Dick, because it was a very impressive, intriguing, and, most importantly, inspirational specimen of the male genitalia. Clearly you had to investigate.

For science.

Which was why you were standing in the bathroom with Jimin's sweatpants off and begrudgingly getting to your knees. Begrudgingly, because...

"I thought we were supposed to be ordering pizza and watching Running Man."

"We are," Jimin answered cheerfully. "After you suck my dick."

You glanced at the photo once more.

It remained, indeed, very rousing of certain interests.

You gripped the waistband of Jimin's black boxer briefs.

Hmm...

Hold on.

You stood up suddenly and took your phone from him, sudden determination overtaking you.

"I have to do this correctly."

Jimin blinked rapidly, jumping with a yelp as you flung open the bathroom door to reveal Taehyung throwing himself into the wall, coughing awkwardly and hiding his face with his hands as you marched out purposefully. Jimin was still pants-less.

"In the proper order!"

Jimin and Taehyung shared a confused look.

"The hell does she mean, proper order?'

-

kim namjoon.

“Namjoon, may I look at your dick?”

Kim Namjoon looked up from his book and blinked at you over his round glasses.

“Pardon?” he replied in English.

“Your dick,” you responded in kind, in English and with succinct pronunciation. “Your penis. Your willy. Your ding-dong. Your–”

Namjoon removed a hand from his book and held it up. “My what?” he interrupted you, laughing.

Oh good, back to Korean so you didn’t have to flex all the different ways you knew how to say cock in English. “Take off your pants.”

He blinked rapidly, innocently sitting there in his flowy white button-up and brown pants. He even had suspenders. Fancy man. He had dyed his hair recently, a steel midnight blue. That’s how Namjoon was, attractive and book-smart. Absolutely won the lottery when it came to genes and brains. You couldn’t see the title of the book he was reading, but it was probably a self-help or philosophy book. He was into those nowadays, exploring the human mind, while you were more into exploring the physical aspects of humanity.

Fucking.

Luckily, fucking didn’t usually require reading.

(Usually, heh.)

“I have no objections to your proposition. I’m just confused on why so suddenly.”

You dropped your canvas tote bag on the ground. Your red, short summer dress covered in yellow lemons flared out as you shifted your weight to one hip. Your phone was in one of your hands and you waved it around like a baton as you talked.

“Aren’t I usually sudden when I want to fuck?”

Namjoon chuckled, rich and deep, shutting his book and putting it aside. Probably memorized his page number. Big sexy brain and all that jazz. A fantastic characteristic of his.

He also had a big sexy dick you were asking to see right now.

“You are, but sometimes you offer to buy me a meal or a snack first.”

“I mean, sure, if you want–”

He lifted a hand and cocked a finger towards himself, smiling. When he smiled, his dimples appeared. That was your favorite feature on Namjoon. You bounced over excitedly and sat on the couch, skirt flipping up and exposing your thighs, still holding your phone.

“I’m on a mission.”

He quirked an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses detective-style. “What kind of mission?”

You pointed to your phone. “Do you remember that party we went to, the one with the wet t-shirt contest?” You lifted your arm and flexed your rather defined bicep that made Namjoon raise his eyebrows and mouth a wow under his breath. Consistent handys really did the trick when it came to bicep muscle definition. “You remember, right? You showed off your guns.”

He burst out laughing, waving a hand. “They are not guns.”

“Sure, they are. I could do a lot of social justice with your biceps, Namjoon.”

He shook his head, grinning, dimples on full display. “And what’s with the dress? You don’t usually wear such a cute style.”

You ticked your phone to the apartment front door. “I’m meeting Seokjin later, but he said he’s going to play another round of bowling because Jungkook kicked his ass again. But anyway, back to what I was saying…”

“Ah, yes. I think I remember Jimin mentioning something to me now.”

You brightened, unlocking your phone and holding up the screen. “Right! I’m looking for the owner of this dick.”

His eyes widened and Namjoon leaned forward, readjusting his glasses again. “Wow. That’s quite a clear picture.” Then he coughed and averted his eyes.

You nodded quickly. “Well? Did you take this picture?”

He frowned and sat back against the sofa, sucking in a breath and ticking his head. “Mmm, maybe? I was pretty drunk. I don’t remember what I did…”

“Hah… Does this look like your dick, then?”

“How would I know?” he chuckled. “I don’t see my dick from that angle and I don’t have sober photoshoots with my dick.”

You pursed your lips. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to fuck then. Drop the pants.”

The thing about Namjoon was that he was a very reasonable man. You had a problem and proposed a solution and he, an avid learner who liked searching for answers to the great mysteries of this world, had the means to help you out on your quest, so he did. In addition, he thought you were hot, you thought he was hot, and you’d already fucked a couple times before Journey to the Dick, so the mutual agreement was already there.

Splendid!

The other thing about Namjoon was that he really liked to make you work for it.

Slightly less splendid.

“Are you choking?”

You squinted at him and flipped him the bird. He was well-versed with popular Western hand gestures.

Namjoon nodded sagely. “That’s good.”

And he put his hand back onto the back of your head and shoved your mouth down onto his cock once more.

You had half a second to breathe again before air was forcefully taken from you, Namjoon now holding you there, nose-first into his crotch, sighing contentedly as he expanded in your mouth. You planted your hands onto his strong thighs and pushed, but his hand didn’t budge. The safe signal was three taps and you weren’t tapping out yet. You glared and Namjoon closed his eyes, smirking slowly.

He left his round glasses on.

‘Course he did.

Damn you, Namjoon!

You reached up and pawed at the buttons of his white shirt, making Namjoon open his eyes to see what you were doing as you unbuttoned them rather deftly for someone who had his dick filling up their throat. He looked down at you, cocking an eyebrow. You cheekily cocked one back, poking his pecs with your pinky.

He grinned. “Hm? What’s that?”

You clenched your throat around the head of his cock and he gasped, losing grip for a split second.

In that split second, you threw his shirt open, glorious his tan skin and large muscular pecs now in view, and slapped your hands down onto his thighs, instantly starting a fast, rough pace, curving your neck with every swallow, sandwiching his cock between tongue and top of your mouth, pulsing your wet muscles all over his length, staring at that well-built chest, watching the muscles ripple with his sudden, abrupt inhale.

“Oh, fuck!”

Sometimes you let Namjoon have the reigns, but this time you were on a mission, although it was a little distracting now because presently you had an unobstructed view of Kim Namjoon with his shirt open, head thrown back, midnight blue hair fanning over the sofa, his full lips open and panting, tendons in his neck tensing, broad shoulders flexed, leading down his defined chest and abs, core tight from your intense pace, thighs hard under your hands, cock swollen and thick, pulsating in your mouth. His large hands planted on top of yours, squeezing them with his.

The three taps applied to him too.

Instead, Namjoon moaned your name and gripped your hands.

“T-The picture… f-fuuuuuuuck…”

Shit, that’s right.

You reluctantly slowed, tongue swiping all over the underside of his dick, tracing the veins, moaning hotly around his cock. He lowered his chin, panting hard, dark brown eyes half-open and framed by his lovely silver glasses. It was him who reached for your phone and unlocked it. He remembered your pattern lock and you had only told him once. All your consistent fucks knew how to unlock your phone.

That’s how you had so many pictures of, ahem, good times.

He placed the phone on his hip and his head fell back against the sofa, inhaling deeply as you continued lapping at the base of the head, slowly sucking on it at the same time to keep him hard.

“Mmm, fuck, that’s nice…”

You mashed the tip of your tongue against the slit and coated it with pre-cum.

“Ah, come on, look already and compare,” Namjoon chuckled in his deep voice, raising a hand to pet your head. “Then you can finish me.”

You popped your mouth off reluctantly. “Hmm.” You placed a few fingers on his cock and looked at it, positioning it to the correct angle that matched the photo. “Huh, it’s pretty close. But you have this noticeable vein here, and I think the head of your cock is slightly different…” You squinted and brought your face rather close to his stiff length. “The skin tone seems right, but it’s not exact, and I think you’re bigger…”

Namjoon wrapped his hand around his dick and smacked your cheek with the head.

“Oi!”

You puffed your cheeks, strings of saliva and pre-cum covering your face.

He grinned, dimples on full display. “Oops.”

You jabbed your finger at your phone. “I’m doing an investigation here!”

He shrugged cheekily. “You said it wasn’t exact. Get up.”

You put your phone on top of his book on the side table and glared at him. “Well, yeah, but no need to bop me,” you grumbled, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, standing up, and removing your panties as Namjoon reached over to his pants and pulled out a condom from the pocket.

You did say you were coming. Namjoon liked to be prepared for you.

“You said you liked it,” he mused as you straddled his lap.

“I do when I’m notin the middle of an important mission,” you huffed, picking up the hem of your dress and revealing your wet pussy, chin cocked in defiance.

“You don’t have to sit on my dick then,” he said, pausing with the condom right over his cock.

You frowned. “Hurry up.”

He cocked an eyebrow, dark brown eyes trapping you in his allure. “Doesn’t seem like you want it.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Growled.

Then you smacked his hands away and rolled down the condom yourself before sliding onto him with one swift motion, clenching your jaw at the sensation of being quickly and solidly filled up, not giving him or you time to adjust. Namjoon tensed his neck, grinning, large hands coming up to firmly grip your hips. Your own came up to grab his biceps and squeeze them, mustering up your most indignant scowl. He chuckled, smirking as you pulsed your walls around him.

“Hold your dress so I can fuck you.”

“Maybe I want to do the moving.”

He clicked his tongue and rammed his hips up into you, making you hiss at the feeling of his cock being driven into your tightness. Your nails dug into his arms, breaths shallowing into rapid gasps as he continued, firmly and roughly fucking you from below, hard thighs flexing and smacking into your inner thighs and ass.

“Hold your dress,” he repeated, voice low and commanding.

“You’re so bossy,” you muttered, reaching down with one hand to yank up your dress, pulling it up high so both you and Namjoon could watch as he very deliberately and very forcefully thrust upwards into your tight hole, smirking wider as he witnessed your expression and the strain of keeping the pleasure off your face.

“Don’t have to give orders if…” He jerked up particularly hard, hitting your sweet spot, causing you to gasp breathlessly. “You…” Smack! You bit you lip, moan trapped in your chest. “Just…” Smack!

“F-Fuck…”

“Listen.”

And then Namjoon seized your hips and fucked you hard and fast with you barely holding on his shoulder with one hand and the other clutching your dress, moaning his name shamelessly to his own face. Namjoon wasn’t a gloater. His face was serious and concentrated, brows furrowed and intent on giving maximum pleasure, maintaining clear control as you rapidly lost it, allowing and trusting him to lead you into carnal desires.

You leaned forward, hot exhale on his neck, changing the angle and letting him hit you deeper, tightening around him. You heard his breath hitch, hissing out your name. Your whispered against his jaw, close to his ear.

“You like it better when I don’t listen, Namjoon.”

So close, so close, so close.

He snickered, dark, devious, sensual.

“I dolove punishing you with my cock.”

You slid your hand into his midnight blue hair and shuddered, pleasure blooming from your core in heated throbs, savoring the intensity of the orgasm he gave you as Namjoon groaned in your ear, slamming you down onto his hard, twitching cock and moaning, spilling his own into the condom, thoroughly enjoying the vicious massage of your spasming pussy. You pressed your lips to his temple, flinching with the shivers that came after, riding out the peak by rocking your hips lightly, enjoying the fullness he gave you.

“Doesn’t seem like a punishment. I’m having a lot of fun,” you taunted, panting and mirthful.

He gave your ass a playful smack and you squeezed his length from top to bottom.

“We have time for round two,” he murmured, nibbling on your ear.

Kim Namjoon was a very reasonable man.

-

kim seokjin.

"Gah, fuck!"

"As a matter of fact, yes, let's."

Kim Seokjin nearly tripped and fell against the doorframe, gawking at you. His expressive brown eyes went wide, mouth open enough for a nice ice lolly to be placed between those plump lips.

"Why are you in my bed? Where are your clothes? Why are you holding Pink Bean like that?!"

You sighed exaggeratedly. Here we go. "I had a nice dress but Namjoon took it and said I can't have it back until after." You squeezed Seokjin's large Pink Bean plush that he usually kept on his bed, a fluffy representation of a boss from his favorite PC game, MapleStory. It had a bubblegum pink head, light purple horns, and a cute :3 face. You squashed it with your breasts and looked up at him, on your knees with your feet tucked under your ass, missing all your articles of clothing thanks to Kim Namjoon.

Such cute clothes only for him? I don’t think so.

Seokjin turned bright red, sputtering.

"D-D-Don't do that to Pink Bean!"

"Why not? You've fucked me from behind and I used Pink Bean as my chest support."

He strode across the room with two steps, his long legs making it easy, looking handsome and summery in his pastel yellow shirt and shorts two-piece set, flapping his hands helplessly.

"That was a special case!"

You started bouncing on Pink Bean, you and your tits. Seokjin's brown eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he actually tripped at the end of his bed, falling face-first with a high-pitched yelp.

"Seokjin, I need to see your dick."

He yanked his head up, chestnut brown hair flying everywhere, shooting you a confused glare.

"Yah! You can't just show up naked and start demanding dick while abusing Pink Bean!"

You reached up and scooped your breasts forward, squashing them between the purple horns, nipples poking out above Pink Bean's head. Seokjin looked like he was about to pass out. Probably from loss of blood to his head.

You balanced your phone in your cleavage, inspirational dick pic between your tits.

"Is this your dick, Seokjinnie?" you asked sweetly.

He started, squinting at the screen between your tits. "The heck? What is that?"

"A dick. Is it yours?"

Seokjin made a disgusted face.

"Are they really that ugly? Mine sure as hell isn't."

"Oh, so it's not? You know for sure?"

Seokjin scoffed. "Come on, there's no way that could be mine, look–"

And he sat up and yanked his shorts and underwear off, slapping them down on the floor and spreading his legs, presenting his very hard and quite pretty dick and balls. He huffed triumphantly, planting his hands in his hips.

"How could that thing compare to–gah!"

You crawled over Pink Bean, shoving the plush against your stomach and placing yourself between Seokjin's long legs, oblivious to his shriek of surprise, holding up his shirt as you compared his cock to the one on your phone.

"What the–where did you g-get that picture?!"

Your hot breath wafted over his twitching length as you held it delicately with your fingertips, ass up in the air, tilting his dick to adjust the angle so he mirrored the photo. "Remember that party with the wet t-shirt contest?” you explained nonchalantly. “The one where I said you'd totally win because of your broad shoulders, but Taehyung got more votes because he had been working out and looking all buff recently?"

Seokjin was gasping as you held up your phone. Hmm, not the same thickness. Plus, he seemed harder, sticking out straighter than this photo dick. But there was a small mole in his dick that seemed to match the picture. The length is pretty spot-on too. You scooted closer, cradling his cock with your palm and coaxing it with your fingertips, ass bouncing on Pink Bean's head.

"Oh, fuck..."

"Anyway, someone snapped this photo and I've been trying to figure out who, but everyone was drunk and, if I recall correctly, you were on a table dancing with a pool noodle and belting Kim Yonja's 'Amor Fati', so I don't think you remember much from that night."

Seokjin's voice was pitched, strained from holding back.

"I remember those... oh, fuck... those shorts you were wearing... ah, with your ass hanging out on the bottom... fuck, wanted to bend you over... but yeah, after that..."

Then you yelped when you felt his hands on your head dragging you forward and pressing your open lips to his cock.

"Ah, yeees..."

"Seokjin, wait–mphf!"

He shoved the head of his cock into your lips and looked down. You narrowed your eyes as he began to gently hump your face, filling your mouth with the hardness. You sucked in your cheeks a little, molding your mouth to him, still giving him your best annoyed face.

"Is it my dick?" he gasped, pushing deeper.

You made a confused noise and Seokjin frowned at you.

"Yes or no?"

Seriously? You held up your hand and hovered it in the air, wiggling your fingers up and down, the universal sign of–

"What do you mean, maybe?! Oh, it's because a phone camera isn't good enough to catch the majesty of my cock, is that it?"

You could had been annoyed, but then you thought about it. He brought up a good point. You hadn't considered that. Still, the shape wasn't exact though. A phone camera couldn't alter dick angle, right?

No time to think about it because Seokjin rammed his entire length into your mouth and down your throat in your moment of contemplation.

"Mmmphf!"

"Just, ah, don't move, let me fuck your face real quick–"

You didn't really expect anything less, so you pushed him down, sliding his shirt up his torso, changing the angle so you weren't straining your neck. Seokjin fell onto his elbows, hands letting go but hips still moving, groaning as you enclosed your mouth around him and rubbed your tongue all over.

"Ah, your ass is so sexy, damn, bounce it for me..."

He seemed to forget that in order to do that, you had to hump Pink Bean like a dog in heat but, hey, when the man who called himself World Wide Handsome (drunk and sober, that was the kind of man Kim Seokjin was) asks you to twerk for him, you do as you are told and give Pink Bean the best hump that plush is ever going to have.

"Fuuuuuuuck, yes, your ass is so perky and juicy, fuck, like a sweet peach..."

You tried not to choke with laughter in his dick, but the action made your throat muscles squeeze and spasm around the head, immediately making it jerk and swell at the added simulation, causing Seokjin to gasp your name and fiercely clutch his sheets.

"Fuck, yes...!"

You looked up, cocking an eyebrow, seeing his brown hair messy and fallen over his forehead, eyelids fluttering, panting as you took over the pace, firmly enveloping him all the way to the base, sandwiching him between your tongue and roof of your mouth, dragging the head over the slick wetness, pulsing expertly around his hardness. His dainty pink tongue flitted over his lips and made them glisten, full, plump, sexy as hell.

"I'm so glad Namjoon took your clothes," he wheezed.

This guy really said whatever thought that popped into his handsome head.

You smirked around his cock and wiggled your eyebrows.

Then you grabbed his hips and really gave it to him, fast and tight, angling your head so he slid into your throat deeply and easily, sending Seokjin into a sputter of curses, prayers, and blessings to who-knew-what, gripping fistfuls of his sheets and throwing his head back, beautiful neck on display and broad shoulders flexed, moaning loudly.

You almost stopped, awed by his perfectly sensual posture.

Then Seokjin thrust his crotch into your lips and gasped your name, shooting down your throat in swift, tense jolts, forcing you to stop staring at him and hurriedly gulp it all down, squeezing your eyes shut so you could concentrate, sucking in a short breath, and making him yelp, flinching to cram more of the head into your constricting throat.

You prodded his stomach sharply and drew an ‘X’, telling him to stop so you could swallow.

“B-But…”

You gave him a bunch of other hand gestures and none of them were nice. It contrasted the way you were lapping at his cock, coaxing him back to full hardness with soft tongue and delicate pushes against the roof of your mouth. He lifted one of his hands and started messing with yours, the one on his stomach making obscene hand signals. You felt him try and grab your fingers, poke at your palm, and, finally, grab your hand and tug it up, shoving your fingers into his mouth.

You popped your mouth off his cock in surprise. “Hey!”

Seokjin looked at you with giant brown eyes like a dog caught with a treat in his mouth. “Mmphf?”

You made a confused face at him.

His tongue started sliding between them, licking your joints and pads of your fingers, wiggling all around, covering you with his saliva and sending shivers over your skin at the strange sensation. You could feel the power in that squirming muscle, his brown eyes watching your reaction, your own eyes fixated on the way it looked, three of your fingers surrounded and crammed into those lush, soft, pillow-like lips, squirming, sensual tongue slipping between them, dripping saliva down your palm and back of your hand.

“H-Hey…”

It was bizarre, feeling an odd juxtaposition of the submissive nature of the act, and yet he was deliberate and forceful about it, staring pointedly as the tip of his tongue snaked out from the side of his lips, licking the side of your pinky.

“S… Seokjin…?”

He reached up and pulled your hand out of his mouth, the pads of your fingers dragging on his lower lip, wet streaks of saliva painted down his chin.

The ghost of a smirk on his open mouth, eyebrow ticking arrogantly.

You blinked at him, unaware that you were clutching Pink Bean with your other hand so hard that your knuckles were white.

Then Seokjin grinned and wrapped your wet hand around his dick and started jacking himself off with it.

“Hey! I want that in me!”

“What? Gah!”

Somehow, you convinced him to fuck you – read: threw Seokjin down on his own bed, put a condom on him, rolled him back on top of you and guided his cock to your pussy before grabbing his ass and yanking down, making you both gasp as he entered you with one smooth stroke, your back on top of Pink Bean.

Pink Bean was really seeing a lot of your naked body today, just like Kim Seokjin.

“F-Fuck– yah!”

That was his noise of protest as you yanked his yellow shirt over his head, throwing it as far as you could, out his still open bedroom door.

“Sorry, needed to get rid of useless things.”

“I like that shirt!”

You grabbed onto his wide shoulders and rolled your hips up into his crotch, wrapping your thighs around his waist and squeezing. He sputtered at the intense feeling of your pussy wrapping around him, arms shaking to hold himself up, brown hair messy and wild over his forehead, brown eyes wide in indignation.

“Sorry, my bad, I’ll pick it up after I get another out of this magnificent dick,” you quipped.

Seokjin turned red, unaccustomed to someone other than himself complimenting him.

“Why are you hanging onto me like a monkey – oh my God…!”

You used his mattress and Pink Bean to bounce up and down on his dick from below, fingers tangled in his hair, wetly smacking your hips into his crotch, panting his name into his ear, your cock feels so fucking good, love the way you fill me, fuck me up, Seokjin, giving him the praise that he wanted and that breathless moan he liked, the one where you added a bit of underlying mischievous depth, pulling back one of your hands and tracing his plush lips, his mouth opening and pink tongue lolling out, puling you into that wetness, locking his gaze with yours.

Soft and tight around two of your fingers as you slapped your hips into his, losing a bit of your power now that a hand was occupied, intense sparks shooting from your fingertips to your core, his tongue sliding sensually between them, your juices leaking out, getting wetter and wetter, head emptying and replaced with sinful pleasure as you stared into those dark brown orbs with blown-out pupils, sparkling eyes smiling at you.

Seokjin took over and started fucking you into his mattress (and Pink Bean).

Both of you completely forgot about the dick pic.

-

min yoongi.

"Ah, fuck, I forgot, I need to see your dick, f-fuck!"

"It's," Smack! "A," Smack! "Little," Smack! "Busy at the moment."

"Yoongi!"

The bed shifted and hit the wall.

"Oh no," came the most unbothered oh no behind you.

"Your damn neighbors are going to complain again," you hissed, planting your hands on the mattress and lifting your upper body up a little to scowl at him. "They're so annoying."

"Yeah, that's why I like fucking you," Min Yoongi snickered, looking back with his curly black mullet in complete disarray, smirking lips dark and swollen from making out. He raised an eyebrow at your displeased expression, dark brown eyes flashing. "Something wrong? Not rough enough for you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I need to see your dick when it's fully hard."

He raised his eyebrows. "Sure. After this one."

"Yoongi–"

He cut you off. "Hand," he ordered.

You extended your left hand out back to him and he grabbed your forearm, long fingers gripping tightly, before proceeding his railing of your pussy from behind, your ass smacking into his crotch repeatedly.

"Yoongi – ah, oof!"

You slipped and fell face first into his pillows, gasping at the altered depth of each thrust, hard and deliberate, filling you up as you clenched around him, following his rhythm by pushing back with your hips and moaning as Yoongi slowly built up the pace, bottoming out each time.

"Why do you need to see my dick?" he asked nonchalantly as if he wasn't pounding you with it right this very second.

"Because, oh fuck, someone left a, fuck, Yoongi, yes, dick pic on my phone, aaah, right there, fuck, you're so fucking good, that night of the party, the one with the wet t-shirt c-contest, fuck, Yoongi, I love your dick so much, fuck!"

"Why would I do that?" he grunted, spanking your ass with his free hand and making you claw at his sheets, pain seeping into the pleasure and amplifying it, skin prickling hot, causing the excessive dripping between your joined legs. The headboard was now repeatedly smacking the wall.

"I dunno, you were drunk too, do you remember, mmm, yes, harder, yeah, like that, telling Taehyung you loved him and that he was your favorite little alien child?"

Behind you, you heard Yoongi choke slightly in embarrassment.

"No, I do not..."

"See, maybe you jacked off and snapped a memoir on my phone."

Yoongi let go of your arm and firmly gripped your ass with two hands.

"Memoirs are written."

"Maybe if they wrote their name, I wouldn't be on this journey – ah, Yoongi!"

You grabbed fistful of sheets and snapped yourself back up, your hair messy and cascading down your shoulders, meeting every vicious slap of Yoongi's hips to yours, his balls hitting your soaked clit and sending stings of satisfaction from your core to your limbs, so good, moaning his name, his growl of yours punctuated by his nails digging into your ass, give it to me, come on, and you fucked him back, pressing your palms into his sheets and feeling the shuddering ecstasy again and again, deep pulses tightening around his hardness, making him groan with want.

"One more, one more, I'm so fucking close, fuck..."

"You've been close, you're holding back, you're a dick, ow!"

Yoongi smacked your ass particularly hard and you clenched your core so tight that he gasped and probably delayed his orgasm even further.

"You're the one asking to see it," he panted, adjusting the angle to shove you further into his bed even though it wasn't possible, and continued his relentless assault in your pussy.

"If anyone has a nice dick, it's you, you bas... fuuuuuuuck, Yoongi, yes, I'm gonna c-cum, fuck!"

The pleasure shot through you like lightning, waves of tortuous triumph as you clutched his pillow and screamed his name into it, your juices leaking out from around his pumping cock and splattering onto his crotch and inner thighs, drenching his balls, saturating his skin with your sweet scent, Yoongi moaning your name and squeezing your ass as he fully sheathed himself in your shaking walls and exploded into the condom, his whole length twitching and shivering inside your spasming pussy, your ass prickling on pain, both of you gasping for air.

Someone on the other side of the wall was banging it and told you two to shut the fuck up, or at least you assumed that's what that muffled yelling was.

You and Yoongi ignored it.

"Are you... hah... okay?" Yoongi panted, rubbing your ass and kneading it.

"Of course, I am, what do you take me for, an amateur?" you chuckled, lifting your head, your breathing erratic and uneven. "Now let me see your dick, Yoongi."

The other side of the wall kept swearing. Very colorful, very loud, very upsetti in the spaghetti.

Poor thing must not be getting laid regularly.

"Fuck, fine, you know I like staying in there at least for a little while..." he grumbled, holding the condom down as you untangled yourself from his body, sighing exaggeratedly as you turned around and yanked it off. You tossed it into the trashcan that was already beside the bed.

Yoongi had the foresight to be prepared for a night with you.

"I don't have to leave soon. We have plenty of time."

The shouting through the wall seemed to have given up, kicking it once and swearing very heatedly before stomping off.

"You better not. I'm not finished with you."

You picked up your phone and unlocked it, opening your photo gallery, pushing Yoongi down so you could wrap your fingers around his slick, semi-hard cock. It throbbed contentedly in your hand as you began to move it up and down in smooth, tight strokes, flexing your fingers to add variation in the stimulation.

"Mmm, fuck, yeah, faster..."

You pulled the photo up and put your phone on the bed beside his hip and calmly continued your movements, looking down at him, him and fair-skinned cheeks with a slight fluffiness to them, him and his lightly upturned upper lip that gave him a cat-like appearance, him and his lowered lashes over black-brown orbs that held quiet, sensual intelligence. His hair was messy from fucking you so hard, but he was effortlessly sexy regardless, leaning back on his elbows, torso lifted to watch your hand. Yoongi noticed you staring and raised an eyebrow, wispy black strands grazing his dark brow.

“What?”

You smiled.

“Just thinking you’re really hot, Yoongi.”

He cringed slightly, ears turning pink and shifted his eyes away, closing them. Your own roamed down, down his defined shoulders and toned arms and chest, sucking in a breath at the sight, that slim waist and pretty hips, his cock filling up your hand, getting harder and harder, the head getting darker from sensitivity, the slickness of the lube and his own cum making it easier for you and better for him. Your other hand traced his side, running your nails over it and you heard his low moan, raising your head and your eyes found his. He was observing you again, glancing from the photo to you, the corner of his lips tugging upwards, ticking his head to the screen.

“That it?”

You ran your nails over his skin, just the way he liked it, light, pressing in a little when it came to the upper side of his hip, seeing his pupils expand and his breathing shallow, pink tongue licking his lips slowly.

“Yeah,” you replied breathlessly.

You increased the pace, pumping him from base to head, entranced by Yoongi’s expression, desire and cockiness despite becoming unraveled in your hands, his lower body trembling under you, your thighs pressed to his tense ones, tempting you to sit on and rub yourself all over them.

“Pretty dick.”

Slap, slap, slap. Hand on wet cock, sending shivers through you and through him.

“That’s why it could be yours.”

You saw his cheeks flush light pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he made piercing eye contact.

“Stop.”

You gasped sharply and ceased all movement, feeling his rigid stiffness pulse against your palm.

“Look,” Yoongi commanded in that low, raspy voice of his.

You bit your lip and removed your hand, strings of fluids snapping between your fingers and his hot, taut skin. His cock was so hard that it was sticking straight up, dark and imposing, twitching slightly. Long pale fingers picked up your phone and held it next to his erection.

“Well?” he chuckled.

You chewed on your lip, squinting at the screen. Reached over and ran your wet fingers over his twitching length, hearing Yoongi hiss and gasp at your touch as you angled his dick to match up with the photo. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult – the position seemed to match up perfectly. He was a little taller and thicker though. The shape of the head was similar, but also a bit off. The skin tone wasn’t quite correct either, the red-purple with subtly differing undertones. Still, lighting might affect that kind of detail. It wasn’t like you knew where this picture was taken.

“Hm… It’s really close, but not an exact match.”

“Well, damn.”

Yoongi tossed your phone aside carelessly, hand reaching out and you bent down, already knowing what he wanted, lips to lips, sliding against his body. You loved the way he kissed. Intense but soft, hand on your jaw and thumb caressing your cheek, nail grazing your earlobe, whispering into your lips, put me between your thighs, and you shifting up, closing your thighs around his wet cock, his lustful sigh and smirk on your lips, slowly thrusting in between your legs.

“Tighter.”

You hooked your ankles, one over the another and squeezed.

“Mmm, fuck yes, you’re so good…”

His words reminded you of the first time, crammed into the backseat of a small car, snuck out of a party to have Min Yoongi pull you into his grasp, tongue and lips all over you, your arms over his shoulders, wondering what you were doing because this kind of guy wasn’t your type, quiet, yes, a music nerd, yes, however he knew what he was doing, light bites on you skin making you gasp and slide down his jean-covered thigh, delicious friction to your soaked panties, tipping your head back to give that decadent mouth more access to your throat.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket. A certain someone was probably wondering where you were.

“Yoongi, how… fuck, yes, how are you so good… you’re so good…”

His deep voice over your vocal cords, vibrating them with his seductive tone.

“DND your phone,” he purred, drawing a line down your throat with his tongue, coating you with his saliva, his musky, woody cologne transferring to your shivering skin.

“What…?” you panted, unable to think straight.

He plucked it out of your back pocket, tapping it against your arm.

“Put it on do not disturb and I’ll make you cum so hard that you’ll be coming back to me all the time.”

You fumbled with your phone, strong hands scooping out your breasts from your top, those lips sinking into your cleavage and tongue ghosting over your nipples, moaning as you dropped it, ignoring Park Jimin’s text, lost in those skillful hands and that expert mouth that eventually kissed down to your pussy and drove you crazy, but not before setting your skin on fire and making you beg for it.

“Yoongi…”

His lips on yours, his eyes and your eyes both half-open, marveling at the way his lashes adorned those black brown orbs and the way he looked at you, drunk on lust and your body.

“You want me?”

Hands on your hips, grinding you down on his thigh, teasing you. He wasn’t your type, he wasn’t your type, he wasn’t your type… so why, why did that sly, knowing gaze do things to you? Why did it make your heartbeat stutter and your juices seep into the denim of his jeans, so turned on that you didn’t want anything else right now but Min Yoongi?

It just didn’t make any sense.

“Y… Yeah…”

That smirk.

“I know you do.”

You did end up coming back all the time.

He was very good and it wasn’t just his mouth.

Yoongi backed up and smirked, open-mouthed, mischievous, so fucking hot that you felt your pussy throb at the mere sight, his warm, pulsing length still jammed between your soft, closed thighs.

“You wanna ride my dick?”

You grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You completely forgot about the photo and spent the rest of the night on Yoongi’s cock and ignoring the yelling from his neighbors.

-

jung hoseok.

“Hoseokie…”

Teeth on your ear, a dexterous, teasing tongue flicking your earrings, your name coming out of that heart-shaped smile in a low, sultry whisper that contrasted it.

“You can’t come here looking like this and not expect me to want to ruin you,” Jung Hoseok purred into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Your lips curved into a smile.

You were on your knees, spread out a little, short black minidress hiked up your thighs, facing the mirrors of the dance studio. Hoseok knelt behind you, hands travelling all over your body. Deft fingers, neatly manicured nails, his sharp jaw grazing your shoulder, pulling down the thin straps. Your large hoodie was tossed to the side, scattered onto the hardwood floor in haste. The frosted door of Smile Hoya’s rented dance studio space was locked, hip-hop music blaring loudly, and in the center was you and Hoseok.

You knew he could hear your shuddering exhale well, already attuned to the sounds of your pleasure.

He smirked and kissed the top of your ear, yanking down the top of your dress.

It wasn’t like this the first time.

“Ah, well, I was hoping… wondering, ah… I don’t know how to say…?”

You were in his bedroom at the time, confused. “Yoongi said you wanted to talk to me about something? What is it, Hoseok?”

He had been very nervous, somewhat shaky, staring into your eyes. You reached over and squeezed his hand, tilting your head. He took a moment to speak, hiding his brown eyes under his blond hair.

“Uh, well, I was talking to hyung and I mentioned I… I feel like I have to put up a front sometimes. Because I’m so happy and stuff. Women expect me to be like that… in bed… And he suggested that maybe you could help me… chill out, but, uh, that’s really rude to say, ah, I shouldn’t have–”

He tried to yank his hand out of yours in panic but you held on, tugged forward by his movement. Hoseok squeaked, ears turning red, freezing in place.

“Hey.”

You held his hand and patted it with your free one, smiling gently.

“I absolutely can help you chill out when it comes to sex. What do you want to know? What do you want to do? I’ll teach you.”

You noticed his expression change from panic to worry, chewing on his lip.

“N… No, you misunderstand… It’s not having sex, I…”

He trailed off, suddenly silent. You frowned slightly, nudging him. Hoseok cleared his throat and looked you dead in the eye.

“I’m not nice.”

Now he squeezed your hand tightly, breathing in your scent.

“Or rather, I don’t want to be nice when I fuck. Sometimes I want to let go and just…” He frowned, not seeming to know the word.

You leaned in, whispering in his ear.

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, I just… don’t want to think about an image I have to uphold.”

You grinned. “Yoongi did direct you to the right woman.”

His blond hair was even lighter now, the tips dyed with navy, a soft, sexy contrast to his rich tan skin. This was now many, many fucks later, hooking up at parties, at random times at his apartment, and now at the space he rented to practice dance on his own. Hoseok liked to freestyle and feel the music. When he fucked, he liked to feel the moment.

His hands gripped your breasts and squeezed, sandwiching your nipples between his index and middle finger, tugging hard.

You gasped in his hands, just what he wanted, open-mouthed smirk and all.

“Hoseok… I have to… ah, ask you something…”

He shoved his hips into your back and you gasped at the thinness of his shorts, rubbing his hardening cock against the top of your ass. A brown orb watched you through the mirror and he was smiling that brilliant, heart-shaped smile, contrasting his forceful touch.

“What do you want to ask?” he chirped cheerfully, pinching your nipples and twisting them.

You moaned, savoring the swift, firm pain followed by the pads of his fingers rubbing the tips of your nipples, grinding your ass onto his stiff length. Your phone was in your right hand. You bit your lip, seeing him watch you carefully in the mirror. You raised the phone and unlocked it.

“Is this your dick?”

You noticed Hoseok pause and squint. You turned your phone and held at up so he could get a good look. His hands were still on your tits, although he had paused the moment to view the image, blinking rapidly at it.

“When was this taken?” He tilted his head, looking confused.

“The party with the wet t-shirt contest? The–”

“One where Yoongi grabbed Taehyung and told him he was his favorite alien child?”

“Oh? You do remember?”

Hoseok winced, as if the events of the night haunted him. “I remember… not much after that…”

“Oh…” You faltered. “So you wouldn’t remember if you took this picture on my phone, huh?”

“No, sorry.”

“Then… can I see it?”

He grinned. “You have to earn it.”

Earning it could mean anything.

Today, earning it meant cumming at least three times with Hoseok’s fingers before he even let you take off his shorts.

“H-Hoseok…!”

He always smelled so good, so fucking good, orange and musk complemented with the barely-there vanilla sweetness, a scent that always seemed to linger on your skin afterward. His lips were on your neck, leaving small bites, chuckling darkly. One hand on your nipple, the other between your legs, your dress bunched at the waist and your panties at your knees, not letting you take any of it off, forcing you to watch yourself as he wrecked you, teasing your oversensitive clit with his fingertips, slick and slippery, thighs shaking from the second orgasm and coaxing you to the third, sharp throbs of lust causing your eyes to roll back, head falling against his shoulder.

“Hoseok, p-please…”

He had no trouble holding onto you, flexible and strong, and you were grinding your hips down, lost in the feeling, leaking everywhere because he hadn’t actually put his fingers inside you yet, teasing you and teasing you and teasing you, driving you crazy, please put your fingers inside me, please Hoseok, your name murmured gently in your ear, no, not until the third time, and then I’m going to put my cock in you once you’ve shown me how good of a girl you are, and you were going to lose your mind, shivering in continued ecstasy, squirming in his hands, your own reaching back and fisting his hair and white shirt, moans masked by the loud music, so close, so close, your perfume mixing with his, sex and cologne, shivers and heat, teeth on your ear and circles rubbed onto your aching nerves.

Shallow gasps.

Peaking pleasure.

Seeing nothing but black, eyelids fluttering, wanton moans torn from your throat.

The song ended.

Hoseok removed his hand from your nipple and covered your mouth, muffling your scream as you came, taking your air and your sanity, pleasure rocketing up your core, crying out with need for something, anything, inside you, pushing your hips back into his crotch, feeling his cock swell at your bouncing ass, desperate for him.

The music began again.

Now you were on your hands and knees, suddenly released, gasping for breath, legs shaking from the aftershocks.

“Look.”

Turning around, your shaking hands pulling down his shorts hurriedly, still wearing your black dress and panties around your knees, hardly registering the inconvenience, not caring, completely focused on the semi-hard length in front of your face. No time. Hoseok gave you no time, grabbing your face and dragging your open mouth to him, sliding into your lips, his oversized shirt touching your nose, you whimpering at the hotness and tautness of his velvet skin. The fullness invaded your throat, taking your breath away. He buried himself all the way in before yanking his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside with his vest that was shed earlier, far too hot now, looking down at you through his lashes.

“Don’t choke.”

Hand in your hair, pushing you down, not letting you move as he rolled his hips into your face, the head rubbing against the rood of your mouth and your tongue pushing it up to make it tighter for him, taking him deeper, hazy and intoxicated on orange, musk and vanilla. His other hand held your phone up, unlocking it with ease.

Smirk on those lips, heart-shaped and teasing. “So? Is it mine?”

You whined, not wanting him out of your mouth.

“Your choice,” Hoseok chuckled, tone light and unassuming, the edge of danger only visible in those sparkling brown eyes. “Find out or I’ll cum in your mouth and not in that pretty pussy of yours I’m looking at right now.”

Right, because you were bent over, ass facing the mirror, wetness dripping down your inner thighs.

Fuck.

You backed up, growling, glaring at the picture you knew all too well now.

“Well?”

Fine, fine, fine, you were on this fucking Journey to the Dick, and it was starting to feel more like an annoying side mission than the actual main storyline, but, whatever, you reached up and angled Hoseok’s cock slightly, sucking in a breath with him as you looked from phone screen to the delicious real-life specimen. Hm, okay. Similar in length and color. Not in angle though. Shit. And not in width either, barely a hair slimmer and the vein placement was more prominent on Hoseok’s length than this dick.

“Fuck, it’s really fucking close but I don’t think it’s yours.”

“Shit,” Hoseok sighed, turning your phone off and tossing it onto his discarded shirt. “Oh well.”

You narrowed your eyes, pouting. “What kind of react–gah!”

Hoseok pushed you down onto the ground, pushing his shorts down to his knees and pulling out a condom from the pocket, cocking a brow. You sputtered, trying to untangle yourself from the labyrinth of your own clothes, but only managed to kick off your panties before he got the condom rolled down and pushed your legs up, lifting your ass completely off the floor.

“Can’t have this pretty ass on this dirty floor,” he snickered, lifting himself higher, bending you in half, almost on your upper back, nearly uncomfortable, but Hoseok was stronger than he looked, and when he gave you what you needed, you instantly forgot about the discomfort.

“Oooh, fuck, Hoseok!”

He plunged into you, into hot wet tightness, stretching you out easily from the previous wetness, clit throbbing as he smacked his hips down, his balls slapping against your ass, drawing out another moan as his fingers brushed your clit, making you spasm and clench around his cock as he teased the overstimulated bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, yes, so tight, so wet, so desperate for a cock to fill this hole, aren’t you?” he purred, still so sweet but with such dirty words, so handsome with his blond hair and navy tips, heart-shaped smirk and glittering eyes, and the way he said your name, dainty and serene, slowly thrusting into you, but so hard, he was so hard from being inside you, completely consumed by the physicality of the act and no longer the same man who had been worrying about how you would perceive him.

That seemed ages ago now.

Your hands reached up between your legs, running your fingers through his hair, completely forgetting about the photo of the mysterious dick and focused on the one thrusting between your legs, smiling up at him, those brown eyes and lovely jaw.

“You’re so good, Hoseok, so fucking good to me, fuck, harder, yes, ah…”

Both of you forgot about the music, fucking through the pause between them, hoping that everyone else was too busy with their own choreography to think about the hot gasps and moans exchanged between you and him in the middle of the room, the act reflected in the wall of mirrors, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls, your name and his name in breathless whispers, tight and full and hot and wet and soaring on sky-high pleasure, climbing altitude and running out of oxygen.

“Fuck, gonna cum, fuck–”

“Ah, Hoseok, yes…”

Tip, free-fall, you clamping a hand over Hoseok’s mouth and his hand over yours, screaming into each other’s palms at the intensity and the force of orgasm, smacking your hips together and holding them there, feeling his cock twitch inside you and your shivering walls clamp around him in rough, intense pulses.

It took a moment to disembark from the euphoric high.

“Hah… we should… probably not fuck here…” he gasped, falling a little, cradling your ass so it didn’t directly touch the floor.

“I’d fuck you anywhere, so that’s your fault. You need to be the voice of reason.”

He laughed, rich and infectious, and you grinned, holding his head against your breasts and hugging him tightly.

-

park jimin.

“I hate you.”

“Come on, Jimin.”

"I was supposed to be first!"

"Oh my God, are we going on about this again?!"

"You were supposed to suck MY dick first!"

"Stop being a fucking brat, Park Jimin!"

"No!"

You tackled him and you both fell to the floor, rolling into a mess of giant t-shirts, fierce kisses and your hands in his now red hair, fiery and hot-headed like he was being right now.

"You little–"

"Don't you dare call me little!"

"I was gonna call you a little shithead but if you wanna be a big shithead, that's fine with me!"

He pinned you down and you grabbed his waist with your legs and rammed your crotch into his black shorts, making him gasp in horny pain and crumple into his laundry that you were supposed to help him fold, but instead you were wrestling and he was complaining about not getting his dick sucked.

It was your turn to pin him down with your arms and your thighs, Jimin seeing stars as he struggled to breathe from your lower belly smacking his erection the wrong way.

"Why, ack, why did you run off saying there's a proper order?" he choked out, choking harder as your panty-covered mound sat down on his length and started rubbing up and down, smirking down at him, his red hair flaring out on his cream rug.

"'Cause there is," you replied, calm and cool.

"Order of what? Order of how you fucked us?"

"Nah, I fucked Yoongi first, remember? At that party, ages ago..." you hummed, extending the expanse of your movement, sliding up and down his thighs, his plush lips open and moaning softly, his grip on your large t-shirt tightening. It was actually his, because neither you nor Jimin knew the meaning of keeping your clothes on.

"Yeah, in my car!"

"Eh, you were drunk and playing pool with Taehyung, which, by the way, he mad cheated and you didn't even notice."

"Fuck!"

You weren't sure if that exclamation was related to your teasing or Taehyung cheating, but Jimin removed one of his hands from your shirt and flipped off the wall, in the direction of Taehyung's room.

Ah, so not you.

"Is it age order? But Namjoon isn't the oldest..." Jimin refuted himself, frowning.

"He’s first because he's kind of like the leader of you guys, isn't he? You all end up listening to his reasoning anyway."

Jimin squinted, pouting. "That's just because his tall and smart and has a fatty IQ."

You grinned. "148."

Jimin looked very annoyed that you remembered the exact number.

“I never thought about it, but other than that, it is age order, huh?” you mused, bouncing on his dick.

He shuddered with satisfaction, rolling his hips into you. “Then why would you…?”

You shrugged. “Your names sound good together like that. Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook…”

Jimin added your name last with an amused smirk. You bit your lower lip, cocking an eyebrow and sporting a devious smile, leaning down. Lips to lips, a soft sigh, remembering that night, stumbling out of Jimin’s car and tangled in Yoongi’s touch, still kissing Yoongi with your ass on the hood of the car. Jimin had been annoyed at you then too, how could you fuck him first and not me, Yoongi laughing in that raspy, sexy way of his, because I asked, dumbass, Jimin grabbing your face and kissing you right in front of Yoongi, the older man clicking his tongue and squeezing your ass tighter, unimpressed.

In some ways, that night started off the chain reaction of hey, why not me?

Okay, maybe you did have some frustrations about your dating life and ended up tumbling into their beds for, ahem, emotional support, but in your defense, they were all great when it came to emotional support.

“Sit on my face.”

“That’s not the angle of the dick pic though.”

“Then just take the pic from that position. That’s how it was taken, right?”

Sometimes, Park Jimin was a damn genius.

He was great at eating pussy too.

“Ah, fuuuck, Jimin…”

A little messy at first, humming approvingly at your taste, thrusting his tongue into you and moaning as your muscles closed in on it, your slick nectar painting those beautiful, soft lips, him pressing them to your heat, lewd kisses, tongue swiping up and down.

“Gotta clean you up so you can dirty me up,” he breathed, tracing sensual patterns in between your thighs with his tongue, small nips to make you whine, his hands on your ass, moaning into your pussy as your kiss came into contact with his rigid cock, dripping saliva and licking it back up, gyrating your tongue at the tip and licking off the pre-cum, savoring the taste, strong and almost sweet.

Everything about Jimin was sweet, even when he was frustrated with you.

“Fuck, give it to me.”

His hands on your ass, pushing you down, setting your pussy flush onto his lips, blocking off his airway and moaning hotly, desperate, needy, wanting your noises as you swallowed him, his length swelling in your mouth at the wet encasement, swirling your tongue all around.

You’re so mean. I can’t believe you wouldn’t ask me first, get on your knees, come on, aren’t you sorry?

You weren’t, not even in the slightest bit sorry for fucking Yoongi in his car, but you had enjoyed his little pout and twinge of jealousy, kisses up his muscular thighs, the same thighs you were clutching right now, one hand tucking your hair behind your ear, remembering his hand on the back of your head, pushing you down on his cock, the same cock you buried all the way into the back of your throat, blocking your own ability to breathe, suffocating on it as Jimin groaned, coming back up for air, rushing exhale washing over your skin before returning to his work on your clit, rapid, intense licks that shimmered pleasure through your veins.

Jimin made you choke on his dick after the Yoongi incident, but you were the one in control of it now, rutting the head against your throat muscles, feeling it get harder and harder. He always felt so good in your mouth, recalling him saying once, I just really like getting my dick sucked, shut up and stop shaming me, tongue and lips and saliva, remembering how much he liked it when you held the base and focused on the tip, his muffled whines getting more intense and vibrating your core, making sure to pop your lips over the bottom of the head every time you came up and then pressing them tightly as you went back down, doing it all at that fast, suffocating pace that made him stop licking you to throw his head back and moan, loud lust radiating off the walls, not caring about disturbing anyone, too absorbed into your pace to be considerate.

“F-Fuck, yeah, just like that, fuck, you’re so good…”

Jimin was part of the reason you were good.

He really liked getting his dick sucked. Your mouth was one of his favorites and usually readily available.

Win-win.

“Faster, fuck, oh, shit, I’m gonna cum, mmmphf!”

He grabbed your ass and smothering himself with your pussy, body trembling under you as his cock jerked and shot into your throat, your lips closing in, sucking hard to drink his cum, his moans filling your wet hole and tongue all over your clit, furiously licking as you rubbed the twitching head into the roof of your mouth, his hips squirming at the overstimulation, but his violent grip and nails digging into your ass was telling you to do it, telling you he loved it, telling you he needed it, begging you to do what you did best, gulping around the head and then jamming it into your throat, cutting off your air.

He sucked on your clit, hard, whining so loud that you could feel it in his chest and racing heartbeat pressed against your lower belly, almost lifting your lower half with his upper body alone, showing off his strength from dancing. You angled your head, taking as much as you could, nose in his balls, whimpering around his cock and the snap of orgasm making your entire body flinch, leaking all over his face and into his mouth, his nose buried into your pussy, tongue soothing your throbbing clit, wave after intense wave, barely breathing, lightheaded with pleasure, clutching his thighs tightly, naked bodies suddenly dirty, surrounded by clean laundry.

Jimin yanked his head out from between your legs, panting in satisfaction, diving back in to shove his tongue on your quivering hole and scoop out your orgasm, sucking it out to drink it, murmuring your name into your slick juices.

“You taste so fucking good, fuck…”

You came up for air, gasping, tongue lolling out, holding his cock and rubbing the slit against your wet muscle. His stiff length twitched, still hard because of your mouth.

“Take the picture, mmm, yes, did you forget?” Jimin gasped into your pussy.

You fumbled with your phone beside his leg, still reeling from orgasm and Jimin’s continued ministrations, putting it in selfie mode and seeing the lower half of your face, chin shiny with saliva, his cum dripping off your lower lip, his cock in front of your face and naked chest, your breasts pressed into his abs.

You thought about licking off the visible cum, but then you decided against it, snapping the photo with your tongue hovering close to his rock-hard erection.

You knew the composition of the inspirational dick pic now, so you brought it up in a photo editing app, putting the two side by side while wrapping your lips around the head of Jimin’s cock, sucking it leisurely like a lollipop. He didn’t ask you to get off.

Instead, he planted your pussy into his face and suffocated himself with it again.

You studied the two photos. Hm. Firstly, yours was much sexier. No offense to white t-shirt, blue jeans, and black boxer briefs guy, but your glistening cum-covered lips and squashed tits in the background of the cock made the photo eons better than his. Jimin would definitely be asking for yours later. Anyway, back to the picture. Hmm. Jimin’s dick was slightly shorter and straighter, with a warmer skin tone to his purple-red tip, although the head shape was spot on. Was that possible to have a different length but almost identical head shapes? Did dicks work that way? Did Jimin have an equally sexy twin brother or doppelganger somewhere?

Hm, a threesome with basically two Jimins would be hot as hell.

He patted your leg and you climbed off him, sighing as you rolled over and pursed your lips, concluding that his wasn’t the mystery dick. Once again, close, but no dick. Wait. That wasn’t the saying. Eh, whatever.

“Fuck, send me that photo later, I’m gonna jack off to it.”

You laughed, feeling him crawl beside you and roll you onto your stomach, pinning you down with his naked body. “You wanna jack it to your own dick?”

He was rubbing said dick into the crevice of your ass cheeks now, using your saliva was lube. “Fuck yeah I wanna jack it to my own dick with your lips covered with my cum and your titties on my stomach, sounds fuckin’ hot.”

“You’re such a pervert, Jimin.”

“And you aren’t?”

The front door slammed shut. There was a loud yell of your name in deep baritone.

“Aw, hell no, I’m getting it in this pussy first, I got time before he comes to collect,” Jimin growled, reaching into his discarded shorts and ripping open a condom, scrambling off you and rolling it down his still-hard length, grabbing one of your legs.

You shifted to your side, glaring at him. “What am I, taxes?”

The deep voice called your name again, asking where you were.

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer though, because Jimin thrust into you and you ended up moaning Kim Taeyang’s name to inform him of your whereabouts, causing Jimin to bend over and fuck you hard and rough.

“I can’t believe you would moan his name like that with my dick inside you,” Jimin growled, looking far too cute to actually be pissed at you. “Gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll be sore for him.”

Everything about Jimin was sweet, even when he was firmly fucking you into his floor and making you yelp as Taehyung burst the door open, sighing at the scene.

“Who would have fucking guessed what you two are doing…”

-

kim taehyung.

"You're so fucking stubborn."

"Wow, that's really rude, I don't make comments about your–"

"Shut up, I'm deleting his number."

You narrowed your eyes and frowned, sitting with one leg bent on Kim Taehyung's bed. He was currently in possession of your phone, clicking his tongue and pressing buttons on the screen.

"When someone tells you to leave them alone, you leave them alone," he scolded.

You cowered slightly, eyes shifting. "I was only asking if he was doing anything this weekend... I didn't have any ulterior motives..."

Taehyung squinted. You deliberately avoided his gaze. He sighed, crossing his arms. You were still wearing Jimin's shirt with nothing underneath so, uh, maybe he had good reason to be suspicious.

"You have a virgin kink."

You choked on nothing. "What, no, I don't–"

Taehyung reached over to his desk and put on the thin, gold-framed glasses he kept there. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. You abruptly stopped talking and gawked at him, breathless at the way his dark brown orbs were bordered by gold and his long, black-brown hair, the rest tied back in a small ponytail.

"And a glasses kink."

He took them off and you sucked in a tight breath, grimacing.

"That's why you keep going after these kinds of guys," Taehyung tutted, neatly folding the specs and placing them back on his desk. "And why you bonked Namjoon-hyung so fast, only to realize that he is not, in fact, a virgin."

"W-Well, he's still good..."

"Same reason why you got so excited when–"

"Look," you cut in, chopping the air with your hand, not letting Taehyung finish. His eyebrow seemed permanently raised. "I'm off my bullshit for now, no? I've got a mission–" You pointed to your phone and he held it out of your reach. You scowled and bounced back down into the bed. His eyes weren't following your face, but you ignored it. "–and I'll stop okay?"

Taehyung cocked his other eyebrow.

"Serious. You just deleted all the numbers except you and your friends, right?"

He turned the screen, thumb hovering over a certain number. Him and his friends were listed from one to seven, in order.

His thumb was over number seven.

"Don't," you whined. "Please, Tae."

His brows lowered, serious expression on his handsome face.

Then he smirked, dumping your phone on the bed.

"Silly girl," he drawled, crawling onto the bed, advancing towards you, sultry gaze and enchanting eyes making you forget about your device. "Why would I do that? He likes you so much."

You growled slightly, letting him push you down but not relenting. "That's really fucked up."

"That I wanna hear you say please?"

His hand lifted and cupped your chin, mischievous smile, unable to contain his pride for his little trick, sliding his leg between your thighs, tilting his head.

"Not just any please," he murmured, deep voice silky smooth, dark curled stands brushing against your cheeks he leaned in, hot exhale on your lips. "Your needy please when I threaten to take your precious Jungkookie from you."

You tried to close your legs but he stopped you with his knee, tilting his head, highly amused at your narrowed eyes.

"You don't like it?" He was leaning down, feathery kisses on your lips and cheeks. "I know you like it when I tease you." His honey voice was dripping into the fire, turning into fuel that fed the sparks of arousal, your hands coming up to clutch his black shirt, pulling down the center zipper, his deep chuckle in your skin, hand from your chin sliding up to your hair, the other tapping down your front, grazing the thin t-shirt material.

"Don't..." you gasped, his deft touch toying with the hem. “Don't use the others against me. That's not fair...”

“Mmm, yeah?”

Drawing circles on your inner thigh with his nail, nicking the skin.

"You only want to think about me?"

Your phone hummed with a notification. Taehyung chuckled, fingers creeping closer and closer.

"Aw, I wonder who that is? But that's too bad, because you're all mine right now."

You gasped, clutching his open shirt as his fingers slid in, two because you were already wet, shallow breathing and lidded eyes telling him enough, taking your lips with his, pace slow and steady and maddening, spreading your legs with his knees, forcing you to tip your hips up to him in an embarrassing position.

Then again, embarrassment during sex wasn't part of your vocabulary.

You pushed his black shirt down one shoulder and reached in, your fingers snaking to the hem of the white undershirt and stroking his skin, his satisfied exhale hot against your neck, you remembering the way the water drenched the fabric and stuck it to his golden tan skin, playfully flexing his defined chest and biceps, adorable and arousing because Kim Taehyung was both. He separated his digits inside your pussy to create a loud, sharp, wet squelch. You heard him grin, smug at the dirty sound, then begin plunging his fingers in and out, in and out of the tightness, trying to be as noisy as possible. You clenched your core to make him work for it, force him to be rougher with you, his fingers curling in your hair, yanking firmly, lips on your ear.

"See, how can those boys you pick keep up with you, hm? They won't know what to do with your pretty, sexy self," he purred, faster, harder, pushing you to the edge with your heated moan and your hands all over his chest, lifting your hips to meet his touch. "You need us to take care of you, don't you?"

Fuck, the way Taehyung said your name.

Like it was a decadent sweet he was craving, a taste compared to no other.

Your head fell back into the pillows, breathing in his warm scent in shallow puffs, his name pouring out of your lips, yearning and desire.

"Mmmm, Taehyung...."

Melting you into it, sweet bliss and sharp jerks of your hips into his hand, gasping at the flood of euphoria, trying to squeeze your thighs around his hand and stopped by his open legs. Your throbbing pussy gripped his fingers and made him hiss, his devious smirk growing as you lowered your chin again to look into those dark eyes, shivering under his intense gaze.

“Let’s play a little game.”

His tongue slid out, lickings your lips lightly.

“It’s called, how many fingers can I stuff in you before you’re begging for my dick?”

“What kind of – oh, f-fuck!”

One more.

Aching tightness, clenching your jaw, trembling at the ease of it, Taehyung cocking an eyebrow.

“Ah, yeah, three’s too easy, huh? You already warmed up.”

One more.

“Fuck, Tae, fuck!”

His dark eyes glittering, pleased at your reaction.

“That’s better. That’s what I wanna hear.”

Whines in your throat as he picked up the pace, fast and hard, clutching his shirt and his side, your nails digging in, stretched out and stuffed with four, your eyes rolling back and one leg sliding up to hook around his waist, meeting each thrust, so deep, so full, so wet, loud and obvious and uncaring of who was listening – probably Jimin with a huge smirk on his face – panting Taehyung’s name over and over, feeling the strength in his hold and his grip in your hair, pulling lightly, shooting pricks of pain down your head to meet the oppressive pleasure brimming in your core, closer, closer.

“What do you want?” Taehyung growled, that deep voice dangerously low.

“Y-Your c-cock, p-please…” you managed to gasp out, chasing it, chasing the fullness and the depth.

“Can you take it? Can you take it like the good girl you are?”

“A-Ah, yes, please Tae, want it,” you moaned, your fingernails digging into his back, scratching down as your orgasm shattered through you, making your whole body shake and shiver from the intensity, him pulling out. Your moan turned into a hoarse whimper, squirming as he rubbed your clit with his slick fingers, spanking it and teasing it, rocketing you into peaks and valleys of cut-off ecstasy that drove you insane, clawing at his clothes, desperate for his body on yours.

“What’s your magic word?”

“Please.”

He grinned at you despaired tone.

“That’s it.”

It took no time at all, your shirt flung aside, Taehyung losing his clothes that were already half-off, hot body to hot body, heated kisses and rummaging in his nightstand drawer, groaning into his mouth as his cock slapped your thigh, hard and thick and ready, dripping pre-cum on you before he yanked you up on top of him, ripping open the condom.

“Work for it.”

Lacing your fingers in his, sliding down onto that impressive girth and gasping as it twitched inside you, rolling your hips down onto it, better than his fingers, bouncing on it with your tits following your rhythm, squeezing his hands. Taehyung liked this kind of intimacy, the kind where he was grinning like the devil under you but still holding your hands as you railed yourself with his dick, rough and hard with your own smug smile, a little erratic but somehow good that way.

He made you work for it and you were good at working for it.

You found a good rhythm and – ba dum tss – rode it, leaning forward to deepen the angle and make it last longer, pulsing around his length with your tight walls, control and power and endorphins, each smack adding to the lewd melody that mixed with heavy moans and shuddering gasps, bringing Taehyung on your rollercoaster, his hips rising, your name rumbling in his chest, blood thudding in your ears at the baritone depth.

“Yes, such a good girl, gonna make me cum, don’t you want me to cum for you?” he panted, fishing for the magic word, bouncing one of his dark brows, his long hair flared out on his pillows, high cheekbones and strong features no longer hidden by wayward strands.

Your tongue between your teeth, grinning wide.

“Yes, please.”

The right inflection of winded want, maybe a little mischievous, but Taehyung liked that, for there was no fun in someone who was too easy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.”

He squeezed your hands and thrust his hips up fiercely, shock bolting from your core to your spine to your head, your head snapping back, gasp torn from your throat, flooding his crotch with your juices, overstimulated clit rubbing on the base of his cock and Taehyung was gone too, husky groan falling from his lips, slamming his hips up and locking his legs, shooting jerks of cum into the condom, aftershocks causing you to lose hold on your knees, moan pitching higher as you slipped down on his throbbing length, trapped on it because Taehyung wasn’t going to lower you until he was done, the head pulsing inside you, squeezed out by your shivering walls.

“T… Tae… the picture…”

“Ah… yeah… hold on… lay down for me…”

He wasn’t going to let you leave without his mark anyway.

“Serious?”

“Deadly.”

You laid back against the pillows, spent, holding your phone, Taehyung straddling your chest and stroking his slick cock, plops of cum and lube falling onto your chest, messy dark hair curling around his handsome face. You could see the purple-red head peek out from between his fingers, hear the steady slapping as he pumped it back to full hardness.

“Alright, let’s see.”

Your chest was rattling but you raised your phone, bringing up the picture as Taehyung gripped the base of his cock, lifting it up slightly to put it in position. You squinted at the screen, looking from the photo dick to the real one. Of course. He was definitely bigger, a little thicker, but strangely, the color was almost the same. Was that lightning or similar skin tone? Or perhaps men with really nice dicks just happened to have Taehyung’s tan complexion?

You wouldn’t question it if it was true.

“You’re bigger,” you sighed, tossing your phone aside.

Taehyung smirked proudly. “What a surprise.”

“We all knew that, even before I saw it.”

He chuckled, going back to fisting his cock. “That’s because Jimin has a big mouth and likes to spread rumors.”

“You like that he spends rumors.”

Taehyung shrugged, but his sly expression wouldn’t be hidden even as he shook his head to cover part of his face with his long brown hair, curtaining half of it with darkness, teasing and effortlessly sexy.

“Ready?”

“Mhm, do it.”

You raised yourself onto your elbows, smiling wide, watching his breathing shallow and his eyes close, losing himself in it, faster and tighter, the wetness audible, strong thighs shuddering at your sides. Then he sucked in a breath, hissing your name and tipping forward, painting viscous white strings onto your collarbones and tits, pushing his shuddering cock up and down to spread it out, your clavicle now sticky and covered in his strong scent.

Taehyung ticked his head, lips in a devil’s smile, chest heaving with exertion.

“Your cum necklace is extra pretty today. Take a selfie for me so I can jack off to your cute face later.”

-

jeon jungkook.

“Jungkook?”

Jeon Jungkook shrieked your name like you were Michael Myers and he was Jamie Lee Curtis, flinging himself onto his computer monitor and mashing the power button to turn it off, his long purple hair flying everywhere, brown orbs like saucers, entire body shaking so bad that even his eyebrow piercing was vibrating.

He froze like that.

You blinked at him from the doorframe of his rented studio room, one hand on the knob and the other holding up your phone like a kitchen knife.

His leather bomber jacket was hung over the back of his rolling chair. The chair was currently slowly sliding across the floor, away from him and his panic. Jungkook was wearing a sleeveless black shirt and loose black jeans.

For a guy scared shitless, his pants were pitching a very impressive tent.

Had he been watching porn?

“Er… I knocked…?” you said slowly, pointing to the door. “Do you not hear me?”

“Um, uh, n-no,” Jungkook sputtered, looking you up and down. “No, I d-didn’t.”

“I said I was coming by today. Via text?”

“Was that today?” he echoed hollowly like a ghost in a shell, the end of his question pitching to a higher octave. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Ah. Sorry. I think I f… forgot…” He was not looking at your face, instead staring at your thighs and your shorts, tight and tiny, shredded black denim paired with a loose, long-sleeved black top that read in bold, white, graphic, letters...

REALITY SUCKS.

You pointed to the turned-off monitor.

"Were you watching porn?" you asked cheerfully.

Jungkook's ears turned red.

"Yes," he blurted.

Silence.

A bird cawed outside.

You nodded, closing the door. You tilted your head and locked it, just in case, before waltzing into Jungkook's film studio space, bouncing on the heels of your large black sneakers. "If you're gonna watch porn, you should lock the door. What were you watching? Is it lesbian porn again? Can I–?"

You reached over to turn the screen back on and Jungkook's tattooed hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you away from it and to him. You blinked rapidly, confused at his tight grip.

"N-No, you can't see. You can't," he sputtered, pinning you against his hard body.

You frowned, annoyed. "Why not? I like porn." You squirmed against him, but he sandwiched you between his forearms, forcing you to look up and face him, thinning your mouth into a line. He gulped, eyes shifting, holding your body against his. His lower lip trembled, mole underneath bouncing with his uncertainty.

"I... It wasn't porn..."

You stopped struggling, confused. "Huh?"

Those dark chocolate eyes found yours, looking guilty.

"I was looking at your pictures."

You blinked rapidly. "What?"

"You know... the ones I take of you sometimes... You said it was okay..."

Ah, yes. Jungkook liked to take pictures of you. He had mumbled that it was because he needed practice and, later in bed, he admitted it was because he considered you his muse, an inspiration of sorts, so would it be okay if, maybe, you just turned a little and laid in his covers just like... like that, yeah, could he take maybe one photo?

"Sure, knock yourself out, dude."

A bit later, far too late, you had realized that had been maybe too chill of a response, but Jungkook seemed to prefer that and he acted less awkward about it every other time he asked to take a picture. They weren't usually dirty pictures. Although you were naked in some of them, they weren't quite inappropriate, every single one framed with delicate, well-thought-out composition. You always sighed and told him he made you look better than you actually were.

Jungkook always insisted you were consistently beautiful.

You pointed between your bodies.

"Were you gonna get off to them or something?" you cheerily inquired, bumping against his pitched denim tent.

"N-No!"

His ears turned scarlet and he jerked sideways, but you held onto him, hands firmly on his hips, not letting him twist away. He quickly covered his ears and pouted at you.

"I was... I just missed you."

You smiled, squeezing his ass. "I missed you too, Jungkook."

Your tone was soft, gentle. He stilled and lowered his hands, lips parting at your words, slightly surprised, incredibly adorable.

His dick twitched in his pants and jabbed your crotch.

A pause.

Jungkook's eyes shifted to the side, mumbling under his breath. "And, yeah, okay, I got horny, but that's only because it's you..."

"That's great, since I definitely wanted to look at your dick as soon as possible!"

His eyes went wide.

You smiled widely.

Then he said something unexpected.

"Ow."

You looked down and backed up as Jungkook frowned and reached down to shift his rock-hard length in his pants, sighing in relief.

"Zipper was killing me..." he grumbled, running a hand through his purple hair.

"We should just take it off then."

"Pardon, we should wha–ah!"

You grabbed fistfuls of his black top and yanked it up and over his head, causing Jungkook to sputter in confusion, throwing his hands up as you unsheathed his muscular torso, leaning in, breathing on his skin, leaving him to untangle himself as your lips closed onto his dark nipple, tongue teasing the small nub.

"Ah, fuck!"

You lifted your lips, tongue still extended, looking up to see him flinging the shirt aside, his long purple hair messy and wild, tattooed arm and un-inked arm lifting, pushing his hair away from his face, his chest rising to your wet muscle, gasping. You had a clear view of that cute little mole under his lower lip, trembling with pleasure before Jungkook looked down at you, hazy chocolate orbs fanned by black lashes, breathing hard.

You ticked an eyebrow, licking slow circles, lips closing in again, sucking daintily.

He bit his lip and let it slowly tease out while you simultaneously teased him, your name leaving his lips in a low moan. You danced your fingertips up his thigh, nail tracing the seams of his jeans, kissing across his chest, his eyes following you, hips rocking into your touch, following your pace, letting you command it. His head tipped back as you kissed down his abs, whimpering with want, curling his fingers into fists.

Jungkook always made you feel like you were touching him for the first time.

"You're not a virgin?"

"No?" Jungkook had repeated after the first time you had fucked him, sounding confused. "I'm just like this? Is that bad?"

"W... well... no, and now that I think about it, you were suspiciously good..."

"You didn't like it?"

You had turned to look at him and, fuck, the way he looked at you, so cute and innocent, uh oh, and then the slightest hint of an open-mouthed smirk dancing on those shapely pink lips, reminding you of someone else.

"Namjoon-hyung said that's what you were into. Is he wrong?"

Voice so deep and so smooth, gliding over you like butter.

You almost hastily defended yourself but one look into those roguish, yet genuine, chocolate eyes and you couldn't lie.

"But... you should enjoy yourself too..."

Jungkook had grinned, endearing and heart-thuddingly handsome. "I do. I told you, this is how I am. You're just my type."

"And what's that?'"

He had pinned you back onto the bed, leaning in.

"Hot and horny."

Turns out.

Seemed to be a running theme with all eight of you.

Right now, his pants were falling and you were sliding up as your hand was sliding down, shushing him quietly, your other hand dancing up his neck and pulling his head down.

"Someone's gonna hear you," you whispered to his open lips, tone and touch implying you didn't give a shit who was listening, wrapping your fingers around his stiff cock the second he pushed his black boxer briefs down, his shivering moan tickling your cheek. His right hand came up to cradle your head and lean it against his, begging whines for you to move, pairing it with an irresistible, husky hiss of your name.

"Please..."

He liked it tight and he liked it rough, liked the way you could lock your fingers and keep that nearly suffocating pace, closing his eyes with a flutter and moaning into your skin, curtaining you with purple, his grip in your hair tightening as you built that speed, filling the rented studio with his silvery, erotic cries.

"Someone out there is going to think you're watching porn," you teased, nudging him with your nose, looping a finger back to smear the pre-cum over the swollen head. He bucked his hips into your hold, lips pressed to your cheek, intoxicated groan warming your skin.

"Kiss me and breathe into my mouth..."

You couldn't say no, not with his voice so soft and pleading like that, not with that edge of nervousness. Fuck, the way Jungkook succumbed to your kiss, uncontrollable tremors taking over his shoulders, hot taut skin twitching in your palm indicating he was close, and you almost broke away to say that he shouldn't cum like this, it'll be messy and get on the floor, but he grabbed your face and didn't let you go, whimpering in his throat, wordlessly telling you to do it, exhale into his throat and he groaned in his chest, long, drawn-out, consumed by lust, and maybe it was bad, but you loved it, loved the way he wanted it so bad, wanted you to push the air out of his lungs and suffocate his pulsating cock with your grip, pre-cum leaking between your fingers, finally pulling back and gasping, his lashes fluttering helplessly.

"G-Gonna cum, f-fuck!"

You had to think fast, looking down for a moment and feeling his cock jerk in your hand, swiftly switching to cupping the dark red head, thick white cum suddenly spurting your palm, Jungkook burying his face into your hair to muffle his wail, your scalp hot with his released exhale and your hand covered in his heated release.

You breathed in, smirking at the scent of dirty gratification.

"Jungkook..."

He whined softly, hips quivering as you covered his jerking length with your cum-covered hand, spreading it all over and getting him hard again.

"There's this picture..."

"Mmm, yeah, the h-hyungs told me... don't stop..."

You swung your hips from side to side, free hand running down his chest, your eyes roaming his toned body, his tattooed arm still hovering over your head, long fingers tangled in your hair still, squatting down and opening your mouth, tongue dancing out and licking your hand and the side of his purple-red length, wet sloppy kisses, slurping up his cum and moaning on the throbbing head, making sure that he could feel the sinful heat.

"Give me... oooh, fuck, give me your phone..."

Your hand left his abs reluctantly, tugging your phone out of your ass pocket and holding it up for him as your mouth closed around his cock, swallowing it all, eyes closing, cramming all of him until the head hit your inner throat and your lips pressed against his crotch, knees on the tile floor, thighs spread, hands poised in the air, unable to breathe.

Click.

You cracked open one eye to see Jungkook holding your phone above your head, teasing smirk on his shapely lips, mole winking at you.

“For me?” he asked, not quite innocent.

It was the first time Jungkook had taken an actual dirty picture.

You shrugged as if to say, sure, pulling back as he turned the phone around, the dick in question on the screen. You eased off his length, licking it clean, bringing up your wet hand covered in his cum, popping your lips off the engorged tip and sliding your fingers in your wet lips, tongue wriggling between your fingers, inspecting the two dicks. Jungkook was still hard – so hard that his cock was sticking straight out, almost mimicking the photo. You had to crouch a little more, tilting your head and placing your fingertips on his balls, raising his dick a little on the back of your hand, smearing saliva and pre-cum on your skin.

Yon continued to lick, grazing the underside of his length with your tongue and then pulling back, eyes going from the photo to the real thing.

Jungkook moaned above you, clutching your phone tightly, knuckles white under black tattoos.

Hm.

You tilted your head.

One way.

Then the other.

Hmmm?

Hmmmmmmm.

“W… What?” Jungkook stuttered above you.

You pursed your lips at the tip of his cock, swiping your tongue over it and sucking off the pre-cum. He gasped, hips shaking, threatening to shove it into your lips.

“It doesn’t look like your dick at all.”

“What?” He sounded startled.

You pointed with your dry hand. “The shape is a little off, you’re longer and slightly bigger, and the color is different.” You sighed, whooshing hot air over his soaked, taut skin, Jungkook whimpering. You squinted slightly.

“Still…”

You tapped your lips with his cock, thinking.

“I think he wears the same underwear brand as you.”

“He does?” Jungkook squeaked, spinning the phone around and blinking at it.

You shrugged. “And for some reason, the position of his hips reminds me of you. I don’t know why…”

He chewed his lower lip, staring at the phone.

“Oh well.”

You stood up abruptly at your words and plucked the phone out of his hand, putting it on his desk.

“If it’s not you, it’s not you. Let’s fuck.”

Jungkook yelped as you grabbed the bottom of your shirt and began stripping off your clothes.

That was his reaction that one time you lost strip poker to Kim Seokjin and him at that one party, not that your cared because you didn’t bother learning the rules. You had other priorities and they involved getting mostly naked and then pinning Seokjin down to make out with him as Jungkook gawked at the other side of the table, half-clothed, clutching his cards.

“I can… go…?” he had sputtered.

You surfaced from Seokjin’s plush lips, his hands around your bare waist, the taller man gasping for air, reeling from your kiss.

“I still have one more piece of clothing to go, Jungkook.”

Side of your lower lip between your teeth, cocking an eyebrow, swaying your panty-covered ass at those huge brown eyes.

“You can help, you know.”

Fun night.

His eyes were huge now too, your back against the wall and him rolling the condom down, lifting your leg and sliding into you, gasping at your tightness, leaning down to kiss you again, greedy and ravenous, his hips jerking upwards, forcing you on tiptoe. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails digging into that soft skin and strong muscle.

“F-Fuck me, Jungkook, mmm, fuck, yes…”

You didn’t really get to talk during that strip poker night because your mouth was full of Seokjin’s dick as Jungkook’s pounded you from behind, but it would be a crime to complain about such things.

You met your hips to his to deepen his thrust, enjoying his strength, powerful and steady, fucking you against the wall, wet slaps and soft moans filling the room between harsh kisses, lips swelling from the fervor, your ass even rhythmically smacking into the wall, but neither of you cared, your leg around his slim waist and his right arm wrapped around it, his fingers digging into your thigh, black tattoos and tan skin gleaming from sweat, his other hand clutching a fistful of your ass and ramming your drenched pussy down on his stiff cock, grinning at your soft cry of his name, staring into his eyes and not looking away, spellbound by chocolate orbs framed by wispy strands of purple.

“You always feel so fucking good…”

You pulsed around him, feeding the fire, wanton exhales mixing, dick pic forgotten.

-

“Hah…”

You rolled over, sighing loudly.

“Haaaaaaah…”

“You still fixated on that dick?” a deep, unimpressed voice said next to you.

You frowned and planted your phone with the inspirational dick on your face, praying for it to come to life and choke you.

“I never found out who it was…” you mumbled.

“Well, it is Saturday night. We can go crash a party and maybe you can find that dick!” exclaimed a joyful voice, poking your side. Your phone slid off your face and clattered to the floor. A cheerful hand covered in colorful clay rings waved at you and your gaze shifted to Jung Hoseok and his blond and pink hair. He was too cute and you were unable to help yourself as you looked at him, matching his heart-shaped smile.

“Nah,” you tutted. “If it’s not one of you guys… the dick isn’t worth it.”

You closed your eyes and sighed again, long and with longing.

“If it makes you feel better, we don’t know who it is either.”

You laughed hearing Kim Namjoon’s deep, serious voice. “How would you guys find out?”

“I know a lot of things,” Park Jimin’s angelic, light voice chirped.

“Too many things,” Kim Taehyung’s baritone voice remarked coolly.

“Are you gonna eat that slice of pizza, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, hyung, I am, no, stop–”

“Give Seokjinnie-hyung a bite!”

“Over my dead body!”

“Then you’re dead to me, boy! Respect your elders!”

You heard some slapping and flailing about, but didn’t open your eyes.

“He’s probably not a virgin anyway. Virgins don’t snap pics like that on strangers’ phones.”

You cracked an eye open and narrowed it at the form laying on the ground beside you. Min Yoongi was messing with his phone. His head was on a huge pillow that he wasn’t sharing. He seemed to notice your glare and turned his head to raise a lazy eyebrow at you, cat-like eyes shrouded by black hair.

“Isn’t that what you’re into?” he taunted.

Your eye twitched.

You growled, sitting up. “I’m not into virgins, damnnit! I just like listening to people who are knowledgeable about their interests, like how Namjoon goes on about human philosophy, and how Seokjin never shuts up about MapleStory, and like how you talk about music theory. Just because I don’t understand right away doesn’t mean I don’t try,” you snapped, prodding Yoongi’s firm pecs through his t-shirt. He didn’t move, completely unbothered as you continued your tirade. “I don’t know anything about TikTok, but I like listening to Hoseok talk about the latest dance and fashion trends. Jimin’s the only reason I don’t make an ass of myself at parties because he knows everything about everyone so I don’t accidentally sit in a taken person’s lap and cause trouble. Taehyung’s always following that animal rescue Instagram and giving me cool facts about all these different creatures. Jungkook can go on for hours about cameras. I still don’t think I even know how to work the aperture function on DSLRs, but as long as he will continue to explain, I’ll listen.”

You sucked in a deep breath and seethed.

“So what’s the difference?”

“What?” you scowled.

Yoongi shrugged casually.

“Why do you keep chasing dorks with glasses struggling to get stupid graduate degrees when the people you spend the most time with are here with you right now, ready to fuck you at any time?”

“That’s–”

Your words died in your throat, Yoongi’s words finally sinking in.

Silence.

“Hyung, I’m struggling to get a grad degree…” Namjoon cut in, but the black-haired man on the floor lifted a finger and sliced the air, quieting him instantly. Yoongi was watching you carefully, head tilting at your frozen state. Your brain seemed to have ceased function. His lips curved into a slow, open-mouthed smirk.

Yoongi dropped the bomb on you.

“Didn’t you think it was a bit suspicious that the dick had elements from all of ours, but never quite matched up?”

W… What?

Your head whipped to your fallen phone and you scrambled with it, bringing up the dick pic again. The photo showed up at the party with the wet t-shirt contest. Your phone has disappeared for two hours during said party. Everyone was drunk. No. Everyone had gotten drunk after your phone had mysteriously been found and returned to you. You spent the night in various laps doing various naughty things, not bothering to check your phone after retrieving it, leaving it as a later you problem. You filed through your memories, recalling their faces as you showed each and every one of them the photo.

Hold on.

“Didn’t you think it was a bit weird, almost as if…”

They weren’t as weirded out as one might be, seeing some random dick on your phone.

As if…

“As if one of us is good at photo manipulation, perhaps,” Yoongi purred.

As if they had expected to see such a photo.

Click.

You whipped your head to the left and a whirlwind of dark purple hair went flying under the coffee table, hiding behind broad shoulders, chestnut brown hair, and full lips forming an ‘o’. At the same time, the realization hit you like a falling piano from the sky.

“Did you all…” you choked, mechanically jerking from face to face, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and lastly, back at Seokjin because Jungkook was cowering behind him, large brown doe eyes behind a massive shoulder. “D-Did you all…?”

No way.

“Did you all take a dick pic and Photoshop them together into one superdick photo and PLANT IT ON MY PHONE?!”

One look at those seven faces and…

YUP.

Taehyung laughed, loud and rich, nudging Namjoon with his elbow. “Told you she wouldn’t check the details of the photo and realize it was from an outside source.”

You started and swiped around. The file name was close enough to your camera photos’ file names, but upon closer inspection…

“Oh my God…”

“She’s very easily distracted by dick,” Hoseok chuckled, infectious grin on his face.

“I am not!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Jimin, do not whip out your dick.”

You heard your name being called softly and looked up, clutching your phone, still stunned and flabbergasted that you had been lusting after a fake dick that was a fuckin’ Megazord of the seven dicks currently surrounding you and those seven were the very dicks that tricked you!

On purpose!

For what?

FOR FUN!

(GG, no re)

They got you good.

Your irritation immediately dissipated when your eyes found those anxious chocolate ones, long purple strands curling around his cheek, curious open mouth with the small mole underneath barely visible.

“Are you mad?” Jungkook asked quietly, pink lips curving into an irresistible pout.

Oh.

Shit.

Before you could quickly say, no, of course not, Jungkook, it was funny, I’m not mad at all, you felt a dark presence by your shoulder, raspy chuckle by your ear, sending shivers down your spine, whispering your name, devious and smokey.

“Whose idea do you think it was?” Yoongi murmured.

You stared into chocolate eyes.

Innocent.

Or…?

Jungkook’s pout disappeared.

His dark eyebrow cocked, mischievous smirk gracing those irresistible lips. No, not just him. Lowered lids and midnight blue hair, smug expression with a dimple. Kim Namjoon. Lifted chin, looking down at you with a sheepish yet wicked smile on full lips. Kim Seokjin. The black head of hair leaning his chin on your shoulder, laugh like a seductive purr. Min Yoongi. Tilted head balanced on long fingers decorated with colorful rings and bracelets, sly heart-shaped smile. Jung Hoseok. Shit-eating grin fanned by red hair, bouncing a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Park Jimin. Long dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, spare strands framing a moody, handsome face with a glint of playful cunning. Kim Taehyung.

And then, Jeon Jungkook.

“The hyungs thought it was a great idea,” he drawled, silvery and sweet, looking extremely pleased with himself, running his tattooed hand through his purple hair, unquestionably guilty, but despairingly angelic in appearance.

These fucking…. Seven Kings of Duality!

You were positively fuming.

Silence.

An owl hooted outside the window.

“YOU PUNKS!”

You threw yourself over the coffee table and horny chaos ensued.

-

2021.09.01 - JK birthday drabble 2021.10.02 - Namjoon birthday drabble

--

masterpost

[hetaliacrusader]

A: Appetite ~ Prussia x Reader

It was the gauntlet of all men.

The warrior in every grease bubble that popped as it fried in the pan.

Fried. Boiled. Buttered and split. Sandwiched- souped. Anything and everything could make a wurst a wurst. At least in the German brother household. Almost everyday the smell filled the air- that and their beloved potatoes. Although Name loved both foods just as equally- she couldn’t yet place how her husband and his little bruder could go through a whole bag of them in just one lunch sitting.

She frowned and tousled her hair as she stared at the empty fridge. 

Sure she knew they were men, and they tended to eat more. But she couldn’t wrap her mind around how they could eat the whole thing. Ludwig, maybe. He was big bulky and strong. Muscles popped out of his very neck- Gilbert on the other hand… As much as she loved him- As much as she adored her albino husband, He was not to the same caliber as Ludwig. He was skinny and almost lanky- He had muscle and basically not a lick of fat on him. But it wasn’t like Luds Muscle. Gilbert would take off his shirt and you could see his abs and his ribs all in one go- so how in gods green earth did they-

“Ah Allo Name.’

Her thoughts were snapped to attention when her brother in law walked in. She was about to ask him her thoughts when she noticed his attire. Sweaty tank top- shorts and tennis shoes. She arched a brow at him only to yelp when her husband came barreling through the kitchen door- panting but laughing as he always did.

“Shiesse! Dur fast…” He laughed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His platinum blonde hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck in a nasty slick- His clothes were sweaty but not like Luds. Her husband was much more covered then his brother- probably because it was a sunny day out- and Name would put money on the fact that Gilbert probably didn’t put any sunblock on.

Of course.

His outfit consisted of a long sleeved shirt- one runner’s would use. So the cloth was probably thin, But under it contained an even thinner shirt which covered his neck like a turtle top. He was wearing shorts- but had black bands around his knees. He was wearing running shoes as well which was a little odd for her. He loved his combat boots or his fancy dress shoes just as much as Ludwig did- they had some similarities that always threw her for a loop.

Gilbert kept panting and actually placed two hands behind him on his lower back. He gasped for a second and then leant forwards- sweaty hair now dangling towards the floor freestyle. Beads of sweat dribbled off and splashed on the floor for none to hear unless their ears were that good. It was silent- which was rare for Gilbert admittedly. Then Gilbert jerked up fast and held out an open hand- to which Ludwig tossed him an ice cold water bottle from the fridge. It was gone in a matter of seconds. 

Gilbert swiped his hand across his mouth one last time and then wrinkled up his nose. He sniffed the sleeve of his shirt, tossed the bottle, and then made a beeline upstairs. His running shoes hit the stairs in an even pattern. It left her standing there with Ludwig who was also finishing up a water bottle. Okay… She knew they worked out and all but this was a little newer. She didn’t even know Gilbert was out of bed already- He WAS NOT a morning person.

“So.. You guys are running now?” Ludwig looked a bit confused, “ Ve always run..”

‘...But not in the morning?” She pointed out as she grabbed a cup from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of hot coffee. She was going to fry up a wurst for breakfast- like a good southern breakfast- but that was shot down when she noticed there wasn’t any.

“Ah…Ja. Vell. Weather changes. I also tend to be too busy in the evening to vork out anymore und Gilbert has been vanting to join back in for a vhile.”

‘....Your not telling me my husband is out of shape are you?” He grinned, “ Not in so little vords. Nein..” He chuckled, grabbed a cup of coffee as well and sat down, sweat and all. She was sure he was itching to shower sas well- Ludwig and Gilbert were known for their OCD, “ Although, if du vere to zay he vas, I vouldn’t correct du.” His grin was cheeky and knowing. Sometimes it was so hard to tell he and Gilbert were related in anyway. Ludwig was up every morning on the dot, dressed and sparkly and just ready for life's problems. Gilbert acted like you tried to shoot him in the middle of war and was ready to sentence you to death if you woke him up before he was ready. People always said Gilbert was a demon or a trouble maker along those lines- and Name hated every time they said such things- But in the mornings? It was sadly true. You never woke up someone who had insomnia. It was like asking for a public skinning in the square.

Ludwig was always soft spoken and listened. Gilbert listened but then laughed as loud and as hard as he could and THEN gave you advice. 

There were times she saw it though. Like right now- With Ludwig grinning cheekily like Gilbert did all the time, Or when she walked in the library and there was her husband. He would have his reading glasses on as he thumbed through a book that was in a language she couldn’t and probably would never understand. He spoke many languages. Read almost every book he got his hands on. He was a strategy genius, and yet he goofed off and grinned. Laughed and posed. Flirted and bragged. If only the people who were ready to judge saw the Gilbert she saw.

The gentle one. The worried one. The scared one. The broken one. The unsure one…

The insecure one.

“He’d be so offended.” Name laughed and sipped her coffee. The welcoming bitterness clouded her senses which led to her muscles relaxing.

“Oh Ja. I can hear it now… What do du mean I um out of zhape? I um zhe vne vho put du in zhape, and don't du forget it!” He grinned as he tried his darndest to imitate his brother. It was again times like this that reminded Name he was indeed related to Gilbert. They were just about to laugh when Ludwig got a sharp smack to the back of his head. It seems as if Gilbert had taken a very fast shower and was now glowering down at his little brother.

“ Und don’t forget it.” He smiled, almost too sharply down at Ludwig- But the younger returned the look and Name swore she saw sparks as their fight for authority continued. And just like that- after Lud got shifty and looked away- did it all settle.

“MEINE LIEBE!” She felt two arms wrap around her from behind. Her face blossomed into a smile and her hands touched his own, “Vhy aren’t du eating meine frau?” He glanced down at the spot in front of her and frowned. She could only roll her eyes, “ Du have to eat to get dur strength. Du know zhis. Nozhing iz more healthy..”He looked down at her and frowned, but his bottom lip jutted out in a pout and she couldn’t help herself from chuckling.

“ Well. I was going to eat a wurst but they were all gone. Even though I bought some two days ago. Tell me… How can you and your brother eat a whole bag of them in one day?” She looked at her humored.He frowned and met her gaze.

“...Du only bought one bag? Du never do zhat here. Du always buy at least five…..But zhats okay! Du didn't’ know. Zo zhe everly cool me- dur amazing husband… iz going to go get zome more.’ He grinned- not catching how she gawked at him.

“Five?!?” She echoed but he was already tugging on some combat boots- grabbing some car keys and out the door in a flash. She heaved a heavy sigh. Sometimes she couldn’t even catch up with him…

But again…

“Five…?” She whispered and massaged her brow as Ludwig glanced at her and leaned back in his chair.

“ Vell. Ve du vork out alot. Ve vork up a big appetite everytime ve do- and despite how he looks- bruder almost puts back more zhen I do..” he grinned but sat up and washed out his coffee cup. Name couldn’t think straight now and was now rubbing her temple with a confused look on her face.

“...Gilbert…eats more… then you..?” “Ja.. But du can’t blame him veally.’ He watched her as if debating if he should say anything or not. But something on his face said he was going to tell her whether he wanted to or whether she wanted him to or not. He opened a cabinet and grabbed a skillet before grabbing the eggs out. Sense his brother was getting wurst he would fix them all a nice hearty breakfast. Plus he and Gilbert were probably starving from their run.

“Vhen I vas sehr klein…I had a lot of developing to do. Und food was… harder to come by back zhen. It wasn’t just food. It was financial support. Gut leaders… zhe vorks. Bruder- who had a harder life zhen mein own- vanted me to have a better vne. Zo.. He sacrificed alot for me. Including food. He vas already zmall- because being a knight isn’t easy for anyone. He hasn’t told me much of his childhood except zhe exciting ztories- but du and me both know bruder is stubborn and probably vent zhrough more zhen ve like to admit. He was considered zmaller zhen zhe rest and thinner. Muscler from var and fighting- but no fat. Prussia vent zhrough many food shortages- und zhe knights traveled sometimes for days without food. He’z zhorter zhen me because of it. He is thinner zhen me because he gave all zhat he had to me. I sometimes vonder if he eats a lot because he is ztarved after all zhese years- or…” He trailed off. But it was unspoken and they both knew what he was trying to say.

He eats a lot because he's really hungry- or because he doesn’t know when the next meal is going to be…

“I think he knows things are  a lot better than what you had back then- maybe it's his body catching up with years of lack of nutrition…” “..Could be.” Ludwig smiled as he started to crack eggs open. She watched him curiously before getting up and grabbing the ingredients for pancakes as well. The tall blonde looked at her a bit dubiously- and her lips turned upwards into a small.

“...Well…Sense you two have big appetites..” He smiled.

And some sort of understanding passed between them.

But…Something else rang tried and true in her mind.

Gilbert didn’t just have a big appetite for food.

He had a big appetite for love.

And that was the most important one of all.

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter One: The Season Begins

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Despondency, depressive undertones, death of a parent, grief, unsolicited advances, age old sexism, strained parent relationship, nosy neighbors, food, lmk if I missed any pls!

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: And here we go! The first chapter! Welcome & thank you for tuning in, it means the world, truly! As I mentioned before, this story may not be the best for some, so please heed the warnings & proceed with caution. The sadness will not consistently be in each chapter, that much I promise, but we have to get through it right away so we can understand our dear Reader’s mindset as of right now. NO EZRA YET, SORRY! And like I said before, this is probably not totally historically accurate, so take everything with a grain of salt pleeease. Other than that, enjoy!

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Chapter Two

~APRIL FIFTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Your eyes flutter open on instinct as the sun rises against the pale blue of the sky, its ochre rays peering from behind the grassy hills and across the wheat fields while waking the birds. They start their day with a song, shaking their feathers and stretching their wings as they merrily fly through the air in search of their morning meal. The hens that found solace in their coops from the stark chill of night chatter amongst themselves as they roam around their pen and the lone rooster releases its shrill call, a signal for the day to begin. Beat you again, you think.

The sun rises a little higher now, the bright of day in full effect as it fills your room with its intense luminosity. You lie in bed a moment longer, watching the dust mites float through the air and dance in front of your nose with each exhale of breath you release. Signs of life all around you, from the dew drops that formed on your window in the early morning to the muscles within your very skin twitching as you climb out of bed. Every little thing teasing and taunting you of significance, of meaning just on the horizon, yet so far out of your reach.

This is your life. Each and every morning, day, and night is as repetitive as the last. Wake up before the rooster crows and stare into the minute cracks rippling through the ceiling, envious of the pollen that manages to escape through and longing for you to shrink microscopic enough to hide away as well. Fill your basin with cold water you had gathered the night before to wash yourself quickly before your father wakes. Clothe yourself in your underdress, long sleeved, blue work dress layered on top with the sleeves rolled up, an apron cinched at your waist, and dirty and worn, black boots laced up tight enough to prevent you from minding the ache they feel as the day progresses.

You look at your reflection in the hazy mirror as you braid your hair; the drabness of the glass only accentuates exactly how you perceive yourself. The girl staring back at you was but a shell of the one you knew before. Before, when you still had ambitions that would have led you far from this town. To a place you could live anew. Now, just an empty being as one day fades into the next. Eyes that no longer gleam, hair that no longer shines, skin that no longer glows.

You had given up long ago of any hope and dream of something more, surrendering to the bleakness and repetitiveness of this life when your mother passed. A promise on her death bed to help care for your father any way he needs. And this is what he needs. You, here on the farm, helping tend to the chickens and the cows and the small shop he owned in town. The one your mother ran that was unceremoniously thrust onto your lap. The organ within your chest beats solely to pump the blood through your veins and keep you breathing, if only for the promise you made to your mother.

You fasten the gold chain around your neck, a locket with a faded photograph of your mother hidden within hanging to your breast. You tuck it into your blouse to keep her close to your heart and head down the ladder, stepping lightly as to not awaken Pa any earlier than necessary. Your Pa, an old man now with hair white as snow, only having turned the shade since Ma left.

Wrinkles crease deeper into his skin and the bags under his eyes droop slightly to his cheeks now on his once chiseled face. His strength has dwindled within the last year, and with no other siblings to share the burden of the farm, you knew you could not leave your Pa to deal with it by himself. So your own dreams and goals were swiftly thrown into the dirt to be rained on and turned to mush, impossible to be picked up again.

As you finish grounding the coffee beans and throw them into the pot of already boiling water resting on the range, Pa begins to stir and soon after wakes up, the aroma of caffeine acting as his own signal to wake. Leaving the house to give your father privacy to dress, you head to the hen coop to gather a few eggs for breakfast.

You take a deep breath of the crisp morning air, the smell of apple trees at the front of the house, then the smell of grass with fresh dew, to the smell of hay and chicken feed as you get closer to the pen they are corralled in. As you head back into the house, Pa is already seated at the small, round table with his tin of coffee.

“Good morning, Pa,” you greet softly.

“Good morning daughter. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Grace to our health, Pa,” you say, as you always do when he gives you his thanks.

Financially, you and Pa were well off enough; you still couldn’t afford luxuries like sugar, but you were able to live comfortably with only the necessities and the occasional new pair of boots. You were grateful to have the farm and the shop, both reliable sources of income for your small family, and you were blessed that Pa was still able to work the fields, but you know as time passes and his joints weaken, you would then need to take over the labor. There was truly no path for you to leave this life.

The older women around town had begun to whisper about you, not necessarily trying to keep their gossip from reaching your ears. They were just as bad as the hens that cluck around their pen all day. A never ending chatter of you being stuck in the house or the farm or the shop, working as an old maid for the rest of your life.

You’re still fairly young, just over two decades of life in you; sure, the girls you once played in the streams with as children were all married women now and on their third, fourth, fifth child, but you didn’t feel the desire to find a husband just to bend to the simple mold of life this society has cast. If you were to still have any control of your life, it would, at the least, be that.

You crack the eggs into the beaten and tired pan over the range, letting them cook to completion before removing and plating them, along with a roll of bread and the butter you had just churned the day prior. You walk over to Pa and place his portion down before working on your own. Pa sends up a quick prayer and starts to eat. His prayers turned to letters to Ma, but he never failed to speak them before every meal or before bed, sometimes even when a sudden abundance of eggs were laid or vegetables had sprouted during the night.

“The season is nigh for corn and potatoes,” Pa mumbles and you feel your heart sink to your feet.

You had forgotten about the season, when Ma and Pa would work the fields together endlessly, sweating through their work attire to be washed every evening. You still feel the creak in your elbows to this day. It is the busiest season, bringing in the most coinage for the year, but now that it was only you two, you worry about juggling between the shop and the farm.

“Pa, how will we manage?” You voice your concern. Pa takes a deep breath.

“You will hang a notice in the shop when you go today,” he says matter of factly. “Ask Mr. Williams if you are able to hang one on his window at the post as well.”

“And what shall it say?”

“‘Seasonal laborer wanted – will provide lodging with pay’.”

“Where will he stay?” You inquire.

“The barn; we will provide him blankets and he will be free to use our wash basins when needed and we will offer him meals.”

“It will be a lot of money expended, Pa; will we be all right?” You ask as you sit at the table with your plate and coffee tin.

“We will make do, daughter,” he says, the finality in his voice signaling for this conversation to cease. “We will not be able to pay handsomely or feed him much, but we require the extra hand if we are to pass the season.”

“Yes, Pa.”

You lower your head and eat your eggs in silence. You don’t pray anymore, not necessarily feeling the need since your Ma was taken, as well as your aspirations. Pa finishes his coffee, leaving the dishes in the wash basin and grabbing his hat, walking outside into the fields to begin preparations for the season. You sigh; the tears that have long hidden in your ducts refuse to spill out to bless you with relief.

The last time you properly cried was for Ma; every day you feel them there, the pressure building in the corners of your eyes, but nothing ever falls. A mind trick, you suppose, to force you to focus on the more important things. You don’t have the time to spare to release them; your mind and body are now slaves to the farm and the shop.

After your breakfast, you walk to the wash basin with your dishes, hand pumping the water from the pipe just off the side and using the homemade lye soap you learned to make from your mother. Once the dishes are washed, dried, and put away, you walk over to the black safe in the corner of the room, turning the dial to its correct numbers and pulling out the metal lockbox from the inside.

It carried within it the sales ledger for the shop and the velvet bag for the coins. Pa empties the bag every day as he looks over the ledger, placing the coins into another metal box that only he has the key to. He gives you coin anytime you ask, as long as it is needed for the shop or food for the house and, occasionally, on special days.

You pick it up and take it with you to the front door, pulling your bonnet and fabric bag from the hook they hung on. You stick the lockbox inside your bag, as well as the key assigned to it, and head outside. Pa is already far into the fields, hacking away at the dirt and smoothing it out for the new growth. You don’t bother saying goodbye; he knows where you’ll be. Where you’ll always be.

Living alone with Pa became quite challenging, you were disheartened to learn. You’ve always had a loving bond with him since you were a child; maybe he expected the same from you as he did from Ma, but he still managed to make his lessons on the farm enjoyable, doting upon you as any loving father would. Now? The anguish you both have felt since losing the feathery soft and caring love of your mother strained the relationship between you two.

What was once a thick belt of leather that connected you now pulled further and further apart until it became as frail as rubber, threatening to snap at a moment’s notice. You love your Pa; of course you do, and you know he loves you too. If only you could grieve together.

Upon entering the town, the people are going about their normal routines. The baker stacking the fresh loaves of bread in his window, the shoe shiners along the streets working tediously on men’s boots, the hens clucking – the older women gossiping away passionately about whomever they desire. As long as it isn’t you today.

You reach the shop, key in hand as you unlock the brass keyhole and turn the knob, the small bell dinging above you as you enter. You flip the sign in the window from the side that reads ‘Closed’ to the side that reads ‘Open’ and you pull back the shut curtains, allowing the light of day to flow into the small room.

Heading back to behind the counter, you remove the lockbox from your bag and set it on the shelf underneath in its usual resting place. You barely have a moment to remove your bonnet when the bell dings and you look up to greet the person who has walked in. Wonderful.

“Hello, my sweet,” the man husks and you find it difficult to choke back the bile rising in your throat.

“Hello Silas,” you say flatly. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Darlin’, you know exactly how you may be of service to me.”

Silas Taylor, a boorish man of thirty-eight years, has desperately been attempting to attract your affection for the past two years. He had the decency to respect you and Pa after your mother passed, halting his advances for all of one week. Considering his age, he did not show any signs of maturing, both in his looks and his brain. One might even label him handsome, were he not such a crude and overbearing personality.

Ma and Pa had bid you to consider his proposal, but in time came to understand he was not the best man you could have as a husband. Pa despises Silas, has even told him so to his face, yet it did not cause Silas to stray from pursuing you. Disrespectful, despicable, a generally awful person, Silas is.

Why he had you locked on to his sights, you weren’t sure. You never gave him the opportunity to court; staying cordial as to not make an outright enemy of him, yes, but never once have you made it apparent you enjoyed his attention. Nevertheless, he continued.

“Silas, please. I must ask you to leave my shop if you are not interested in a purchase,” you implore, hoping he will understand your position and take his leave.

“But, little one, I am very interested in a purchase. What must I do to make you my wife?” He grins, as charming as the manure out in the fields. In a flash, your vision goes red as you replay his statement in your mind.

“I am not for sale, Silas. That is the most offensive remark you have said to me yet,” you declare harshly, the acidic bile in your stomach turning into a burning rage.

“There must be something that can be done, my sweet. You name it; the most lavish jewels and dresses your pretty, little mind can dream of,” he presses on with a smile only found on masks to scare the children with.

‘Pretty’ and ‘little’, amongst his unwelcome endearments, are the words to send your mind into a downward spiral to declarations that you’d rather not say unless you were alone, lest he take offense and decide to wreak havoc on you and Pa. You put your foot down and grab his arm roughly, pulling him with you to the front door. He only laughs at the scene unfolding, rather pleased with himself that he’s ruffled your feathers so.

“Silas, I am no longer asking. Please leave,” you say as plainly as you can, doing your best to keep the tremble of anger out of your voice.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles satirically. “Until our next meeting, my love.”

He pulls your hand to his lips, his strength surpassing yours and his thick, wiry mustache rubs harshly against the tender skin of your hand. You furl your lip and flare your nostrils, unable to contain the look of disgust on your face as he glares at you perversely with his black eyes. You tug your hand away and the bristly hair under his villainous nose scrapes you with the motion.

You stand with your jaw clenched and hands balled up in tight fists at your sides, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palm as you watch him walk away, leaving puffs of dirt trailing behind with each cocksure step he takes. If you were to only be allowed one person to despise in your lifetime, it would be Silas Taylor.

“Dear, are you well?”

A gentle, aged voice calls out to you from behind. You whip around quickly, your skirts twirling as you face the elderly woman that has hailed you.

“Mrs. Williams,” you greet, willing your fury from the unpleasant interaction to rest for the time being.

“Was that Silas Taylor you were speaking with?” She asks.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Yes, it was.”

“He’s a quite handsome lad, dear. It is known all over town how you have bewitched him. Why do you not accept his proposal?”

Adelaide Williams; the sweetest among the hens, but still a hen nonetheless. You sigh deeply to yourself, deciding not to engage in the conversation with the one woman who treats you with any shred of respect and kindness, even if her ideals still match those with the others in town.

“Mrs. Williams, while I have you in my presence, may I ask a favor?” You appeal.

“Why, of course, my dear!” She smiles, all thoughts of your personal affairs exiting her imagination.

“Do you suppose it would be alright to leave a notice at the post office? We are asking for help on the farm for the season.”

“Yes, dear, it’s quite alright,” she smiles, her wrinkly skin creasing along her cheeks and eyes.

“Thank you; will you wait a moment while I draft it?”

She nods and follows you inside the shop, slow in her old age. You quickly grab a sheet of paper and a fountain pen, inscribing the words your Pa informed you to write in large enough letters.

“I imagine this season will be most difficult without your mother. I am so very sorry, dear,” Mrs. Williams says as you write and your hand quakes slightly at her comment. “How have you and your father been managing?” Cluck, cluck, cluck.

“Not without difficulty, Mrs. Williams, but we manage nonetheless,” you say courteously, not wanting to relay any information that could be the next piece of news to travel through the grapevine. You finish the notice and hand it to her.

“Shall I direct him here or to the farm?” She inquires as she reads the note, perhaps looking for anything contradicting what you already stated would be written.

“The farm, more suitably, so he can speak directly to my father,” you reply. “Many thanks to you and Mr. Williams,” you end with a sweet smile.

“No thanks are required, my dear. Anything to help you and your father. Your mother was a wonderful being. I was proud to have known her.”

Another quake. You nod politely, letting her hold your forearm as you walk to the front door. The bell dings as it opens and you watch her while she walks down the wooden pathway to the post office. Once you’re sure she’s well on her way, you turn back inside and draft another notice for the shop window before you begin arranging the merchandise for the day, taking inventory of goods that are depleting, and checking order forms belonging to families around town for produce off your farm.

A most provincial and forlorn life, indeed, that you will have to bear until the end of your time here on Earth.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Chapter Two

[backdraft-bimbo]

rule number two

After years of avoiding his trauma, Bucky finally confides in Sam. 

Words: 2893; Chapters: 1/1

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson; Episode: s01e02 The Star-Spangled Man Coda

ao3 link

“Why don’t you get some shut eye, Buck? It’s gonna be a long ride home.” 

Bucky glances at Sam from his makeshift cargo perch across the fuselage. The bags under his eyes must be getting bad. Leah gave Bucky the impression last week that he needs concealer for his skin or something. But he’s a 106-year-old ex-assassin; who the hell is he trying to impress at this point?

After a few seconds pass, Bucky notes that he should probably respond instead of just staring blankly, because that’s what people do, right? They talk to each other, they share, and they trust so easily. It’s such a simple question, but Bucky’s urge to deflect any possible social interaction has decided to rear its ugly head tonight. Sam can’t be a fan of it either, since he’s the charismatic one of the two of them. He’s not the guy with the staring problem.

It’s just… Bucky doesn’t have normal conversations without being reminded of the restored freedom to speak his mind. The habits HYDRA drilled into his brain incite an unpleasant knee-jerk reaction– don’t speak or they’ll beat you –but Bucky has gotten better at managing the vestiges of his trauma. At least now he’ll be able to defend himself if his careless mouth puts him in hot water. And maybe he could just be honest with Sam; it wouldn’t hurt anything. But that almost kindles a burst of laughter in Bucky: the concept of himself not hurting somebody. What a world that would be.

Don’t get him wrong–Bucky used to like talking to people. He used to be good at it. But that was a long time ago; far longer than anyone should be able to recall. Even now, Bucky’s early 20th century days as a staff sergeant feel like a distant dream. He almost misses the wartime; when everything was simpler. Sure, it was bloody and violent and horrible, but at least Bucky knew how to fucking talk to people he considered friends. When it comes to his loose tongue nowadays, there’s an ugly history waiting to make an unwanted appearance; bared teeth and all.

“I don’t,” Bucky answers finally, his voice trembling a fraction more than he’s comfortable with. He doesn’t think he can do more than two syllables right now. If Bucky somehow musters up the courage to tell Sam about his nightmares, he won’t make it through a single sentence without bursting into tears like a twelve-year-old.

The fact that Sam could somehow see Bucky’s eye bags across the shadowy fuselage does not convince Bucky that Sam didn’t hear that slight embarrassing waver in his voice. But even if he did, the guy doesn’t comment on it. Sam has been laying in a supine position on the flight seats for the past hour, drifting in and out of sub-consciousness, and really, he’s the one who looks damn tired. It’s been a long day for both of them; they’re bruised and achy after their loss against the Flag-Smashers–more proof that Bucky shouldn’t bother Sam.

But this is here and now. The sky is starless as a humming inky black abyss, the RS-834 cruising about 40,000 feet above sea level, far beyond the stratus clouds, and everything feels tranquil in that seldom gentle way it does sometimes. It’s as if the world consists only of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, and that illusion is a tremendous comfort to the ex-assassin. When it’s clear that Bucky isn’t going to elaborate, Sam lets his neck muscles relax, drooping his head back to face the opposite wall that reflects the drowsy slur of his voice.

“C’mon, man...I know at least three percent of your body is metal, but that don’t mean you never sleep.”

Bucky pauses. Tries not to glance at his left arm. He has to be careful; guys like him have a tendency to overshare when it’s late. It’s just that something about the night brings a facade of protection, as if anything he says can be written off as a dream, so he can bare himself to the bone in front of anyone he wants. It doesn’t matter since it will be forgotten in the morning. The night is unreliable, thus Bucky uses that to his defense.

“Aren’t you worried I’m gonna like...”

“Kill me?” Sam snorts, a bit of energy returning to his voice. “I think if either of us really wanted to kill the other, one of us would be lying in a heap by now. Just saying.”

Bucky can’t argue with that. Like Dr. Raynor so elegantly puts it, it is so sad, but Sam is probably Bucky’s only real friend at this point. Add that with the fact that he doesn’t really want to kill anyone anyway, and someone who doesn’t know better might call what Sam and Bucky have a “healthy relationship.” Bucky swings a hand around Sam’s vicinity, willing his voice to level out this time.

“Are you tired? You should go to sleep.”

A deep sigh resonates out from Sam’s dark corner. “Man, I forget sometimes how good you are at that.”

“What?”

“Changing the subject.”

Oh.  

Bucky wonders which part of him that came from: James “Bucky” Barnes, or his HYDRA-conditioned brain. Perhaps it was just a defense against people trying to crowbar their way into his thoughts. As long as he can distract them, he’s safe. Bucky exhales a heavy breath, combing a hand through his greasy hair.

“Look, I just... I’m not the most pleasant person to sleep with.”

A moment of unwonted silence passes. Bucky’s gaze wanders away from his hands and toward Sam. By the time his eyes have adjusted, the guy has propped himself up on his elbows, teeth shining through the dimness in a quiet grin. The suggestive phrasing of Bucky’s words finally catches up to him. His cheeks redden. Well, if Sam decides to take it that way… Bucky technically hasn’t gotten laid since the 1940s. From what he remembers, it hadn’t even been very good. But hell no–that’s the kind of mental rabbit hole Bucky isn’t in the mood for. He coughs and slaps his thighs.

“We have like three more hours. Go to sleep, Sam. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Now you gon’ make me feel bad about it,” Sam smirks. “Shame on you, Barnes.”

Bucky ducks his head in exasperation. “You’re an idiot. What, you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Sam visibly brightens at that. “Ooh, for real? You know any?”

Great , so now Sam is standing up, walking toward him, the grin on his annoying face widening. And because Bucky is a fucking mess, his tongue gets tied up in about fifteen knots before he gets the chance to open his mouth, and he’s already forgetting what he was going to say. Hell, if Sam smiled any brighter than that, he’d be the fucking sun.

“Uh, well, y’know,” Bucky says eloquently. “HYDRA was kinda lacking in that department.”

Sam laughs again, making himself at home on the red seats adjacent to Bucky’s perch, and Bucky feels a miserable sort of swell in his chest. Why is Sam purposefully gravitating toward him? Who the hell wants an ex-HYDRA assassin in close proximity?

“You gettin’ shy on me, Buck?” Sam tilts his head slightly downward, gazing up at Bucky with his big brown eyes and thick eyelashes, and what the fuck. “You ain’t gotta look so shook up; I don’t bite.”

“That’s a surprise,” Buck replies weakly, trying to force his face to cool down. There’s so much spit caught up in his throat right now, and Bucky knows it’ll look weird if he swallows in front of this guy, like he’s some nervous teenager with a school crush. Sam just laughs softly, the corners of his cheeks tightening, his lips curling up in a way that is too fucking charming to be on the face of a man sitting right across from a mass murderer. But honestly, Bucky can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore; any time Sam laughs because of him is a win.

God, maybe I am good for something.

An overlay of silence reigns over the two men, and the white noise hum of the plane almost makes Bucky want to doze off. When he blinks himself awake for the fifth time, Sam’s familiar cadence cuts through the air like a knife to warm butter. He sounds wide awake.

“Nightmares, huh. So that’s why you don’t sleep.”

Bucky pales a shade, shifting atop his crate in discomfort. He supposes he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being. Sam lifts his hands in a placating gesture, his voice much more benign now. “I used to get ‘em sometimes too. Hell, even nowadays I do; service will do that to you. Not tryna say I completely understand what’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours, but…I get it, to a degree.”

Bucky wonders if Sam behaves like this whenever he’s talking to veterans in his therapy group, or if he’s reserved this for Bucky alone. He finds himself craving the latter to a degree that is both confusing and hopeless. “I…” he mutters, pointedly not looking at the other man. The miserable swell from before is morphing into something much more sad, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with it.

You’re alone. You have no friends, no family.

The harsh words bounce around Bucky’s head like a game of Pong, contrasting starkly against Sam’s kind and gentle tone. A spark of indignation thaws the insides of his chest. It’s not fair, it’s not true; Bucky’s got proof right here. Fuck you, Dr. Raynor. Despite all you think, at least I’ve got this dumbass with me.

Sam speaks again, leaning back in his seat. “Look, you ain’t gotta tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m just lettin’ you know that you ain’t gotta fight this alone.”

Bucky hates tip-toeing around his trauma like it’s some massive landmine. Part of him just wants to lay it all out; explode with everything he’s never willingly told another soul; reopen his wounds and expel all the ugliness in the hopes that maybe he’ll heal up properly this time. He wants to scream to Sam that he never got a fucking break; it was abuse upon abuse. HYDRA buried him alive just to water his grave in guilt and horror and self-hatred. There had never been the option of peace for the Winter Soldier. He was the asset, the weapon, the tool, the plaything, taken out of a dusty closet any time somebody wanted a turn with him.

“It was never a fight,” Bucky whispers. “They never gave me a chance.”

Sam looks slightly taken aback, as if he wasn’t expecting the ex-assassin to actually respond. Bucky would be surprised too if he didn’t feel so utterly lost right now. Instead, he settles for staring past Sam’s shoulder into the back of the fuselage, trying to find answers in the dim blue lights blanketing them. Despite how hard Bucky tries not to see it, Sam is shifting, his face crumpling into...something. He can’t put his finger on it but hopes to God it’s not pity. Steve used to give him that look, always catching himself doing it, and then getting all guilty about it afterward. So before Bucky can stop himself there, let his words fester in comfortable ambiguity, he’s taking off and nothing is going to stop him.

“So yeah, Sam,” Bucky continues, gritting out the words, “I get nightmares. I remember every single human being I murdered with this stupid fucking metal arm, and now I have to deal with it for the rest of my ‘overextended life.’ Is that selfish? Is it selfish of me to say that I wish I died in that fucking ravine when I was supposed to? I don’t belong here, Sam. Just the fact that I’m alive in this era is unnatural. But I’ve gotta make amends with my laundry list of everyone I hurt, because dying just isn’t going to cut it. ”

Bucky still isn’t looking at Sam by the time he finishes, snapping his mouth shut like an animal being muzzled before he can bite anyone else. Even though Bucky can’t tell what Sam is thinking, can’t see how his expression has undoubtedly contorted from pity to hurt, Bucky is overwhelmed by instinct. He doesn't know which side is currently winning over: the Soldier’s desperation to submit before his handlers put him through “corrective treatment,” or Bucky’s longing to apologize to Sam for hurting him. Make amends, make amends, don’t hurt anyone. Rule number two.

The latter ends up taking the tug of war, and Bucky whispers out a choked, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sam, I–”

“Hey.”

Sam is standing close beside him, their shoulders almost level while Bucky is slouching. He can’t suppress the shiver that shoots through his body like lightning as a hand carefully grips his flesh arm. “Hey, man, look at me,” Sam says–somehow firm and gentle at the same time. His thumb brushes over the fabric of Bucky’s sweater, and Bucky wants to let his hand come up to clench Sam’s, but hell if he doesn’t know how that’ll end. It’s been so long since he’s been touched in a way that doesn’t end in bruises.

“Hey, hey… Listen to me, man. I hear you,” Sam says warmly, burnishing the chasm where Bucky thinks his heart used to be. “And it’s gonna be all right. You may not think it yet, and I should’ve said something earlier, but…” Sam trails off, pauses, then nods to himself. “You’re a good man, Bucky.”

A tight, burning ember of anguish flares up in Bucky’s throat.

A good man.

The Winter Soldier seldom got oral approval from his handlers, and even when he did, it was for chaos and carnage disguised as HYDRA’s regurgitated “gift to mankind” bullshit. To James “Bucky” Barnes, praise was a concept he never considered, since he’d have to be deserving in order to get any. Goodness is reserved for people , and Bucky crossed the line of humanity a long time ago. He isn’t a person anymore–just a monster.

People who fall under the category of “good” are the ones like Steve. Like his sister Becca. And like Sam Wilson specifically, standing here next to him with the true mantle of Captain America; a man so much damn worthier of that title than Bucky is, and he thinks Bucky is good . The same guy who has killed more innocent people than he has fingers and toes. And that’s not counting the unnameable ones–the collateral damage–caught in the crossfire.

Just the thought of all he’s done makes Bucky want to fervently deny Sam; to prove him wrong; to show Sam his track record with big red letters at the bottom of the page emphasizing that Bucky isn’t good . In the memories of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, he’s the cruel, terrifying mercenary with a history uglier than most want to comprehend. If Sam saw all that Bucky had done, would he change his mind? Would Sam look at Bucky the way he looks at himself in the mirror?

Sam is saying something now–maybe his name. But Bucky can’t hear him. He doesn’t know when the tears began, so he quickly ducks his chin so Sam can’t see them streaming down his face. God, it’s so fucking cold. Sam lets out a soft hum–not sad, but caring–and Bucky knows he’s failed at hiding again. Sam’s hand brushes up his arm and around his shoulder, pulling him gently against Sam’s warm body. Eventually Bucky leans into it, shutting his eyes tight.

“Been a while,” Bucky mutters, almost a whisper; it might just be a vivid thought.

“Yeah, I know, Tin Man. I mean it, you’re a great guy. And before you start, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m gonna keep reminding you till you do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sniffles, voice muffled as he buries his face into Sam’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sam.”  

The words, the touching–it’s all too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true, because if it’s real, then Bucky might just have a bit of hope left. And if he has hope, then he can’t jump into battle without care for his own life anymore. He’s going to have to exist correctly this time around. So if Sam means what he says, if he really thinks Bucky is a good person, then Bucky is going to live up to that image or die trying.  

Once they pull away, it’s felt like hours. The plane is still going steady through the early morning, the lights still that calming shade of blue, but something has shifted in the air, something neither Sam nor Bucky can seem to put their finger on. It’s a certain kind of rawness; an ache Bucky is thoroughly familiar with; a feeling that always comes with the moon and foolish amounts of trust. Bucky mumbles a flustered apology for the wet spot now stained into Sam’s sweater, but the guy just shakes his head and grins in a way that makes Bucky fall in love with him.

“Anytime.”

[starlocked01]

The Only Thing That’s Real

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Thank you to @ace-in-a-shopping-cart for the prompt that got this rolling :D

Summary: Logan and Virgil can feel each other's physical pain. Emotional pain is a little more difficult to decipher.

Content Warning: Self Harm referenced

Day 6 Analogical- Whenever your soulmate is injured, you feel the pain in that area of your body

How many times had Logan given his lecture on having a consistent brushing and flossing schedule? To be exact he had given it 47 times over the past 5 months and yet he could feel the cavity in Virgil’s mouth react to the sickeningly sweet energy drink his boyfriend was pounding down.

"Stop it! Doesn't that hurt?" He glared across the table over the top of his laptop.

"You'll live. It's only like.. two weeks until the appointment?" Virgil rolled his eyes, taking another gulp out of spite. In truth, his mouth hurt a lot and he knew Logan could feel it too. But he was so tired of the sanctimonious lectures. "Anyway, I better get going. See ya, L."

Logan grunted in response. Virgil had such a peculiar way of being a pain in his neck when he was surly like this.

Virgil grabbed his bag and headed out of the apartment, hoping the caffeine and sugar would kick in by the time he got to work. He was on the bus when he felt Logan's daily morning finger prick. Even if he should be used to the pain by now, he wasn't. Of course, his soulmate has diabetes.

Virgil stuck the pricked finger in his mouth and hissed as a strange man roughly pushed passed him on the bus. He quickly checked his pockets and was mildly relieved nothing was missing. He stumbled as the bus started forward again, grabbing for the bar to keep from falling. The bus filled quickly at the next two stops and Virgil felt on the edge of a panic attack by the time he got to work. He stood on the sidewalk and tried to control his breathing to ground himself. Another person pushed past him and he tensed every muscle in his body to stop himself from retaliating.

After the short walk from the stop to work, Virgil found himself tested even further by entitled customers and barking managers. He snapped a rubber band against his wrist every time he felt ready to shut down. He knew Logan would feel it but it was better than getting fired for snapping at a customer.

"Why don't you work at Hot Topic, freak?" a kid no older than ten laughed at him while his tired mother ignored him to mess up the display Virgil had just fixed .

"Because you don't find fresh meat when everyone who shops there is already undead," Virgil smirked at the twerp of a child, showing off a fake fang. It wasn't dress code but he liked it.

The child cried and his mother found a way to blame Virgil for that and about everything else wrong in her world. Virgil tried to ignore the tirade and felt his skin itch.

After a lunch break and another energy drink that did nothing to improve his mood, Virgil begged his favorite manager to be allowed to reorganize the back stock for the rest of his shift. Human interaction was killing him. He groaned when his friend sadly shook his head no and put him on the register.

The rest of the day was a blur as more and more people managed to annoy and aggravate Virgil. He trudged in the front door of the apartment and locked it behind him. Logan was still out at his own job and Virgil had the whole place to himself. The skin on his arms itched terribly as the stress of the day replayed on a loop. He grabbed ice from the freezer and tried to make the urge go away by rubbing the ice on his wrists and forearms. The cold was helpful but he still felt bad.

Virgil wrapped himself in a blanket and blasted his mp3 player, favorite emo playlist on shuffle.

Logan could tell it had been a bad day when he found Virgil all wrapped up in the living room. He'd felt the rubber band snaps all day and was grateful he hadn't felt worse when Virgil got home. Rather than disturb him, Logan went to the kitchen to start preparing their dinner, biting back the voice in his head arguing that Virgil should cook when he got home first.

Logan nearly had finished a plate of bacon and a full stack of pancakes when Virgil snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist, resting his forehead between his shoulder blades.

"Rough day?"

"I hate people."

"Mmm. Understandable."

"Why do they exist?"

"Evolution dictates that a species that has a higher population is better at adapting to survive in its surroundings as there is greater genetic variety."

Virgil hissed and straightened back up to grab a drink from the fridge. Logan looked disapproving when Virgil pulled out a can of soda but bit his tongue.

Virgil plated the pancakes and bacon while Logan grabbed butter and Crofters jam from the fridge. They worked together to set the table and sat down to eat.

Virgil side-eyed Logan as Logan spread jam over his pancakes.

"So it's only a problem when I have sugar?"

"It's about self-control, Virge. I don't like it when I know you're in pain over something simple to fix," Logan looked with sympathy that quickly evaporated into fear. "Virgil put it down... Please."

Virgil looked down to find he was absent-mindedly running the butter knife against the sleeve of his hoodie. His eyes went wide and he dropped the knife which skittered across the table.

Logan stood and rushed over to Virgil’s side as the frustrated man hid his face in the hood of his jacket and faceplanted into the table. Logan rubbed Virgil’s back softly, gently pushing up the sleeve to make sure no new wounds had been made and no old ones reopened. The lines on his soulmate’s wrist brought back painful memories of being awoken in the middle of the night, arm stinging for no discernable reason, and fear of the unknown clouding his brain.

"Come on Virgil, it's going to be okay. I'm here," Virgil only grunted in response. "Anime or Disney?"

Virgil barely lifted his head, "neither."

"We're having a movie night. You need to relax. So what are we watching, Stormcloud?" Logan was firm but kind.

"Fine. Starkid."

"Any particular show?" Logan crouched to be eye level with Virgil.

Virgil turned his head to look at Logan, tears running down his cheeks, "I dunno. You pick."

Logan nodded, cupping Virgil’s cheek in his hand and using his thumb to wipe away the tears. He stood, grabbing their plates to move them to the living room. He quickly grabbed a laptop and a few more blankets for the couch, keeping one eye on Virgil the whole time.

When everything was ready, Logan returned to Virgil’s side and offered him both hands. Virgil took them and Logan pulled him up into a hug. They stood there for several minutes before Logan pulled back just far enough to look at Virgil.

"I'm sorry. I've been more like people than your boyfriend lately, haven't I?" Virgil barely nodded in response. "I'm sorry, Virgil. I don't mean to be bossy. I only want you to have a good quality of life because I love you. Seeing you in pain because of others hurts me so much. But I shouldn't be one of the ones causing you pain."

"It's okay, L. You're human. And my soulmate. You literally cannot stop causing me pain," Virgil sighed and looked up, meeting Logan’s gaze. His eyes sparkled with dark brown intensity that made Logan catch his breath. Virgil smirked, "I don't like people, but you're the exception, Logan."

"I love you, Stormcloud."

"I love you too, L."

Logan smirked and picked Virgil up, carrying him bridal style. Virgil quickly wrapped his arms around Logan’s neck to keep from falling. Logan leaned forward and pecked his boyfriend on the lips, heat rising in both of their cheeks. He carried him into the living room and set him down in the nest of blankets before grabbing the laptop and snuggling in himself.

They watched Starship, and Virgil started humming along around halfway through. Logan gently played with Virgil’s hair and after the musical, they stayed curled up together on the couch until they fell asleep.

It would never be easy, but they had each other to protect and care for and that was enough.

[svnflowervol666]

Before You Go (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: angst

Author’s Note: This was based on a request to write a bit about Harry based on the song Before You Go by Lewis Capaldi! I switched up the context a bit to give it a happy ending like the anon requested, but I hope you all still enjoy regardless. This was a ton of fun for me to write, so thank you anon for sending it my way! Let me know what you all would like to see next from me! Take care and tpwk.

The night before Harry left for tour was meant to be a peaceful night in with his girl. They were supposed to enjoy a home-cooked meal that they prepared together and spend the rest of the evening loving on each other before Harry left for his three-month-long tour. Somewhere along the line, an argument had broken out and it escalated to the point where they were both shouting some of the nastiest and most heartbreaking things to each other that they’d regretted as soon as the words left their mouth. They said things that would take a long time to forgive each other for, and it did. Both Harry and Y/N went to bed without saying “I love you,” something that they swore a thousand times to never do.

In the morning, she didn’t even bother telling him goodbye. Harry was made to see himself out on his own while she refused to even acknowledge his presence at their bedroom door when he was telling her he had to leave for the airport. His heart never truly stopped hurting. He texted her every once in a while just to let her know he had made it to whichever city he was headed to. She always opened them immediately, so he knew she was at least eager to hear of his safe travels. Each night, at exactly 10pm London time where their shared home was, she’d receive a call from Harry. He wanted to talk to her, but she never answered. Harry figured out after the fourth or fifth call that he’d inevitably end up talking to a voicemail machine instead of his lover (if that’s what she even considered herself to be anymore), but he did it anyway. Every nightly voicemail consisted of Harry telling Y/N about his day and about how he was sorry for the things that he said that night and how he wished she’d at least pick up the phone so he could hear her voice. She never did. And that broke Harry even more.

From her end, she’d spent the first few weeks without Harry wallowing in her own sorrows. No one saw her aside from her closest friend who had to force her out of bed and make her take a shower and eat a real meal that wasn’t popcorn and an entire bottle of wine. It felt like a breakup, but she knew it wasn’t. At least she hoped it wasn’t. It was clear from Harry’s nightly voicemails that he still cared about her and wanted to sort through all that was said the night before he left, but she just couldn’t find it in herself to pick up the phone.

She was embarrassed. The things that happened that night were things she wished she could bury and never think about for the rest of her life, but they haunted her every time she saw his name a contact photo illuminate her phone screen. Harry didn’t deserve someone who shouted at him the things that she shouted, and he certainly didn’t deserve someone that couldn’t even pick up the phone when he called to apologize and say goodnight.

More time passed. Y/N had slowly started to communicate more with Harry. Sure, it was only once every few days to let him know that she was at least doing alright, but this something was better than nothing. He still called every night and she still hadn’t found the courage to answer. It wasn’t until one particularly rough night that Harry was finally able to hear his girl’s voice after all of this time that he’d been touring the world without her.

She had had a little spa day for herself at home, treating herself to one of the expensive face masks that Harry had bought her for Valentine’s Day whilst soaking in a tub filled with her favorite bath fizzy. After letting her skin turn wrinkly and the water go lukewarm, she hopped out and reached for her favorite body butter. She worked it into her sore muscles, giving herself her own massage of some sort. When she reached the aching heel of her foot, she paused. There, faded but still visible, was the smiley face tattoo that Harry had given her when they had gotten tipsy one night during a vacation in Mexico. Harry had a matching one on the bottom of his big toe (she had drunkenly insisted that they both give each other tattoos so they looked like a proper couple). The happy memory resonated deep in her belly and made her feel sick. How could she have let their relationship come to this? How could she have just let him quite literally walk out on her without talking through their fight?

Harry’s call came like clockwork, and as expected, Y/N didn’t answer. But what Harry didn’t know was that while she normally waited until morning to listen to what he had to say to her that night, she picked up her phone immediately after getting the notification that she had a voicemail this time. His voice sounded tired and exhausted, meaning it must have been extremely late wherever he was (she cursed herself internally for forgetting where he told her he was in his last voicemail). The first half of his message was typical, letting her know how the show went and that he was sticking by his promise to drink more water while he was on the road. It was the last half of his message that stuck out to her, that made her heart shatter even more than it had when she’d seen the tattoo on the bottom of her foot.

“I know I hurt ye’ bad, but... I just....... Is there somethin’ I could have said before I left tha’ would’ve made all of this go away? Fuck, Y/N. I should have made you talk t’ me. I shouldn’t have just walked out. I’m sorry, baby. Anyways, I’m off t’ soundcheck now. I’m guessin’ you’re probably in bed too or you just don’t wanna talk t’ me still which is fine too. Good night.... I love you.”

Before she could even comprehend what she was doing, her fingers had pressed the redial button and she heard Harry’s voice in real time. She felt adrenaline course through her veins when he spoke her name through the tiny speaker of her cell phone.

“Y/N?”

“Harry,” her voice broke up through the salty, wet tears that streamed down her cheeks.

“Y/N,” Harry repeated more seriously this time, “’s everything alright? Talk t’ me.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” her tears flowed freely now as sobs wracked through her body and made her soul ache.

“Baby, ye’ gotta breathe. Come back t’ me, yeah? Just focus on your breathing.”

Even from halfway across the globe and in a completely different time zone, Harry was able to calm her down. Quite frankly, Harry would have done anything to hear his lover’s voice again, but this certainly wasn’t how he’d pictured she’d sound after all this time. He knew his crew was waiting on him back in the arena where he was doing a practice run of the show, but he couldn’t care less. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked once he heard her sobs subside into soft whimpers.

“I...,” she paused as if what she was about to tell Harry would hurt her physically.

“I need to see you. I’m ready to talk.”

//

She shifted uncomfortably in the airplane seat as it landed smoothly on the landing strip. Out of all of her years on this earth, she didn’t think she had ever been this nervous. The conversation she was about to have with Harry was one that was months in the making, and she had no idea how she was going to react once she finally saw him with her own two eyes instead of through posts on instagram and twitter. She had no idea how she was going to react when she was finally able to touch him again, or if he didn’t want to touch her again. The thought had crossed her mind that he might end things with her while she was out here, but she knew deep down that it was just her anxiety getting the best of her. Harry told her he loved her every night and put so much effort into letting her know that he still wanted to make things work with her, so she tried her best to hold her bearings and remain in one piece.

As the plane rolled to a halt, she realized Harry was waiting for her smack dab in the middle of the tarmac. He was bundled up in a hoodie and sweatpants and she could make out his oversized pearl necklace despite being several yards away from him. She didn’t need to be closer to him to see that he looked tired and unlike the way he did when he smiled and pranced about on stage each night. Maybe he had been taking this fight just as harshly as she was.

Y/N felt her heart beat in her ears as the steps automatically lowered themselves onto the ground to allow her to exit the plane. The cool air hit her in the face as she made her way down with her small suitcase filled with enough clothes for a few days in tow. Harry was looking directly at her as she descended the plane, but she couldn’t do the same. It wasn’t until she standing right in front of him that she lifted her head up from where she had been staring at her feet that she finally made eye contact with the green-eyed creature that she’d called her lover for years now.

Nothing was said, only a bone-crushing hug was shared between them as they reuinited. It was too windy to hear the sobs that escaped from both of their lips, but they each knew the other was crying due to the way the other’s chest heaved with each breath. They were as close as they possibly could have been. She had her head tucked into his neck while he burried his face in her hair, and they stood idle in the center of a busy airport in a foreign country. It didn’t matter to them, though. All of these weeks spent wondering how the other felt whilst being too scared to confront the other about it had whithered away into nothing. They were back with each other, and they knew they’d be alright.

[hereliesanotherfic]

Three’s a Crowd || Erwin x Reader x Levi || Modern AU

Chapter 2 - Comfort in Comedy

You parked your good ol’ reliable highlander in your new, shared driveway for the 6th time this week and relaxed back into the cloth seats. It was hard to believe another week has come to an end, especially with how crazy it’s gotten for you. This previous Sunday, you had agreed to be Erwin and Levi’s new housemate, taking the third bedroom in their beautiful home. You felt a bit pitiful when you didn’t have many belongings to move in, but Levi commented it made it easier overall. Erwin took your clothes; Levi grabbed the couple boxes you had, and you were in your room in less than an hour. The rest of your night simply consisted of putting your belongings in the closet or drawers.

During the weeknights (since everybody went to work during the day), was the time you spent getting to know them better. Both work at a private detective company called the Survey Corps and have been partners for many years. Erwin is the commander of the sector and Levi is the captain. You knew almost nothing about this stuff, ignoring the fact you were new to their city. Levi explained how most of their days consist of paperwork at a desk in their ‘shitty office’ but the PD (Police Department) would give them a case here and there where they have to go to the scene or hunt somebody down. They almost constantly have a case or multiple going and you understood now why their house is so nice and why they’re so built.

Your coffee shop work has grown steady too. Each day the drinks were easier to make, you flowed more smoothly between customer service and food preparation and you met the remaining coworkers. Historia was the heir to the coffee shop, and she seemed like the perfect fit to run it and Connie was a master at fast-paced drink mixing. He even went through some efforts to create little foam bear faces in their drinks. (He said he’d teach you later, you’re holding him to that!) Him and Eren oversaw baking the pastries too, which one day when you’re comfortable, Armin said they could consider training you on.

Out of nowhere, your driver’s door flung open like a jack-in-the-box, triggering you to jump a bit out of your seat and back up onto the center console. Levi stood in the open-door space with his usual half-lidded stare, in which you proceeded to slide off the console as he spoke to you.

“What are you doing passing out in your car again? You have a room,” he huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. He was dressed in a simple black suit, white button up, no tie. Even on Friday’s these guys dressed for success. His hair seemed a tad messy compared to how he left the house this morning. But you noticed even during dinner, socializing time, and whatnot, he would run his fingers through his bangs a lot.

“I-I wasn’t passing out!” You protested, sitting up a bit straighter in your seat. Levi, very obviously, didn’t believe you, waiting for a better answer. “I was just thinking about how the week went and work, that’s all…” your cheeks held a brief tint of pink, being caught dozing off was a bit embarrassing. Especially by someone strict and disciplined like Levi.

“Huh…so I guess you can wake up an hour earlier when you make coffee for us tomorrow.” Your cheeks puffed in pout at his snide remark. Smartass… “C’mon, if Erwin’s not home yet then we start making dinner tonight,” Levi stated while stepping aside to allow you room to exit the Highlander. He led you both in, unlocking the door and you both took your shoes off to leave them at the mat.  

You had changed out of your coffee smelling work clothes into some comfortable dark green joggers. By the time you had walked back to the kitchen, Levi had already started preparing. He had changed into a light grey, v-neck sweatshirt, and black sweatpants. On top of that he wore the pure-white kitchen apron that normally hung in the pantry. It was tied securely around his waist, tucking in the sweatshirt a bit and giving slightly more definition to his shoulder blades. Your eyes trailed it, following along his broad shoulders and the bit of skin exposed on the back of his neck. Just as you were admiring his sharp jawline again, he turned his head looking over at you. You immediately perked up in your stand and bee-lined over to him to help cook. He didn’t seem phased at your staring if he truly had caught you.

“Make sure to chop it finely,” Levi stated while chopped up the chicken breasts into clean strips, proceeding to place them in the sizzling frying pan of butter and olive oil. It was incredible how well these guys can cook, and the taste was remarkable!  Your next job after the parsley was mincing the garlic, Levi took care of cooking the food, which you didn’t mind. He started to mix all the ingredients together, one by one, and the smell of the food made you anxious for dinner.

“It smells amazing…” you hummed, looking over his arm to see the little bubbles of oil popping from under the chicken. Levi let out a satisfied ‘hmp’.

“Just don’t drool in our food. We’ll be eating shortly, brat,” he said, using his free hand to push you back down flat on your feet. You didn’t even realize you were on your tipy toes to stare at the dish. You looked up at his steel grey eyes that looked so tired.

“Why do you keep calling me brat?” you inquired.

“’Cause you are one still.”

“You’re only a couple years older than me,” you huffed. Levi turned his head to look at you, your (e/c) orbs locking with his steel ones.

“Maybe once you cook a full meal that doesn’t taste like the inside of a coffin, you’ll be less of a brat,” he stated, plain as day. His rude comment of your cooking was only dulled by you practically getting lost in his eyes. You broke eye contact and look away from him towards the open living room.

“I’ll get there, I just cook simpler meals,” you muttered. Levi watched you for a moment before a brief ‘ha’ escaped his lips and he looked back to flip the chicken strips. “Where did you learn how to cook so well?” You challenged.

“A friend of mine,” he said softly, his voice a bit quiet. You stared at him intensely and he felt it, glancing back at you before back to his cooking. You weren’t going to let up so easily. “When we first started living together, he did all the cooking, much better than I. I picked up his tricks and tips.”

“What’s his name? Maybe he could be my teacher too!”

“Farlan, and don’t get your hopes up. He doesn’t live in this town, so he’s not around often.”

“Then you teach me, Captain Levi,” you grinned largely, leaning your elbows on the counter and hands holding up your head. Levi stared down at you for a moment, your smile was incredibly pure and beautiful. He reached a hand up and ruffled your hair briefly, muttering another ‘brat’, before reaching above you and grabbing a large serving plate. You smiled as you moved towards another cabinet to get the dinner plates. You knew you got Levi to teach you how to cook!

As you both were plating the hot meal, Erwin stepped in the door and his nostrils immediately caught whiff of the food. You popped your head around the corner to greet him.

“Erwin, just in time! Levi and I just finished making dinner, hurry to get changed before it gets cold!” You smiled, earning a smile from the blonde man himself.

“Of course, (y/n), I’ll join you both in a moment,” he chuckled and headed to change in his room. You set down three plates and all utensils, Levi scolding you for placing them in the wrong positions and having you correct your mistake. Erwin stepped to the dinning table’s head seat wearing a comfortable pair of dark wash jeans and pastel yellow t-shirt. You eyed how the hem of the t-shirt line ended at the mid-section of his arm muscles, giving a nice view when he naturally flexed, the t-shirt barely giving definition to his chest muscles too. You glanced back down at your dinner plate of pale chicken. Either they bought shirts that were a size too small, or their bulging muscles were too much for their clothes. (You didn’t entirely mind though.) The three of you proceeded to enjoy a well-made dinner, you while ignoring your curious thoughts.

“Erwinnnn!! Leviiiii!!!!” Came a shrilling voice from behind the front door, sending a wave of chills down your spine. It was unexpected right after finishing your meal, normally the nights were quiet chatter. Immediately, Levi groaned, elbow on the table and hand holding onto his forehead. The black tea in his cup was almost completely gone. Erwin smiled pathetically at the raven before standing up and heading to the door. Erwin’s plate was completely cleaned, his cup of black tea standing empty. The door opened to a hyper-active brunette with glasses, immediately running inside the door to the dining table, Erwin not too far in pursuit of her.

“Did you guys hear?!” She exclaimed, hands practically slamming on the table. “Deadly Devour almost had another kill!!” Your eyes looked at her with worry, not necessarily about the horrifying words she said, but the fact it looked like their cheeks were red from blushing and their happy exclaim about it. “The only reason the victim survived is thanks to a patrol cop on duty who called backup! He’s making his moves!!” The brunette panted, licking her dry lips from excitement. You face paled a bit, was this person okay???

“Hange, please settle down, you’ll worry (y/n),” Erwin pardoned, motioning to you and her eyes followed, softening a bit. Levi sighed.

“What’s the status of the victims?” he calmly moved the conversation along, wanting as much information as the crazy detective could give him.

“The woman and the first officer are in the hospital in critical condition, they’re doing everything they can, so we just have to wait.” She then stepped around your chair to the free one on your side, pulling it out and taking a seat besides you. She outstretched her hand a bit with a gentler smile gracing her face. This was a pretty side of her from the five minutes you’ve seen.

“My name’s Hange Zoe! I live a house over and I work as a detective with Erwin and Levi! I’m specifically in charge of experiments and research!” You took her hand to shake, a small smile lifting on your lips. Her hand was larger than your own and had a strong shake to it too. “You must be (y/n), the new roommate they were telling me about!” You nodded, a faded blush on the top of your skin. You never thought they would talk about you at work, you were just a roommate. “If ya ever need anything these guys can’t do, give me a call!” Hange seemed pretty sweet when she wasn’t yelling.

“Thanks Hange,” you said. Hange then turned back towards the table, taking a piece of the lemon chicken strip on a plate for herself. It impressed you how quickly she made herself at home.

“Well, unfortunately we can only investigate so much until we can get more information from the victims,” Erwin sighed as he sat back down, fingers interlocked with each other. “But if both victim and officer are in critical condition, it can go either way.”

“And the damn doctors won’t let us in to ask anything until they’re dead or surviving,” Levi grumbled, finishing his chilled tea. Hange nodded vigorously.

“All we can do for now, is investigate the scene of the crime. It’s been crossed off for now, but we only have tomorrow to scout the area,” she said calmly, taking a bite of the food after their words. You sat at this table completely miffed by what was being spoken about. You were they were all detectives for the private company, Scouts, but this sounded serious and it made you sweat a little inside. Erwin must’ve picked up on your nervousness.

“Don’t worry about it (y/n)” he assured, resting a hand on your shoulder giving a light rub. “He doesn’t attack just anyone, you’re new to town so you’re safe. And no matter what you have the three of us here too.” His words were so comforting, you nodded in appreciation. “Why don’t you go get some rest, the three of us have more to discuss and you don’t need to hear more.” There was a part of you that wanted to stay, as scared as you were, you wanted to hear it. But Erwin didn’t give you the option. His words, his body language, it all told you to leave the room. You stood from the table, reached to collect the empty dishes before Levi lightly swatted your hand away. Your eyes locked with his for a moment, the exact same language was silently being stated like it did from Erwin. You let your head fall slightly and made your way to your room. None of them spoke until they heard the click of your door.

“You boys could be a little nicer, ya know,” Hange said while chewing on some bites of chicken. Levi grimaced at her action, demanding she speak only after she swallows.

“She doesn’t need to concern herself with this information, it’s a bit much for a new girl in town to hear.” Erwin said softly.

“We’re getting too close to Deadly Devour anyways. If any of us become a target, that increases her chances of becoming one too,” Levi added. Both men agreed before you moved in that this was a case too dangerous to let you get close too. Hange agreed, but whined that they didn’t have to be so cold to such a hot young lady like yourself.

You laid on your bed in your room. You had taken a nice hot shower and dressed yourself in your comfortable pajamas and bathrobe. The light in your room was naturally dimming as the sunset set farther down the globe. It felt a little hard to be calm. Hange just barged in with this ‘Deadly Devour’ guy making moves, trying to kill people. How was he going about it? What was his next target or where? Were Erwin and Levi in real danger too? What about Hange? Erwin consoled that you wouldn’t be a target for such an event, but it’s still scary to think about. You rolled around on your sheets, flipping side to side before filling curling up in a ball, squeezing your blanket into your face. This town was wonderful so far…you don’t want anything to ruin this one. You weren’t sure when your brain finally took a pause and allowed you to pass out.

_____________________________________________________________

***I am a visual aid person so writing stories I either make a map or borrow one. This is to help any readers like me who do better with visual aids! :)

For reference, their house similar to this Only diff is all 3 bedroom sizes, bathrooms and closes are the same size on the left of the house and that extra space where the master bathroom is, is a larger study room. ***I do not own pic/design, simply using it as a layout reference. Credit goes to proper owners.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Baëkhyun x Reader: derision.

Word count: 1 787

Warnings: mind games, drug use, unethical human subject research.

Rating: M (+16) for the warnings stated above.

The man sat down on the opposite side of the room, legs crossed and a folder with documents seated on his lap. To anyone else looking at him now, his face would seem emotionless. But you saw a hint of derision in his beautiful eyes; his head raised proudly as he looked you over for a few long seconds before opening his documents. 

He was barely three, maybe four meters away, but the distance looked like an abyss. The way he sat, the way he behaved, the way he was clothed, so clean, neat and rich, so unlike your dirty, ripped clothes and your limbs stripped to the chair, put up even more distance than there’s ever been before.

You wished there were none, as before, when none of such things mattered. But your wish was not to be granted.

Your head hung lowly.

“Now, shall we start? Miss [L/n], our newest subject. How nice to see you here.” A polite smile crossed his feature, but it wasn’t directed at you, because the man didn’t even look up from his papers. “Let’s talk a bit. It must be a very sudden change in your life, but I hope you’re being treated well. Tell me, is the food alright?”

You wanted to scoff, but a broken sob was all that left your mouth instead. Was he even serious now? He knew how bad it was, how painful. He knew how the guards acted towards the subjects, what the place you were kept in was like, and, although the least important, how nasty the food was, in right amounts to satiate hunger, but stinky and awful in taste, a white butter-like substance consisting of all the ingredients your body would need, but nothing above that.

The man in front of you was nothing but a mocker, taking his time relishing in your misery. 

“I’ll take it as a yes, then. We’ve been taking a lot of tests lately, and I must say, your results are promising. What a surprise a diamond like you had been right under our noses all along.”

“Stop talking like this” you whimpered out. “You weren’t working here. You don’t belong here. Stop talking like you’re one of them. It makes me sick.”

Putting his documents together and folding in front of him, Baëkhyun finally looked at you.

“If not one of them, then who I am, Miss [L/n]? And, more importantly, who are you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but simply couldn’t. You managed to handle his gaze for a long time before dropping it miserably.

“I-I was good to you…” you whimpered.

“Sure you were” Baëkhyun scoffed, but his tone was rid off amusement.

“Weren’t I…?”

The man stood up from his chair so suddenly that you flinched, startled, making him smirk without even glancing at you. Putting hands behind his back, he started pacing around the room, sometimes disappearing behind your back, but making no effort to get closer to you then necessary. You swore it drove you crazy. You ached to hold him, to have this littlest amount of comfort that was so close, almost in your reach.

“Miss [L/n], let’s get back to business. You’ve been given the same exact treatment as all of the subjects in our center are. Can you see any differences in your behavior, body, your sensations? Has anything changed in your opinion?” 

You weren’t interested in answering his questions. Thousands of thoughts ran through your mind, flashbacks of everything that happened ever since you met him. 

You hated every single memory because they were the reason for the pain of both of you, but you loved them just the same, knowing they were the reason you met him, started to grow fond of him, just like, you were sure, he grew fond of you.

You hated the syringe you had to put in his arm because he was struggling so much that the doctors called you over to sedate him, not wanting to get any closer to the dangerous subject. But you loved the way his lips parted slightly at your sight, and he found himself relaxing the very moment you spoke to him, calm and warm, so unlike anything else he’d experienced in the center. 

You hated the fact you were the one to always interrogate him, being educated enough to do that, but so low in the ranks that no one cared if he’d hurt you. But you loved the fact that he never did, and that those hours you spent together brought you closer to each other. You loved that you could say him all these comforting things, ease him into this life, and tell him that it won’t last forever, and that his sacrifice will bring a better life to so many. You saw that it worked to calm him down. But you hated that he was the one who had to be that sacrifice. Because you swore you’d rather see him free and well, not beaten up and sedated because he tried to run away again, again and again.

You loved that he was free now. But you hated the fact that you were the price of such luxury.

He was considered a finished case, a subject that nothing more could be done with. And as a successful case, he was given an offer to join the center. 

And at the same time, you were accidentally diagnosed as an X-gene carrier, and taken into the custody of the center. What a cruel joke it was, you thought. Almost like those stories about evil kings who tormented their people, only to become a slave to them later on. 

But you weren’t like those evil kings. In your opinion, you did your best to ease the suffering of the subjects, and you wanted the X-gene to be used in a way that’d help them, not destroy them furthermore. The X-gene was supposed to be a blessing, something that could help improve the human race, not a reason to dehumanize its carriers.

“You aren’t replying to my question, Miss [L/n]. Should I repeat it for you?”

However, in the subjects’ eyes, all of the doctors were the same: they’ve seen enough of evil kings to deem all of them just as cruel, and maybe, just maybe, you weren’t doing it well enough to make them realize your intentions.

Maybe, in fact, you were nothing but another evil king, relishing in the safety of your superior position.

But even despite all of that, your feelings were no illusion, and the way Baëkhyun acted towards you right now simply broke your heart into pieces, shattering them all over this cold, dark room with every step he made, pacing around you in circles like a hungry vulture over dead meat.

“Baëk…” you whimpered. “I’m so sorry…”

“That’s not the answer to my question, Miss [L/n].”

“Why won’t you use my first name… I told you you can…” Your body shivered at yet another memory that appeared in your head. 

“Ah, that’d be very unprofessional.” His voice echoed in a whisper right behind you. You could tell he was leaning down to speak to you, words seeping like a venom, his sweet voice deprived from mercy, ringing in your ears, so beautiful, yet so, so relentless.

“Please, stop tormenting me, I can’t stand this being you, Baëkhyun…”

You tried to turn your head towards him, but your neck hurt too much to move it freely; you thought that there was something wrong with your muscles, but it didn’t stay on your mind for too long, because the sound of shuffling quickly distracted your attention.

Something cold and thin touched your neck; it felt like a knife at first, but you quickly realized it was a syringe, pressed flat against your skin. Your heart skipped, but you forced yourself to stay still. Syringes never meant good, you learned. Upon experiencing them yourself, you found yourself regretting every single one you’d used on someone else.

“You’re very uncooperative today, Miss [L/n]. What should I do with you?”

You sobbed quietly.

“Ah, I know. You seem to be sad these days, isn’t it so?” 

The syringe disappeared and for a moment you panted heavily, right before you felt the man’s touch on yourself; it brought as much relief as it brought terror, when the man wrapped his arms around your neck from behind, hanging them loosely in front of you, with the syringe still present in one of them and documents – in the other. The gesture was so intimate, taken out of a completely different story, so nice and comforting; especially as Baëkhyun’s cheek brushed against yours when he leaned down, holding his head right next to yours. 

“But you don’t have a reason to worry, I’m here to take care of you after all, aren’t I? So, sweetheart.” His voice rung in your ear; he was so close you could hear even his breathing, and the quietest clickings of his tongue. “Don’t worry about anything. It won’t last forever, you know? And your sacrifice will bring better life to so many.” He mocked you, repeating your own words, you could tell. Yet, the closeness that he provided you, gave you the smallest sense of comfort; you turned your head to glance at his face, and he returned the glance. The proximity took your breath away. 

Baëkhyun smiled, softly, but still mockingly.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten all we went through” he whispered. You were sure that his voice wouldn’t be registered on the sensitive cameras placed in the room to film the interrogations that took place in it. It was husky, meant for your ears only. “But let me tell you. I’ll put you through hell, and through way worse things that you’ve seen being done to me or any other subjects. I’ll break your body, your soul, I’ll shatter you and put back together the way I want. And then, sweetheart, then, I’ll take you back. I’ll destroy this forsaken place and all the people who brought this misery upon all of us. We’re no different now, [F/n]. You’re just as cursed and hopeless as I’ve once been. So have a good taste of it, sweetheart. Have a good taste of this hell. Atone for your sins to be worth being saved later.”

Straightening up, the man held the documents in front of himself, re-reading them yet again, which you couldn’t really see, with your gaze fixated blankly on the floor between your knees.

“Now, next question. What is your opinion on sedatives used here? Do you remember the types we use, or should I refresh your memory in that matter? Your feedback will be very much appreciated.”

Since my tags aren’t working again, please, reblog if you enjoyed!

[poprockstrawberrybblgum]

— our movie night. [01282021]

movie: 

miss peregrine’s home for peculiar children 

https://www.netflix.com/title/80079257

date: 01/30/2021 

______________________________________________________________________________________________

the setup: [ living room ] 

projector: mini portable LED video projector / full colour - with screen & remote control

as soon as baekhyun emerges from the room after 'getting ready', which consisted more of kunhang locking his boyfriend in their shared bedroom as he scuttles around the house preparing for the whole day they have planned, he leads the elder out to the living room, finally revealing his setup. the dimmed surroundings glow golden with the fairy lights strung corner to corner, framing the projector screen sitting diligently in the middle of one of the empty walls. baekhyun’s favourite candles are flickering in one corner, the dancing flames emitting toasty scents of bergamot and pear wafting throughout the spacious room.

the portable projector he purchased recently is sitting out of the way, completely controllable via remote from where they’ll be sitting. the television is nice, but not quite as expansive as the way the screen perfectly resembles the stretched view from a theatre. no movie night this important is complete without a blanket fort, exactly like the one they shared their very first kiss in. some ways away from the enlarged movie screen, he set up two chairs adjacent to the sofa, and a makeshift “tentpole” he fashioned out of one of baekhyun’s coatracks to prop up the lightweight blankets draped across them to resemble a tent. more fairy lights hang inside, illuminating the pillows and cushions he pulled from the rest of the house, lining the one side from which they could lay back and get comfortable, even making room to lay down with each other if they wanted to later. 

after a moment kunhang pauses, waits just a beat for his boyfriend’s reaction, before showing him the rest he has prepared.

the popcorn / fruit platters:

just in front of their fort opening (but not obstructing their view of the screen), he had pulled the coffee table over to the centre where various platters lie waiting. on one end, a small plate of fruit, loaded with apple slices, wedges of peach, and of course, their favourite — glistening red gems of strawberries. next to it is a bowl of popcorn, complete with cheese and butter powdered seasonings, and plenty of wet napkins for the guaranteed mess they are about to do to their fingers. 

the meal / savory selection:

knowing they’ll be lounging around all day, kunhang made sure to plan for all of it — freshly delivered meals from their favourite restaurant specializing in korean street foods, luckily having arrived in time earlier this morning. he’s definitely most excited about the fried mozzarella corn dogs, each slathered in ketchup and mustard or extra crunchy corn kernels and shredded cheese. he’d seen some in baekhyun’s freezer from time to time, and what better way to celebrate their special day than with the freshly deep fried kind, right?

another carefully packaged tray is filled to the brim with sweet, sticky fried chicken, one spicy and one not, with extra cheese for them to melt on top when serving hot. and simply just because, skewers of fried tteokbokki drenched in its own sauce, mouth-watering enough even for kunhang’s aversion to spice. all this with a nice, healthy side of rice and fresh salads, more than enough to keep them satiated for days.

the sweets + mini hawaiian pizza flatbreads:

where snacks are concerned, he certainly can’t forget about the classic favourites; homerun balls, for example, cookies and cream pepero sticks, chocopies, and assorted packets of chips, never at a shortage at home as proven by the neat little box he’d packed them into this morning. pizza as always has to join their menu as well, perfect rolls of ham and pineapple goodness for any lingering hunger later on. he knows there is way too much for just one day but he wants to spoil them both, and after the month they had, they deserve to enjoy this together. 

the beverages:

last but not least, he made sure to prepare two beverage options, the dalgona coffee ‘lattes’ still resting in the fridge after he nearly broke his muscles whisking up to firm peaks. baekhyun made it look so easy — 400 times was certainly no walk in the park, even if the end result was worth it. the other, the oolong tea leaves already in the teapot and water kettle just awaiting the press of a button, joins the last empty space on the coffee table along with his boyfriend’s ceremonial tea set and tiny teacups that kunhang had always found so adorable. 

finally they can sit down, and now they’re ready: bare feet warm in their matching slippers, the morning sun still peeking dutifully through the blinds, chopsticks in hand and stomachs ready for battle. his heart is so full just knowing how happy he can make his boyfriend, who deserves the whole world and more.

“happy anniversary to us, baobei.” 

so I’ll hold you tight, fingers wound around yours like i’m afraid to let go. we’ll bask in each other’s arms, wasting the day away... your feet slip between my thighs and my lips will find your neck, whispering sweet nothings until we fall asleep with happiness on our minds. 

[derelict-heirs]

finally... horny rights Unleashed.... A, D, K, N, S, Y for Ilya, Amelia & Grey

its TIME for some horny rights, i’ve been contained for too long. responses are still a touch tame, gotta warm up these muscles a little! // help me inaugerate this blog with some horny rights!

A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?) 

Ilya — Ilya I’d have to say has quite a solid imagination, he’d be fine on his lonesome with just his hands, though he probably isn’t afraid to dabble with toys if he’s in a Mood. In any modern au he probably also wouldn’t be afraid to give Maeve a call while he’s at it.

Amelia — I’m gonna say Amelia would not be a fan of porn, because for her sex is a bit more of an intimacy thing for her and watching others wouldn’t do much for her in the long run. She’d get herself along best with her hands, always has.

Greyson — Thottison himself over here has the range. For a modern au, he’d watch porn, but in the og setting he’d get on just fine by himself and his hands and plenty of raunchy thoughts about someone he’d rather be sharing the night with. Sometimes hands just ain’t enough tho, a man’s gotta have an arsenal on hand for a good night ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

D - Dominance (do they prefer to dominate, or be dominated? do they have experience as a Dom? Do they have a Dom that they trust already? What kind of things do they enjoy as/with their Dominant partner?) 

Ilya — Ilya is more dominate just in the sense he likes to be the one in control and making sure his partner is enjoying themselves, that being said it’s properly a major turn on for him to be dominated. As the dominant partner, he likes to draw out the night as much as possible by any means necessary; extended foreplay, orgasm denial, multiple rounds, etc. Being dominated, Ilya probably enjoys being told what to do most.

Amelia — Amelia probably wouldn’t be one for being dominated/dominating others in this sense. Sex has strong emotional ties for her and its again that intimacy thing for her, and she already feels very vulnerable during those moments. Adding dominance to it might be a bit much for her unless there’s some serious discussions before/after.

Greyson — Greyson can turn it on in an instant to dominate someone else and set the right tone, but the man truly enjoys being dominated most. Restraints and orgasm denial would do it for him in those situations. Not having that control for once with someone he trusts is a good release, no pun intended lol. 

K - Kissing (what parts of their body do they like having kissed? what parts of their partner do they enjoy kissing? do they like leaving marks / having marks left on them?) 

Ilya — Tabby’s recent posting mentioned inner wrists and look, a bitch never thought of it before but its true. His inner wrists and shoulders are places where a kiss would make him shiver. Depending on his partner he’d switch up where he kisses, but he’d be consistent with behind the ear issues. He definitely enjoys leaving a mark and being marked.

Amelia — Neck, wrists, thighs, and waist for places Amelia enjoys being kissed, some nice tender spots for all kinds of situations. She’d enjoy kissing her partner’s lip, neck, and naval most. As for being marked, she probably doesn’t mind being marked but it’d fluster her after the fact.

Greyson — Like above, Greyson enjoys leaving a mark but he enjoys being marked the most. Hips, waist, thighs, wrists, hands, and throat for areas he likes being kissed, and he’d enjoy leaving a mark just about anywhere else on his partner.

N - Not yet (orgasm delay? orgasm denial? do they tell their partner not to touch themselves for a certain amount of time or under certain circumstances? do they delay or deny other things like bathroom usage or food? do they need to beg first? do they like being denied / delayed?) 

Ilya — Ilya enjoys being denied in some circumstances, in others he gets impatient but still enjoys that thrill all the same. Denying a partner’s orgasm is bread and butter for him just in amping up the tension. A classic move would be pinning his partner’s wrists and just teasing them with from kisses or breath play until they begged or asked him nicely.

Amelia — She’s probably not experienced in denying orgasms herself, but having it done to her is a Lot. With her partner, she wouldn’t be afraid to beg for them to keep going.

Greyson — He’s definitely experienced in denying orgasms, purely by virtue of the fact he likes to put his partner through the wringer and make the night last. It’s less about telling his partners not to touch themselves and more refraining them from doing so as he teases them through foreplay or dirty talk, and he enjoys much the same on the receiving end.

S - Sleepy sex (do they give oral to wake their partner up? do they like receiving oral to wake up? do they like fucking their partner awake? being fucked awake? how about being fucked to sleep at night? do they have lazy morning sex?) 

Ilya — I don’t think Ilya could do lazy morning sex, because there’s nothing Lazy about him at all. If he’s not giving it 110% then he doesn’t feel like he’s doing his partner justice. He probably wouldn’t be giving oral without knowing his partner was stirring and there’s been a little hushed talk about a little special something to help them wake up, Ilya’s all about making sure his partner’s feel comfortable.

Amelia — Amelia would have to be riding a very specific high from the night before to give her partner oral to wake them up, and only if she knew for certain they would be comfortable with that. Lazy morning sex that’s more cuddling and kissing throughout is definitely up her alley.

Greyson — He definitely enjoys some lazy morning sex, though more often than not it would lead to a more intense second round, probably in the shower after at that while the mood is still fresh. He’d definitely enjoy being fucked awake by a partner, no better way to start the day with a bit of vitamin-D after all!

Y - Yes, Master (what kinds of names are used during sex? do they like being called master / mistress, daddy, etc…? what names do they call their partner?) 

Ilya — If the mood is right… I can’t say Ilya wouldn’t mind being called daddy / master. He’s the true resident dilf and a thot by nature, by law I must allow it.

Amelia — Amelia would be all about the romantic pet names, love and dear and sweetheart, etc.

Greyson — Maeve is literally the only person who I think could get away with called Greyson daddy in bed, or would want to probably asdfgh and on that note, Maeve is likely the only person Greyson would enjoy being called daddy by. Beyond that, romantic pet names absolutely do it for him in bed, and being called Greyson over Grey would have him in shambles.