#pls pls pls fuck my mouth make me kneel at your feet and touch myself and thank you for the privillege of getting to suck your cock

[levworship]

Okay but I just read what the other anon requested and that was so good?? I didn’t think I had a thing for receiving oral but wtf 😭🤚could I maybe request smth if you got time?? Could it be a reunion between volleyball teams from miyagi and tokyo? So nekoma, fukorodani, seijoh, Johzenji (terushima’s tongue piercing PLS), karasuno, itachiyama You were the old manager of nekoma and was friends with literally everyone, during the talk kuroo somehow mentioned that in the nekoma reunion like 2 years ago it somehow ended with the main guys all taking turns eating you out and that pisses off the rest of the guys because that was their fantasy?? This ends up with you (with consent ofc) being sat down on kuroo’s lap as the guys also take turns eating you out (inspired by the other anon because 😩) I understand if you obviously can’t mention everyone, but pls mention terurshima, sakusa (who would only let you make a mess on his face) and bokuto if you could <3 ALSO the idea of two people eating you out at the same time, maybe bokuto and terushima?? IM NASTY OKAY BUT PLS DO THAT

Ty in advanceeee

i’m usually pretty fast but this took me a whole two days to write smh i’m sorry anon. hope you enjoy tho <3 i wanted it to be a lil longer but i’m so tired and i rlly wanted to get this out for you.

cw: group sex (like.. big group), hella sub reader, also fem reader, anal lol, oral (fem reviving), kuroo is the ringleader, humiliation ig, reader kinda into it doe, dirty talk, degrading + praise, squirting, overstimulation

summary: basically everyone wants to eat out/fuck y/n. explicitly written in here is kuroo, oikawa, sakusa, bokuto, and terushima. the rest is implied.

word count: about 1.9k

your face was buried into kenma’s stiff shoulder, your whole body feeling hot as your group of friends continued to talk about you as if you weren’t even there. but clearly they hadn’t forgotten about you too much considering the way their eyes burned holes into you from all around so indiscreetly that you couldn’t even sit your ass still.

you weren’t quite sure how the previous conversation had shifted so suddenly, but kuroo seemed more than happy with the subject change as his signature asshole smirk never left his features. “- yeah, ‘bout two years ago i’d say. she was a good fuck too. poor thing was so eager to make us feel good that she passed out.” kuroo continued to drag his story as if to intentionally provoke the others, and the staring at you only got worse. your nerves were shot.

you looked and felt like a precious bunny being stared down by a bunch of wolves. and honestly? it was hot as fuck.

which is why you didn’t bother to argue when you were practically dragged into the locker room of the old gym, daichi hurriedly locking the door behind all of you. you couldn’t help but feel bad for just a second. ‘didnt some of these guys have girlfriends? couldve sworn i saw terushima enter with some girl.’ but how could you possibly focus on that when your clothes were being literally ripped off of you and disregarded to who knows where?

your legs felt weak, both out of shock and nervousness from being handled so roughly. “bring her here, bo. sit her down on my lap.” bokuto (for perhaps the first time in his life) was silent as he dragged you over to the other ex-captain, setting you down in his lap on his spot on the bench just as he’d requested. kuroo snickered and raised a hand to cup your cheeks, squeezing them together like you were a little baby before releasing.

“ease up, will ya? so damn tense i can feel it from here. you know we’ll take good care of you.” he spoke so lowly and reassuringly that you couldn’t help but to nod like a fool as he turned you around in his lap to fit the others. he tapped your thigh once, twice, and you quickly picked up on the hint and opened your legs for their viewing pleasure. you tried to put your face down as you were smothered in shame from just how quickly you got wet from their rough handling, but kuroo gripped onto your face once again and forced you to look up.

“look up, baby. so many big strong men dying to make you cum so fucking hard. be a little more thankful, yeah? say it.” “thank you.” he shook his head with a small laugh before releasing your face, but not before lightly tapping your face twice with soft slaps. still, you remained out of it even as oikawa settled himself between your legs, looking up at you with the same lazy smile you frequently saw him wearing around you.

“smells so damn good. finally gonna let me get a taste, cutie?” he spoke lowly as if he were to himself before diving in and holy shit. you figured he’d be pretty experienced. the guy was a literal chick magnet. but damn, this exceeded your expectations by far. your body threatened to curl over itself if it hadn’t been for kuroo’s sturdy grip on your twitching thighs. the way he sucked vigorously at your clit while swiping his tongue along your folds to capture more of your essence had you drawing nothing but blanks up there.

“haven’t even cum yet for us and already going dumb?” kuroo teased, planting a kiss just behind your ear, a shocking contrast to the way oikawa’s tongue worked against you just right.

the air around you was so thick you felt as if it could be cut with a knife. some of the guys surrounding you couldn’t figure out what to do with themselves, nervously shuffling their feet without taking your eyes off of you. others had clearly overcome any former shame, already slowly pumping their cocks in their hands as they hoped and prayed that they would get a turn soon. the whole scene made you feel so dirty— so wanted. the desire that leaked from their looks on you had your orgasm approaching faster than ever.

oikawa seemed to have noticed this, using his thumbs to spread your folds apart to make sure you felt him deep, muttering a quick “cum on my fucking mouth, princess.” the simple phrase alone made your orgasm crash down on you finally. your fingers tangled in his soft hair, which was now messy and tossed thanks to you.

you nearly passed out right there when he continued to lick you clean even as you violently shook in kuroo’s grasp, the black haired boy having to shove the other away forcefully just to separate his mouth from you. “that’s enough of that. did he make you feel good baby?” your eyes are still shut as you cling onto the leftover bliss, only offering a quiet “mhm.” “good girl. think you can give us another?” the question was clearly rhetorical, which should’ve been clear by the was he was already gesturing someone else forward. but still, you shook your little fucked out head ‘no’ and prayed upon some god that he’d have mercy on your poor quivering cunt.

but you knew better than to expect mercy from kuroo of all people. especially when it came to your body, when he kept whispering to you about how you were such a “perfect little toy,” and his “favorite doll to use.” before you knew it sakusa was diving into your pussy quickly without giving you time to do so much as muster up the energy to open your eyes again. his mouth was quick and desperate to get you off, moving with a sense of urgency as his hands busied themselves palming at his covered dick. he wasn’t nearly as precise or experienced as oikawa was, but his eagerness made up for it as he ate you out like a starved man.

your hips threatened to buck against his face wildly, cries of “please, please, please” falling from your mouth even though you didn’t even know what you were begging for. all you knew was that you needed more than what he was giving you right now. the man above you seemed to have read you like an open book once again as he released one of your thoughts to reach a hand around to your sensitive bud, pressing down on it softly. “see this?” he murmured, only receiving a small “hm.” in acknowledgement as omi continued his assault on your little hole. greedy fuck. “try touching her here. she loves that shit.” you cried out for more again, clenching tightly at the way he spoke of your body as if you weren’t even there.

the second sakusa tore himself away from your folds to wrap his lips around your clit, you were a goner for sure. there was a distant scream that you didn’t even recognize as your own until kuroo muffled them with his hand, body twitching and jerking more than it had the previous time. the room fell to a sudden silence even as you came down from your high, causing you to let out a confused hum.

kuroo’s chuckle broke the quietness, his large hand slapping your wet overstimulated mound and making you yelp. “didn’t know you were a squirter, baby. how come you didn’t do this for us the first time hm?” another rhetorical question. his hand trailed down lower, collecting some of your juices before he began to prod a finger at your other hole. “fuck- gonna let me bury myself in here again? want both of your holes fucked out?” and you couldn’t help but cry out because fuck yes! you couldn’t think of anything you’d want more. you nodded your head and panted like a sex craved mutt, and perhaps you would’ve been as humiliated as you were before if you weren’t so damn thirsty for it. every inch of you was begging to be ravished and destroyed, and you couldn’t help but grow more and more impatient as the time passed.

kuroo didn’t take his eyes off of you as he nodded towards the crowd once again, sakusa taking the hint and reluctantly scurrying off to palm at himself through his sweatpants just as he previously had. kuroo’s command must’ve been unclear though, as both of you were pulled away from your eye contact at the sound of a comical bonk followed by two grunts of “ow.” perhaps you would’ve laughed if the two aforementioned fools weren’t kneeling in front of your drenched pussy, ready to service you eagerly just as the other two had.

a chill ran up your spine as you surveyed each of their features. while both of them shared the same underlying expressions of lust and desperation, you couldn’t help but note how bokuto’s face resembled one of an excited puppy dog that perhaps would’ve been adorable in another circumstance while terushima’s was much more primal. “look at that” kuroo’s voice in your ear dragged you back out of your own head as he slowly sunk another finger into your tight ass. just because he was going to treat you like a whore didn’t mean you didn’t deserve prep. “making a fool out of themselves, all because they’re so desperate to get a taste of that perfect pussy. doesn’t that make you feel filthy?”

kuroo couldn’t do anything but shake his head at your lack of response, finally releasing your thighs for a moment to grab at both of their napes, silently demanding for you to hold them open yourself. “well? since you’re both so impatient, think you two can work together as a team? if i hear her complain even one time, i’m not letting either of you touch again.”

the two of them nodded obediently, and your eyes nearly rolled back at how demanding kuroo was being right now. it was clear that everyone knew who was truly holding the ropes here, and yet no one was complaining about the arrangement. seemingly satisfied with their responses, kuroo released their necks and his hands smacked yours away so he could replace them and hold up your thighs himself once again. “think you’re ready to take my cock now in here, y/n?” he smirked as he lined himself up. “gonna let me fuck this ass while you let both of them eat that slutty pussy? such a dirty girl. so fuckin’ good for us” he continued to spew filth at you as he lined himself up at your entrance, allowing you to sink down slowly.

you hissed at the stretch, but of course didn’t have much time to focus on the sensation because bokuto and terushima had finally decided that they’d been waiting for long enough. they worked diligently, the cool metal of teru’s tongue piercing flicking against your bud while bokuto slurped on your juices so loudly that the sound filled the room in the most embarrassing way possible.

yeah. you were in for it tonight.

sorry for mistakes or inconsistencie. requests for bnha and haikyuu are open.

[shorkbrian]

Shouto, but as a pleasure dom

(Warnings - overstim (like a LOT), dubcon/noncon (implied, but it’s there), penetration (oh shidd get it shouto), oral (heck he rlly be getting up in there) (and frick idk what else lmk if I missed sumn)

You barely even knew where you were.

A bed was beneath you, that was a fact you were confident in.

There was a fireplace in the room, wood crackling gently, firelight dancing shadows onto the ceiling, the ceiling your unfocused eyes were looking towards.

You were shivering, but not from cold. The room was warm, almost too warm, sweat on your temples, heat trapped in your stomach.

A hand was splayed on your stomach, slender, large. It was warm too, almost burning, matching the sizzling sensation beneath your skin.

It was holding you down, keeping you flush to the bed.

Shouto was kneeled between your legs, your lower half pulled to the edge of the bed. He had your legs over his shoulders, his warm palm smoothed over your stomach to keep you in place. His other hand was entwined with one of yours, grip icy, burning your fingers with cold.

His mouth was working at your cunt, relentless and excruciatingly pleasant, tongue quickly lapping at your folds, then swirling around your clit before dipping lower to plunge inside your entrance.

“Sho-tou, Sh-ah! Ah! Ohmygod wait, shout-O!”

No matter how you moved, his mouth followed you, sucking, pulling your pleasure from you. The man had already made you cum countless times, you couldn’t even remember at this point, body flushed and buzzing with overstimulation.

Still, the pleasure built up again, settling low in your stomach, your clit throbbing, tingling with each rapid flick of his tongue.

The sounds that were being made were absolutely filthy; wet smacks, sucking noises, slurping, lewd squelches and suckling as he worshiped your cunt with his tongue. It felt so good it hurt, making you cry, hips working desperately to pull away, even though there was no escape.

“Please, oh... It feels-feels-! It’s too much Shouto oh my gOD-!”

Another orgasm tore through your body, limbs convulsing, hand squeezing Shouto’s icy palm in a death grip as you wailed.

The man didn’t stop slurping at your cunt.

He was as he always is - steady, measured, relentless in pursuit of his goals.

And his goal right now was to make you cry and scream his name.

Another pass of his tongue, this time with it flattened out completely to drag slowly over your folds. The tip of his tongue hit your clit as he pulled back, and your legs jerked, a desperate whine bubbling out of your throat.

He dove back in after a quick breath, kissing around your lower lips, tongue flicking out to tease your sensitive, dripping hole. When he thrust it inside, you squeaked at the sensation, hips twitching. You could feel Shouto’s smile, feel the flash of his teeth pressed against your skin, the stretch of his cheeks.

Honestly, his determination was a bit frightening. You were sure your thighs were wrapped around his head tight enough to make it hard to move, yet the man worked with ease, drawing back to spit on your cunt, leaning close again to attack his mouth around your clit and suck.

Another orgasm had you thrashing in his hold, crying out, begging for Shouto to wait, stop, too much.

Pleasurable, painful minutes passed as he worked you up to cum again, pussy throbbing and soaked with slick and his saliva.

After making you cum again, Shouto finally relented, pulling away with a wet snack of his lips.

“You’re delectable. Wish you’d let me taste you more.” You both knew that he would take you whenever he saw fit, whether or not you were in the mood.

Most of the time, he was decent, listening when you said no, or told him not to touch.

Other days, he was akin to a bratty child, brow furrowing when you tried to refuse him, eyes hardening. He’d stride towards you with his long legs, and there was no escape. Those days, “no” wasn’t an appropriate answer.

Today was one of those days.

“Why do you taste so good.” He half-moaned, quickly diving back between your legs to give one last, messy lick.

“ShoUTO PLEASE!” You yelled, clit buzzing, skin burning with every sensation. Even his hand on your belly was too much.

“I’m sorry dear, I just can’t help myself sometimes.” He breathed, once again composed and poised as he kneeled between your legs.

Shouto let go of you hand, rising to his feet. The sight of his clothes form reminded you that your body was entirely bare. You probably looked a mess, hair disheveled, dried sweat sticking to your skin under new droplets, limbs trembling, body flushed.

Shouto began unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never once leaving you.

“Absolutely breathtaking.” He murmured, more to himself than you.

You were exhausted, couldn’t even hold yourself up. You let your legs drop, feet resting limply against the floor, body relaxing into the bed. You hoped with every fiber of your being that Shouto was undressing only to help you shower, then you could flop back into bed and sleep forever.

You knew that wasn’t going to happen - it never did.

His shirt came off, then his pants, and finally his boxers. You still shrank under his relentless gaze, and while you knew he was appraising you with love and wonder, your insecurities couldn’t help but rear their heads.

It was hard to listen to insecurities when Shouto was wringing orgasm after orgasm from your spent body. You suppose that’s why he’s like this.

The man had such a beautiful body, sticky legs, thick in build, but slender in their muscles appearance. A defined, softly muscled torso, and strong arms. His pretty face, always seemingly calm and passive, only changing when he was really upset, or lost in the throes of passion and pleasure. Shouto was pretty all over, really, with his smooth skin, manicured nails, the soft, silken strands of his dual-colored hair.

Even his cock was pretty, a soft pink color, thick, but not alarmingly so. Veins ran along the shaft, the glans defined and well-proportionaed compared to the rest of his length.

Shouto was pretty all over, and you felt woefully inadequate. He could have anyone he wanted, anyone, yet he made you hold his heart.

He was climbing onto the bed, gently manhandling until he had you pulled into his lap, your back pressed against his chest. He was propped up by pillows, half-leaning against the headboard so he had unfettered access to every inch of your body.

His cock was resting along your slit, slightly wet at the top, pulsing. It felt uncomfortable - every time it pulsed it would move ever so slightly, and barely feather across your sore clit.

Shouto didn’t let you rest for long, two of his fingers quickly sucked into his mouth before brought down to your pussy, pushing his cock away from your body so his hand could easily cup your sex.

“Just relax now, I’ve got you.”

And his fingers slipped inside, reaching past the places his tongue had explored, proving deeper and deeper. They rubbed tantalizingly at your walls, making you squirm, before slowly beginning to thrust in and out, gently fucking your sloppy cunt.

“Just like that. You’re perfect, so good to me.” Shouto pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

His free hand came around your chest to softly cup one of your breasts, rolling the nipple under his thumb. Your back arched under his ministrations, but he held you firm against his chest. You could feel his rapid heartbeat.

Funny, how he could act so calm, but be falling apart inside.

His fingers grazed against a spot inside of you that had your toes curling, your mouth dropping open.

“No, no Shouto please, it’s too much. I’ve already-you’ve already-please, no more.” You were breathless, twisting in his hold.

Shouto didn’t let up.

“Just a few more.” He murmured in your ear. “I know you can. I’m making you feel so good, you’re lovely.”

You gasped as his fingers inside of you sped up, forcefully hitting that spot over and over again, making you whine.

It felt good, but it was too much, too soon.

The orgasms he had pulled from you with his mouth had been quick, hard, left your lungs heaving and your hips twisting to get away.

This orgasm hit you like a train, appearing out of nowhere, completely overwhelming you.

You were left wheezing, clawing at Shouto’s arms, kicking your legs - but that only made it worse, jostling his fingers inside of you.

Shouto still didn’t stop fingerpicking you, wrist twisting.

You started to cry, slowly at first, then harder when you realized he was still going, forcing you to endlessly orgasm, cunt pulsating as it drooled around his skin fingers.

“Pl-ease! Shouto n-no moreee...” you sobbed, breath hitching.

The man merely kissed your ear, his hand never stopping. You could feel him peering over your shoulder, watching his hand flick as his fingers fucked into you. Watching the violent trembling of your body, the convulsions of your stomach as you were brought over the edge again and again, each orgasm taking longer to reach than the last one.

You couldn’t feel your legs anymore. You barely even knew what was happening anymore.

It was barely registered when his fingers slipped free of your cunt. Your hole was clenching around nothing, insides buzzing, almost number from the overstimulation. You might’ve been hyperventilating, but you were too far out of it to tell, barely aware of your own body, mind listlessly floating between nonsense thoughts.

“Look at you, did so well for me. Your body is incredible.” Hands, one cold, one warm (and wet) trailed along your sides, occasionally pausing to gently squeeze your flesh reassuringly.

You hated how he did this, made you stupid and broken with pleasure, brought you back to conscious thought, then ruined you all over again.

Still faintly sobbing, you weakly batted at his hands, unable to express with words how sensitive you were. Plus, it was gross, his own hand rubbing your own cum all over your skin.

He was kissing your neck, your hair, nibbling sweetly at your ear, whispering praises and compliments.

Shouto had been so rough the first time, desperate, needy. He had left bruises on your hips, hands grabbing too tightly at your flesh, his teeth forming vicious bite marks on your neck and collarbone as he tried to stifle his noises when he fucked into you. At some point he had been babbling, mad with the sensation of pumping your swollen cunt, rambling about how soft, how warm, how pliant your body was.

In a way, his gentleness could hurt more.

Hands gripped his pink cock, easily running it through your slick folds. You let the tip bump against your clit, smiling into your neck when you jumped, revoking back into his naked chest.

Shouto guided his tip to your entrance, holding himself in place as he slowly canted his hips up, sheathing himself into your warmth.

With a low groan, he stilled, fully inside you. You shook in his hold, clutching nervously at the hands no longer holding his cock, but now holding your hips.

He helped you move, easily using his strength to fuck you along his cock, breathing hotly against your neck as he sunk in and out of your tight sleeve. You were confused by the signals your brain was sending. Did it feel good? Did it hurt? We’re you numb? The physical feelings all meshed together, but it was easier to just hang onto Shouto-a hand in his hair, another hand braced against his thigh-than to think.

The man fucked you steadily, hot cock drilling into your dripping pussy without pause, a rhythmic schlick schlick schlick reaching your ears.

You were crying again, shuddering sobs that deprived your lungs of air, that made your head hurt, that blurred your visions Shouto noticed, lifting a hand to wipe away a few tears, but never once stopping his hips.

It wasn’t long before his pace picked up, cock working into you quick and fast. Your brain wasn’t confused anymore - each thrust hurt, but in the best kind of way, rubbing at your insides.

Shouto was moaning now, breathless, talking to you in a gentle tone that contrasted sharply with his half-frantic movements

“So-unh-tight and wet, oh fuck, you feel so heavenly. Sweet little girl, always what I need. Always there for me.”

You turned your head, crying into Shouto’s sweaty neck, unable to focus your eyes. It was so much, too much, and you couldn’t handle it.

“Want to make you feel good, need to-ohhhhh. Your tiny cunt always takes my cock so well, makes me cum so much. You’re just made for me, aren’t you? Sloppy little pussy, made for me to-oh fuck, fuck!” It was rare to hear him swear. The man continued “-Made for me to eat, made for me to touch, made for me to pound into. You’re mine, only mine.”

He was growling now, cock rabbiting into you so fast that you were making little noises on every thrust, little “ah, ah, ah!”’s that made your face flush with shame.

Shouto was suprisingly lewd with his mouth once he was turned on enough, his normally quiet and reserved persona crumbling underneath a horny mess of a man.

“You’re sucking me in, want me to cum?” The questiona as rhetorical-he was going to cum anyways-but still you nodded, face still hidden in his neck.

“Yeah? Yeah? Ohh, you have to cum too-“ you wailed, desperately against the thought of having to go though another orgasm.

“No, you do as I say, sweet little girl.” Shouto admonished, his angle changing slightly as he shifted his hips. “We’re not done until you cum. One more time, just for me.”

You frantically shook your head, gasping for breath, too fucked out to say anything. Shouto was breathing so hard, hissing between his teeth, grunting with the effort of keeping his horribly rapid pace.

A hand slipped down to your cunt, and you screamed when his fingers found your abused clit. “Shouto! No, ah-please! Stop, oh stop-mmmmm!!! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-“

“You can.”

Shouto hissed, furiously rubbing at your clit with three fingers, punishing the little nub.

You came to in the shower, Shouto’s arms around you as a gentle spray of water washed over you.

The man noticed as you stirred, his arms immediately tightening around you as he pressed a loving kiss to your cheek. “Hello, I missed you.”

Blearily, you watched his hands move as he slowly washed you off, dragging a washcloth gently over your shoulders.

He was perceptive, knew your lower half was too sensitive still to even be touched, much less cleaned.

You stayed in the shower for a long while, Shouto humming some unknown tune as he cleaned the both of you.

You didn’t fight when he carried you back to the (now fresh, had he changed the sheets?) bed.

Nor when he tucked you under the covers, crawling to your side to lie close.

You just watched the flames of the fire, watched them dance over the logs, consuming the wood.

Fire was so destructive. Even when it tried to love, it only burned and destroyed.

[ronnieiswriting]

BY DORNE PART 3

F!reader x Oberyn Martell No descriptive terms for reader, no use of y/n, EXPLICIT, ongoing

Part 1 Part 2

Important: set WELL before the events in Game of Thrones/ Book one of ASOIAF- King Aerys Targaryen is on the throne, Elia Martell is alive, Ellaria Sand is not in the picture (yet?) and Oberyn doesn’t have any daughters yet. As for the universe this is set in, Each major house (Starks, Tyrells, Arryns, Martells etc) are the families that run each region of Westeros but with a 70s backdrop instead of a high fantasy one.

The reader is Oberyn’s favourite arm piece- one he brings to lots of events. He’s known as the hungriest of all the Martells and he likes to prove that to anyone who might question that, therefore, its no secret that Oberyn has had a number of partners and sometimes multiple at once, men and women. Insatiable appetite aside, Oberyn hasn’t enjoyed spoiling any girl as much as he does you, and he’s set on keeping you around for as long as you can keep up with him.

TAGS!!: female masturbation (descriptions, references, partner watches), subtle power play, 70s circle beds, crotchless romper, lots of praise, implied oral f receiving, other sex acts implied/ referenced, feelings, a little bit of angst at the end. ENJOY (if I missed any tags pls let me know!!)

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

If you had expected any other words to be the first from your lover’s mouth the second he found you- after almost two months apart- you would've been disappointed. The first thing he had done, however, was pull you to him eagerly and greet your starved lips with a searing kiss. When you had separated only for the necessity of air, Oberyn had started remapping your body with his hands as if he had forgotten it in his absence.

You hummed against him, arms circling around his neck where his dark curls brushed against your skin. It had gotten longer since he had been away- you wondered if he planned to get it cut soon. “I missed you.” you told him, drawing in a breath of his cologne.

Oberyn groaned. “Honey, did you touch yourself?” His hands climbed up further, thumbs brushing against the sides of your breasts.

You nodded. “Of course I did. I missed every bit of you with every part of me.”

His brow creased in response. The world forgotten, Oberyn led you in the direction of his room. “How many times.”

You weren’t oblivious to the power you had over the man currently attacking your neck with desperate lips, and you couldn’t deny its effect on you- his effect on you- a welcome kind of intoxication. You gave him an answer, “I lost count.”

He nodded against you, lips dragging and stubble catching across your skin when he looked away to fumble with door handles. After he cursed them for sticking, he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’ll forget all about your fingers when I’m done with you.”

When he finally got the double doors open it was you that pulled him inside, slamming one shut again by shoving his back against it and the other with a kick.

He looked at you differently then- still like an animal of course- for you had never known the hunger running deep in his pitch black eyes to ebb its flow. But this look came when you would reach out and touch the power you had. And nothing needed to be said, no words to acknowledge the truth- the way Oberyn looked at you let you know exactly how he felt about you seizing power.

The hardening length of him pressing against the inside of your thigh also got the message across without spoken language.

You leaned into the sensation and ran a hand up his chest, along the thick chain of his heirloom necklace. Dropping your voice only slightly, you said “Why don’t I show you?”

Oberyn was leaning forward so far on the vanity stool that you were almost sure he’d fall off it and get a mouthful of the brightly coloured shag rug that covered one side of the room. He watched intently as you draped yourself over his circle bed, pulling back the sheer curtain on your way in a manner you hoped was seductive.

Since you knew Oberyn was coming back that day, you’d made a point to wear one of his favourite pieces- a slinky, lace romper with only a few skimpy panels of silk. Though, what he liked about it most (other than the way it barely brushed the tops of your thighs- and the fact that it was sinfully crotchless) was the colour; not the typical warm orange or bright yellow that the Martell’s so famously covered everything in. You were like a beacon in the room as soon as you took off the earth-toned dress you were wearing, capturing the man before you as he drank in the sight of the romper- rich, royal purple.

He had muttered something that sounded remarkably like an old Dornish verse at the garment, swallowed, and restrained himself to the seat where he adjusted himself shamelessly.

Once you had gotten situated against the pile of velvet cushions set up against the arched bedhead, you stretched for effect, reaching high so he’d get a good view of the way your pert nipples peaked against the fabric. Seeking the rush from his response, you looked at him through your lashes and let out the faintest of moans.

His full lips tugged up at that, edging impossibly closer to the foot of the bed. You found yourself wondering how he would look kneeling for you… another time, you thought.

When he smiled fully, you were unable to resist mirroring it. “Go on, baby.” he said, voice strained with admiration. “Show me how you missed me.”

You obliged him, edging a hand down between your legs that you parted wide for your man to see. When you reached your uncovered sex, your eyes locked onto Oberyn’s as you spread yourself open with your fingers and felt the wetness that had began to gather there. It started slowly, your digits easing the anticipation into a low pressure that made your entire body relax further into the plushness of the bed.

He praised the sight, “That’s it, honey.” and you agreed with a lazy hum.

For a few minutes, you were content with the languid pace at which you teased yourself, running fingers up and down your slit and coating your lips with your arousal. Sufficient pressure built, you tilted your hips towards him and pulled one fingertip over your clit. The pleasure was instantaneous but you resisted throwing your head back in favour of maintaining eye contact with the man at the end of the bed. You noticed that he had scooted the chair forward and contorted himself to be eye-level with your cunt, elbows on his knees, one thumb tracing his bottom lip as he drank you in. He began to compliment you again, “Sweet honey, you look so-” but you cut him off when you moaned his name- circling the bud again to the sound of his voice catching. Before you could hold back the flutter of your eyes at the sensation, you saw the devilish smirk that took to Oberyn’s lips. He repeated the sentiment slower this time and complete, matching each word to the tempo of your fingers, “Sweet, sweet honey. You look so fucking gorgeous.”

It was then that you were suddenly, painfully aware that the man who was so good at pleasing you was so close to you and yet wasn’t touching you- not his hands nor his lips or his cock. His tender words were nowhere near your ear and they weren’t kissed into your skin- it was as if he had become the presence you imagined when he was away. And while the both of you were so clearly enjoying the dynamic, it was an intense thing to act out what you had done to imitate his affections in front of him. There was a rush to it- something exciting about showing him how you could superficially replace him- and the powerful feeling you got out of it easily outweighed the frustration of not having him between your legs right then.

Oberyn seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. You coaxed yourself closer to release with one digit slipping just inside every few swipes. You could hear him through it, his voice harmonising with each breathy moan from you and it sounded like he was repeating phrases- thanking the gods for what he was witnessing, cursing himself for not coming back sooner, praising you, encouraging you- and you could tell he was dying to touch himself.

Though you had intended to watch him the whole time, your eyes kept rolling with the effort to chase a climax. Looking at him again, you could’ve pounced on him- he had shifted upright and was working idly at the buttons on his shirt, never taking his eyes off you. He noticed the way your attention drew to the tent in his pants because you showed your appreciation by wetting your lips and arching your back, fingers never stopping.

You moaned his name again and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to touch myself. To think I’d come in my hand when your pussy is right in front of me- now that would be an insult.”

You replied without thinking, “You don’t have to come- you--” you paused to squirm, finding a better angle, “You could just stroke yourself a bit?” You were offering him the chance to even the dominance, maybe even take all of it. You’d let him.

It was a vain effort and a suggestion he refused entirely. “If I’m going to make you forget about your fingers- I need to see what they can do, right? I need to know what I’m up against.” He returned to his previous position, chain swinging heavily into his bare chest, hands locked together on his knees and gaze set on your dripping centre. “Don’t let up, sweetness, okay.”

His words encouraged you to go faster still and you moaned louder. When you started to thrust two fingers inside yourself everything felt enhanced. Your feet slid against the sheet as you struggled to ground yourself through the rapidly increasing intensity and your gasping breath turned into a string of words, “Gods, Oberyn- I missed you so much.” and “Did this every night- in every room.” A feat you exaggerated a little- Oberyn’s mansion was a relatively small building next to the Martell manor but it couldn’t be called humble. Your whole body started to burn when you told him how you missed his cock.

He didn’t hesitate to rouse you further, telling you how much he missed you- namely, “Your sweet cunt…” You lost sight of him when your head finally fell completely back into the mass of pillows but his voice rang equally insistent and lustful. “You’re my best girl, honey.” he said as you continued to tightly swirl your clit. “My sweet lover- that’s it, baby- so good for me.”

Tantalizingly close now, you reached under the romper to flick your nipples, squeezing because you desperately craved the same level of stimulation he’d so often saturate you with. Chasing that feeling further, you tried to hit your clit with the thumb of the same hand you fucked yourself on but you couldn’t.

For a second you almost gave up and asked him to help you come- add a finger- anything. But he got you there before you could even get out a word or a pleading moan. Oberyn’s praises came again and he practically begged you to come for him. “Come for me so I can make you come again and again. Let me prove that I missed you... Come so I can fuck you so good you forget the entire world--”

Your climax came out with a choked sob and in a white hot flash that drained all the feelings in your body. All of you went limp but your chest heaved in the air. The bliss was incredible and well-earned but there was so much more to be had.

With the little energy you could muster, you beckoned to him with the same fingers you pulled from yourself. They were still glossy with your slick but barely had the chance to cool in the air as Oberyn’s lips quickly latched around your fingers. His tongue swirled to devour your spend and hungry hands roamed over your tired thighs that trembled in the aftershock.

Kissing your knuckles once he had licked you clean, he moved the same hand to the crown of his head and encouraged you to grab hold. He gave your other hand the same treatment before he moved his lips over your thighs, massaging the tension from them with the pads of his fingers. “My turn.” he mumbled into your skin.

By the time Oberyn had proved himself better than your fingers, the sky was beginning to turn purple with dawn. When he had found you that day it had been just after 10pm.

Somehow, though, whether due to miraculous pacing or because neither of you had so recently exerted yourselves, you and Oberyn were still wide awake. He emerged from between your thighs again- this time without a heavy pant or a shiny chin- with a washcloth in his hand. Coming up to sit back fully on his knees, he unashamedly looked you over.

The purple romper had been folded down around your waist and you were sure one of the straps were broken from the force it had been yanked down with. He smirked proudly at the number of hickies he had left all over your skin as many of them would be seen regardless of what you wore. “You look good.” he said.

Oberyn was quite a sight himself. When he removed himself from the bed to return the cloth to his ensuite, you admired the way his skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat. His hair stuck out in every direction and before he disappeared behind the doorway, he rolled his shoulders and neck with a happy groan. You called out to him, “You make me look good.” Then, put off by the feeling of the lace against you, you kicked off the romper fully and stretched back out on the bed.

He replied, “I don’t agree with a single word of that, baby.”

When he came back into the room, you couldn’t help but admire the almost comical way in which he had shrugged on his favorite robe but not bothered with affording himself any more modesty in it than he had completely naked. You took the opportunity to ogle him openly, proud of the marks you had left on him and he wasted little time in crossing the room again to rejoin you on the bed. When he had gotten comfortable situated between your legs, this time on his back, with his head resting on your stomach and arms slung over your thighs, Oberyn looked up at you fondly. “I do think I proved myself though.”

“To who?”

That smug smile returned, “Well, to you.” Then he looked to think on it for a moment, pondering as his fingers drew half-thought images across the skin of your thigh. “Proved that I’m still good enough for you.”

You didn’t even bother to hold back from rolling your eyes. “You know that’s ridiculous, Oberyn.”

Oberyn nodded, warm eyes drooping before closing softly. “Mmhmm” he hummed.

It settled like that for a while. You stroked his hair, drawing more relaxed hums from him while a question started bubbling up in your mind.

You pushed it aside for a different one, “Why don’t we do something tomorrow?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid.” He sighed, “Doran wants me to come in first thing to review some clause in the trade documents with Lys- something about a weird shipment- it's all very complicated really. I’m sure he’ll find a way to keep me there longer too and spring more papers on me or something.” When he finished the silence started to sting. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I’d love to-”

You refused to let him get to the “but” in that sentence, “It’s okay--really! I mean we just did a lot… Maybe later in the week?”

Oberyn kissed your hand. He was visibly relieved of the tension diffusing between you.“You got it, honey.”

Oberyn left about an hour later, giving you a tender kiss on the forehead and the promise of “soon”. The warm spot beside you and the marks on you were the only tangible signs that Oberyn had even been there at all and you lamented the fact that they too would be quick to flee as the rest of him had.

You hated to pout but it was easy when your lover had barely spent a day with you before being snatched away again by something more important. Important, demanding or serious -any similar word- was more so because you were relatively less. You- unlike business or politics or events- could wait on his bed all day and night for his return.

Ultimatums weren’t known to be answered romantically every time. And you swore to yourself that you’d never force him to choose. Nevertheless, the seed of doubt had been planted and the casualness of your relationship with Oberyn nurtured it against your better judgement.

You stewed over these thoughts long into the morning, staring up at the canopy butt-naked.

He had told you something before he left for King’s Landing two months ago that you remembered suddenly. “... you are the reason I am going to rush back to Dorne.”, the unspoken idea there being that he would value your company above the general comfort of familiarity. You had almost told him then how you felt about him, but a nagging feeling had told you to hold it in and now you had to suffer under the weight of more doubts and insecurities.

Maybe if you had, he would have been able to clear up half of the doubts you were festering over- maybe he would have said he loved you too. It was a selfish thought but irresistible all the same and you were too quickly lulled into indulging in it.

[op-peccatori]

A Good Master (M) | IkeVamp Theo

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire 

Pairing: Theodorus Van Gogh/Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 3100

Summary: It’s been a long week of living in a mansion where most of the residents can tell when things get steamy between you and Theo, and he whisks you away to get some much-needed privacy.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, explicit language, very minor ass play, minor humiliation, my poor attempts at degradation (I’m soft ok??), minor pet play, very minor, established relationship, Theo’s furry behaviour x 100

a/n: wait. do these vampires have enhanced hearing? I can’t remember lmao. For the sake of this, they do, pls play along. but anyway. this came to me last night and Theo made me write it. half-tempted to tag it as crack because I was cry-laughing at some of the parts

this one’s for you, Faa <3 aka the Queen who guided me into the trap known as Thirst for Theo. 

Dating one of the residents of the mansion, while you both live in said mansion, can be a tad difficult at times.

Mostly for your sex life. 

You do slip up sometimes; sneaking quick kisses in the library only to be interrupted by Leonardo, or being walked in on by Vincent when you’re still asleep in his brother’s bed. 

Having had enough of Arthur’s teasing after he caught you in the kitchen with Theo’s hand up your skirt, your boyfriend came up with an idea. If you have the time, and the opportunity, if you’re both done with work a little earlier–he whisks you away to the city, or if you’re already there, you just stay back for the night. 

“Every couple needs time to themselves,” Comte had agreed, failing to smother his knowing smile.

The hotel he chose for it was owned by a friend, and rather luxurious–unnecessarily so. But pointing it out to Theo only motivated him to show you why he picked the place. It was a short walk from the heart of the city, and the building itself was newer, the path leading up to it lit up with small lamps. The forest behind the hotel reminds you of the view from the mansion.

And there were fewer occupants. Thicker walls. He always requested a room at the far end of a hallway, preferably one with no neighbours. Not always possible, but it was better than being surrounded by people with enhanced hearing.

You suspect Theo’s just afraid of Vincent asking questions he would rather not answer. 

After all, what would his innocent brother think if he barged in to see his baby brother sprawled in an armchair, cheek resting on his palm as he watches you. You, in position on the floor, kneeling by his feet, your leather collar snug around your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but your cheeks still heat up when you see the wicked smirk curling along his mouth. 

Neither of you would ever want Vincent to see this.

The collar and your panties are the only clothing he allowed you this time. You’re thankful for the lit fireplace, but not surprised because Theo would never risk you falling sick on his watch. 

He leans forward at the waist, and your heart beats faster as you watch his face come closer, before meeting him halfway. Your senses are overtaken by the sweet spice of his scent and the taste of his tongue on yours, your eyes fluttering at the slow sweep of it within your mouth. He plunders the wet heat like a man determined to own every inch of you.

Your fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, battling the urge to touch him.

He pulls away, panting, and places a hand on the top of your head, stroking gently. “I’ve been waiting to see you like this. You’ve been such a disobedient hondje lately, it’s like you want me to punish you.” 

Ocean blue eyes, vivid in their intensity, study your rosy cheeks, and the way you avert your eyes, refusing to meet them. 

“What, now you’re too scared to even look at me?” He taps under your chin. “What a cowardly bitch.” 

At this, you glare at him. 

“What’s that look for? You mad at me?” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you shiver at the glint of approval part in his eyes when you part your lips to slip it into your mouth. You shake your head furiously, your tongue flicks at the pad of his thumb. “No?” 

Releasing his thumb, you lean forward to rest your head on his knee, looking up at him from under your lashes as you rub your cheek against the soft material of his pants. “No, Master.” 

Still embarrassing, but you know you’ve said the right thing when his mouth twitches, as if fighting a smile, and he returns to stroking your hair gently. His approval makes you think you would do anything if it pleased him.

“So you finally want to be a good girl?” 

“I’m always your good girl,” you mumble, petulant as you pout up at him. He laughs, low and sudden, pinching your cheek lightly. 

“That’s a blatant lie, but alright. I’ll give you a treat.” He takes your hand, bringing it to his crotch and you waste no time before unbuttoning his pants, untucking his shirt and lifting his half-hard cock from its confines. Your mouth waters at the sight of the single bead of fluid and you look up at him pleadingly. “But first...stay.” 

Your hand stays where it is, resting on his thigh, your heart racing. 

Theo’s smirk stretches further. 

“Lay down. Good, roll over.” 

You keep your eyes on him, not missing the way his fingers dig into the cushion. Disbelief almost makes you protest, but you meet his eyes and scoot back to lay down on your side, curling up on the wooden floor, before turning over onto your back. 

“Face me. Spread your legs.” You lift onto your elbows to look at him. “No, down. Pull that useless cloth aside and let me see your pretty cunt.” 

You hesitate for a moment, oddly shy as you stare up at the ceiling. 

“Laat me het zien. I won’t ask again.” There’s a note of warning in his tone.

Your feet find purchase on the floor as you slide them apart, reaching down to pull your panties to the side. With your other hand, you delve through your short curls to spread your pussy, allowing him a proper look.

You hear him swallow heavily. “Stay.” The gruffness of his tone makes you smile, satisfaction filling you at the thought of just a look affecting him so much. But then you had just drooled at the sight of his cock yourself.

“Good girl. Now, sit.”

Shame creeps in, not at the way you’re following his commands obediently, but at how damp your panties feel. You sit back on your heels, waiting for his word.  “Alright. Come get your treat.” 

He shifts forward to help you, parting his knees as you crawl in between them, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock as you begin to lick at the head, just the way he likes it. 

His nails scrape lightly against your scalp and your moan around him, taking in the hardening length deeper, his salty essence thick on your tongue.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, amused at your almost enthusiastic sucking as you bob your head languidly. 

You hum in response, pulling off to place soft reverent kisses on wet, silken skin. “This is my favourite treat. Thank you, Master.” 

He does smile at that, his eyes half-lidded and dark. “Anything for my precious hondje. But wait–”

His leg shifts and you freeze with his cock half in your mouth when you feel his toes creep up your inner thigh, tapping your hand where it’s hidden from view, in between your thighs. 

“Are you just saying that to distract me from what you’re really up to?” 

His fingers tighten in your hair, and he’s yanked you back before you can remove your hand from your panties. There’s a triumphant sort of anger in his face as he looks down at your panicked face.

“That’s odd. I don’t remember permitting you to touch yourself.” 

“I-I’m sorry?” you mumble sheepishly. Theo sighs and pulls you up by your hair, standing up to push you into the chair. His hands wrap around your ankles, pushing them aside to drape your legs over the armrests. 

“Are you asking me?” he snaps, and you flinch, trying not to squirm as he peers down at you. A part of you trembles at being so vulnerable and exposed to his ruthless gaze, with your legs akimbo–and for good reason, you think, as you watch him lift his knee, and gasp aloud when he presses the heel of his foot into your clothed mound. “I don’t appreciate you attempting tricks I haven’t taught you myself.” 

“Th-Master!” You whimper when he increases the pressure.

“I think this is all I’ll give you tonight. You don’t deserve any more.” He grinds his heel lightly and your breath hitches in your throat, your hips bucking involuntarily. 

“No, please, please, I’m sorry.” He continues moving his foot and a shameful blush spreads across your skin when you feel yourself grow wetter. “I’ve just been missing you so much. And you forbid me from touching myself all week–I couldn’t help it. I’ll be better, I’m sorry.” 

He removes his foot and slides his hand around the waistband of your panties, tearing them off of you roughly. You can feel your cunt clench pathetically under his gaze, and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Tch. My hondje’s a greedy slut. So wet–you’re just begging for a good, hard fuck, aren’t you?” 

You can’t bring yourself to reply, knowing he’s not wrong. 

“Up. Get up,” he pulls you up, manoeuvring your body until you’re straddling the armrest. “Open your mouth.” 

This time, he slips his cock in your mouth and begins thrusting immediately, his hands on either side of your head. You try to keep your jaw relaxed, and as he slides deeper your hips start rolling into the cushion, the friction feeling wonderful but not quite enough. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, from the way he hits the back of your throat, and your frustration. 

You whine around his length, feeling a hot jolt when he laughs throatily, tilting your head back so you can meet his gaze. Sweat drips down his forehead, his soft brown hair a complete, lovely mess, his bangs sticking to his forehead. He looks half-wrecked as he pushes your hair out of your face, sliding deeper down your throat and as you gag, you can feel a tear escape, gliding down your cheek. 

Frustration marks every desperate breath you try to take as you wrack your brain for anything, anything you can say to get his cock in you. 

“Don’t think too hard,” he teases, pulling his glistening length out of your mouth. He bends down to wrap his arms your waist, lifting you into his arms. Trying to catch your breath, you nuzzle the hollow of his throat as he carries you to the bed, setting you down gently. You face him and sit back on your heels, palms resting on the tops of your thighs. “Look who’s being an obedient girl. Could you get on your hands and knees for me, snoepje?” 

You’re expecting the smooth glide of his palm over your ass when you fulfil his request, the heart locket attached to your collar dangling as you look down, and know better than to say a word when he pats your rump lightly.

“Don’t move.” You’re not sure what he means before he’s nudging your legs wider, and you feel his warm tongue sweep over your aching slit. 

Oh.

Relief spreads through your body when he continues to lap at your pussy, and you know he’s eating messily just so you can hear the lewd sounds. You cry out when you feel him push him two fingers with no warning, sliding them in and out of your wet heat roughly as it keeps squeezing around the digits.

“Sheesh. I’m half-afraid your greedy cunt’s going to swallow my hand whole with how it keeps sucking my fingers in.” His other hand finds the plump flesh of your asscheek, squeezing it before he spreads it. “Looks like it recognizes its owner, hm?” 

Through the cloud of your arousal, you wonder what he’s doing before his clever tongue finds your other entrance, circling the puckered hole skillfully. 

“Th-Theo,” you whine, sparks shooting through your body as your trembling elbows give out, and you fall onto your face. He doesn’t reprimand you, seemingly too focused on pulling your ass back up to his face as he begins to dip his tongue in, his fingers continuing their artful assault within your walls. 

You bury your face in the clean sheets as he keeps you hovering near the edge of pleasure but makes sure not to push you over. He removes his fingers just as your walls begin to flutter and disappointed tears spill over as you close your eyes. 

“Please, please, please,” you continue to chant softly, only to cry out when you feel one of the fingers still coated with your arousal push through your tighter hole. Your back arches when his mouth finds your clit, rolling it deftly between his lips.

Your skin feels hot and prickly, every part of you desperate to come but he just won’t let you. 

“Please, Master, please let me come.” Your words are half-sobbed as he releases your swollen nub. “I’ll be your good girl, I promise.”

“Alright.” 

For a moment, you think you’ve misheard him. But then your eyes are rolling back into your head as he slides in smoothly, and within a second you’re stuffed full of cock and perilously near the edge.

Except, he stays in place, not moving his hips even an inch. 

You push up onto your hands, looking over your shoulders to give him a deeply betrayed look that he only laughs at as he shrugs his shirt off. But his smile his strained, his jaw ticking and his fingers spasming where they’re digging into your hips. 

“I’ve given you your toy. You want me to help you play with it too?” He cocks a wild brow when you look like you’re about to burst into tears. “Do you not know what to do? Fuck yourself on my cock, hondje.” 

For a moment, you wonder what he would do if you push him onto his back and ride him until you get what you want. 

Then you give yourself a mental whack, because you know what he’ll do and you really don’t want to be edged until dawn. It’s been a long enough week. 

So you suck in a deep breath, and begin to move your hips, trying desperately to find a way that’ll give you the right friction. Moving your ass in slow tight circles feels heavenly, and it makes your toes curl. Theo’s just watching you keenly when you sneak a glance, grunting when you squeeze down. 

You know he’s probably desperate to come too. 

“Nice try. Perhaps you could get a drop or two if you squeeze hard enough,” he mocks you, hands smoothing over your back. “Is that all you’ve got?” 

You try. You try and try as you push grind back but it’s not enough and you begin to cry in earnest, anger making your blood pump faster as you press your face into the bed, giving up.

“Hondje?” 

You fingers clench around the sheets and you refuse to respond to this ruthless, mean motherfu–your thoughts are interrupted by a click of his tongue and your view shifting when he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you back into his muscled chest, leaving you seated on his lap. 

“Is my schatje angry?” he murmurs, almost cooing as you refuse to look back at him and give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears. His hold on you tightens–and then he begins to grind his hips up. “We can’t have that.” 

Your anger fades embarrassingly quickly, gets pushed aside by dizzying pleasure with each forceful roll of his hips, and you can’t find it in yourself to protest when he pushes you back onto your hands. This time, to your relief, his hands grip your hips as he thrusts faster, bolstered further by your desperate keening. 

He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, one hand braced next to yours and his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Where do you want your reward?” 

His other hand sneaks under you to grope one bouncing breast, tugging the taut nipple and flicking his thumb over it as you tremble. 

“In-in me...?” you whisper, mouth hanging open as he pounds harder. 

“Louder, liefje.” 

“In me, please. Come in me,” you moan, and his hand moves lower to stroke your lower belly. 

“You want me to fill you up?” 

“Yes!” 

You can nearly hear his smirk when he speaks. “So just getting my dick wasn’t enough, now you want a litter too?” 

“Theo!” you shriek in embarrassment, but then his fingers are between your thighs, rubbing swiftly. Pleasure sinks into every nerve in your body, setting it alight as you wail your relief aloud. He fucks you through it, pressing your head down into the mattress as his pace turns swifter and harder. 

“I’m going to do it now, ___,” he waits for your assenting whimper before licking up the length of your shoulder. Despite it not being the first time, you’re still not completely prepared for the pure, unfiltered pleasure that’s injected into your body when his fangs pierce your skin. Your walls grip him tight once more as you’re thrown into another orgasm, this one leaving you dazed and quaking as Theo keeps sucking, chest rumbling with low groans of pleasure as he swallows your blood. 

A softer moan is muffled by the bedsheets when you feel him falter and shoot his thick seed into your pussy, carefully detaching from your shoulder and pumping his cock until most of it is swallowed up, the rest trickling out immediately. 

“...I don’t think I can move,” you admit after a long moment, and to his credit, Theo doesn’t laugh as he moves to help you shift into a comfortable position. He gives you a moment, stepping into the bathroom to clean himself up, before returning with a damp washcloth and a first-aid kit. 

Your body is still cooling down when he climbs onto the bed, and you groan but lift your head slightly when he unbuckles the collar. He massages the delicate skin of your throat, licking at the inflamed patch, peppering the softest kisses around it before beginning to wipe down your slick skin. 

“I’ve got some food ready if you’re hungry, or we can wash up first, just let me know,” he informs you, pressing his lips to your forehead, pulling you closer.

“...can we wash my hair?” you ask weakly, humming when he kisses your cheeks. 

“I’ll take care of it. Brought your favourite shampoo along.” He curls his body around you, stroke your hair tenderly. His tone turns smug. “I’m a good master, after all.” 

“...just never tell me to pee on you.” He pauses, as if considering it.

“...but what if someone tries to flirt with me? You have to mark your territory–”

“Theo, no.”  

Laat me het zien: let’s see it/let me see it

snoepje: candy/sweet/sweetie

liefje: honey/sweetheart

[illfoandillfie]

can we get A12 from prompt list 3 w/ himbo roger? pls its for my health - ☁️

Apologies that this is a bit late! I always find hypno stuff takes a bit longer, especially since I try and base it on files that already exist. Speaking of this was very much inspired by THIS hypno audio intended for a penis-having audience.

Anyway, did you know that erotic hypno is a whole ass subgenre of phone sex because that’s what I learned today! Also I felt like this scenario screamed hands free orgasm so oop that’s what ya getting

A12: Phone/video sex

After the first day of the conference where you were presenting about the steps your organisation was taking to reduce the rates of homelessness, all you wanted was to talk to Roger. He picked up quickly, sighed a tired hello into the phone, though his tone picked up when he realised it was you.

“I missed you,”

“Rog it’s been like 24 hours since I saw you,”

“Yeah I know. But today was…not great. Kinda just feel like being with you.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, nothing, not important. Tell me about your day, Ms Making-A-Difference,”

“Oh y’know, spent most of the day listening to various people speak. I got to meet some incredible people and learn about some really important work that they’re doing. But it’s honestly not the most thrilling thing in the world. The last session went on for like three hours. My presentation went well though, people seemed to respond favourably. Hopefully the panel tomorrow is just as good.”

“I am so proud of you,”

“Thanks. Now you go, what happened today that’s got you feeling down?” Roger sighed again, “Oh the usual band nonsense. Got into it with Bri about one of his contributions to the new album. It’s dumb and we’ll both be over it by tomorrow but right now I am sick of his shit.”

“Sorry I can’t be there to make you feel better,”

“It’s fine, hearing your voice is enough. Although, there might be something else you can do…Put me under?”

“Over the phone?”

“Why not?”

“I- Will that even work? Normally it’s face to face,”

“Yeah but it’s all about your voice and instructions. Distance shouldn’t matter,”

You considered what he said, ideas of what you could do already forming, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, let’s try. Just give me two minutes to lock the door so we aren’t interrupted,” you set the phone down and headed to the door, slipping your do not disturb hanger onto the outside handle, and then began stripping down to your underwear. Dropping your work clothes into a pile beside your suitcase, you knelt down and began digging through your neatly packed belongings until you located the small vibrator you’d begun travelling with.

 “Okay, back,” you said as you settled against the mattress, “are you comfy?”

“Very. Was already in bed when you called,”

“What are you wearing?”

“Bit cliché,” he laughed, “but um, my PJ pants,”

“Is that all?”

“Well I have undies on too,”

“You wanna change, remove some layers?”

“Slip into something more comfortable?”

“Exactly,” you chuckled, your excitement rising as you heard Roger stand up and remove his clothes.

“Alright, I’m starkers now,”

“Good boy. I was thinking we might play hands free,”

“And what does that mean?”

“Very simply, you’re going to drop for me, down down down, drop into that place you enjoy so much. Nothing to think about. No worries. No thoughts. Just the desire to please…” You’d hypnotised Roger enough times to know what worked for him and what didn’t, though it felt odd to be putting him under without any of the usual visual cues. But his breath was steady and deep and his voice was soft, almost far away, when he responded to your questions. You talked to him for a little longer than you normally would feel necessary, just to make sure everything stuck the way you wanted it to.

“That’s right, nice deep breaths. Now put your free hand over your head so it touches the headboard, okay? And stretch your legs out to the corners of the bed.” Roger hummed acknowledgement and you hoped that meant he’d followed the instruction.

“When I wake you, you wont be able to move your hands or feet. The hand over your head will be tied to the headboard, restrained, keeping you in place on the bed. Your feet will be tied down too, making it impossible to move. Your other hand will be glued to the phone so you can’t move it or touch yourself. You’ll be stuck in place, stuck listening to me, stuck, stuck, stuck. Okay, I’m going to count down from ten now. And when I reach one, you’ll be in such a deep, dumb state, that my words will become your complete and absolute reality. And you’ll feel so good just letting it happen, letting me take control. You’ll be so deep, so deep and dumb, and everything will feel so real. Connecting your mind and your body to my words, bringing you all those pleasurable sensations you are capable of feeling. Ten. Deeper and deeper, dumber and dumber. Nine. Just listening to me, to my voice and my words. Eight. Feeling everything so strongly, believing everything I say. Seven. Down, down, down, deeper and deeper. Six. Letting yourself relax. Five. And letting me take control. Four. Such a nice sensation. Three. Going deeper and deeper down. And the deeper you go, the dumber you are and the better you feel. And the better you feel the deeper you want to go. Two. Letting the cycle take you deeper and dumber and deeper. One.” You snapped your fingers into the receiver, “wake up,”

Roger hummed again.

“Hi baby,”

“Where are you? I can’t see you,”

“Of course not silly. I’m on the phone. I couldn’t be there with you but that doesn’t mean you can’t be my silly little plaything, does it? How do you feel?”

“Oh! Stuck!”

You heard a grunt as Roger tried to break free of his restraints, “Aww, poor boy, all tied up. But you’re turned on my it, aren’t you,”

“Yes,” his voice was soft as if he didn’t want to admit it.

“That’s so good! I want you to be turned on!”

“You do?”

“Such a Dummy. Of course I want you to be turned on. Because I’m going to do something special for you right now. It’s why you’re tied up. I’m going to make you cum and I don’t want you touching yourself and rushing it. You’re going to let me give you a blow job.”

“But…cunt?”

“If you’re good and let me hear how much you like my blowjob, you’ll make me so wet. I love listening to you.”

“Okay,”

“Good boy, I promise it’s going to be so much fun,”

“Now, close your eyes and think about me. Imagine me there with you. Naked. Kneeling between your spread legs. Feel the rope around your wrist and your ankles, really feel it. What’s it like?”

“Umm, tight. Rough. I can’t move. But it doesn’t hurt!”

“I hope not, I want you to feel good. Now, feel my fingers trace a line up your thigh,” Roger let out a small huff of air, “it tickles,”

“Yeah?” you smiled to yourself, happy it seemed to be working, “Feel now as I drag my finger higher up your thigh. Feel every sensation from my touch, slowly creeping up your leg. Feel your skin tingle where I touch you. Warm and wonderful. It’s like my fingers are activating your nerve endings wherever I touch you, making you feel nothing but pleasure. Let yourself feel it, that electrifying tingle running from where I touch you all the way up to your brain. Arousing you.” Roger’s breath came out shakier than before.

“And as my fingers drift up to your stomach, feel the warm trail follow. Across your stomach and then down to your cock. I bet that felt good. My hand, wrapping around your cock. You’re getting hard aren’t you?”

A small whimper, “Yes,”

“Good. I like how you feel, getting stiff in my hand. It turns me on. Makes my cunt wet and my mouth drool.” It wasn’t a total lie either. You weren’t drooling exactly but as you shifted your thighs together you could feel how wet you were. Roger groaned and you heard him shift.

“Uh uh uh, stay nice and still and let me pleasure you. I’m not going to release the ropes that bind you until you’re finished.”

He stilled again with another huff.

“Good boy. Just relax and feel my touch. Feel how hungry I am for your cock as I lower myself between your legs, stroking my hand over you. You look so big and hard in my hand. And that makes me want to taste you even more. Feel my hand move up and down your shaft as I lean in and press a kiss to the tip of your cock. You can feel my breath too, can’t you. My warm breath as I lick my lips, so ready to taste you. I can’t wait any more. I press my tongue to the base of your shaft and lick up to your tip.”

Another noise from Roger, too quiet.

“Let me here you Dummy. Let me hear how good I make you feel as I drag my tongue back down again.”

“Fuck,”

“Good Dummy. I lick back up to your lip again, flick my tongue along the underside of it. And you can feel that, can’t you? I say it so your brain feels it and your cock feels it too. My tongue flicking against you again. And again. Up and down. And again. It’s such a sensitive spot. It feels so good that your cock twitches.”

Roger’s breathing had lost all of the calm rhythm you’d put him under with. It was ragged and heavy as he waited for what you were going to do next, unable to move or speed you up.

“I think your balls need some attention now. My hand moves over your shaft again but you can feel my mouth against your balls. Feel as I kiss you there. A hot, wet kiss. Feel as I run my tongue over them. Enough to drive you crazy with lust. Especially when I suck one of your balls into my mouth. Let me hear you beg for me to suck your cock.”

“Please, please suck my cock. I’m so hard and I want you so bad.”

“You’re so good for me so I’m going to reward you. Feel my lips on your shaft again, leaving more wet kisses all around your cock. And up, up, up. Until I finally put my mouth around the tip of your cock,”

“Oh fuck, thank you,”

“So polite. You feel so much pleasure, just from this. Just my mouth around your tip. But you can feel more. And you do feel more as you watch me slide just that bit further down your cock. Feel how warm and wet my mouth is as I take more of you. Such intense pleasure. But you’re at my mercy now. Tied down for me to use, for me to control. You’re lucky I love sucking your cock. And I do love it. I’m so wet just from having you in my mouth. And you can feel how much I love it by how eagerly I take you. Feel that sucking motion now. Stretching my mouth to take even more of you, even further down your cock. And feel my hands on your hips, grabbing hold of you tight as I take you deeper. Adding to the pleasure.”

Roger’s moans were uninhibited and enthusiastic, and it was more than you could handle without some relief. As quickly as you could without disrupting what he was experiencing, you shuffled down the bed and peeled your knickers off one handed, tracing your fingers along your slit and around your clit.

“You can feel how deep I’m taking you now. Deep enough to choke on you, just a little. Gag around you. Feel my lips drag back up and then all the way back down again. Taking you as far as I can. One hand sliding down to cup your balls, massage them in my palm as I fill my throat with your cock. It feels so good. You’re so close. On the brink of cumming. And then it stops. I pull back off you, let go of you.”

Roger whined down the phone line.

“My mercy, remember. I am so fucking horny right now, so fucking wet. All from sucking you off. But you’re going to lie there, desperate, and listen to me get off before I’ll let you. Feel it as I wrap my lips around your tip again, sucking. And as I suck I get closer to orgasm.” You reached for the vibrator, pressing it to your clit, trying to keep your moan quiet so the next room wouldn’t hear you.

“You can fe-el it when I moan, feel it in your c-cock. Fuck. I sink lower. Suck harder. I’m so close baby,” you couldn’t get any more words out as the vibrator buzzed against you. But Roger was so lost in the sensation it didn’t matter. He believed everything, felt everything just as you described. Your orgasm hit and your hand tightened around the phone, Roger’s whines and harsh breaths audible as you rode it out. You turned the vibrator off and dropped it.

“Christ. You feel me moan again and rise up to your tip once more. Sucking so hard, begging you to fill my mouth with your cum. Cum for me baby.” You knew it had worked by the hitch in his breath and the stuttered moan that followed. “Good boy. Didn’t that feel so good? And now, you can feel yourself relaxing again as the ropes around your wrist and ankles loosen…”

 “Holy shit Y/N,” Roger said softly, half laughing, “You’re an evil genius.”

“Well I wouldn’t say genius. But I am pretty great.”

“I am covered in cum. I don’t think I’ve ever ejaculated quite so much.”

“I think you should document visual proof because I can think of at least two occasions that might have been more. Was it good enough to turn your day around though?”

“Absolutely. I can’t even remember why I felt so shitty.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,”

“Thank you. But it’s getting late, you should probably go to bed since you’ve got to speak again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Plus, you’ll want to have some energy left when I call tomorrow night to return the favour.”

[justlightlysedated]

17. cruore for malex pls 😍

17. cruore - it literally means “flowing blood”

***

Alex storms into the bathroom like a hurricane, not caring who is in his path on his way to the sink.

Michael is washing his hands, looking at his own reflection, but his eyes dart to Alex’s almost as though he can’t help himself.

Alex is washing the blood off his split knuckles, not really paying attention to the blood dripping down from beneath his nose.

Michael bites his tongue down on the question he wants to ask because it’s stupid. He already knows what happened, or well, who happened.

He inhales and shuts the water off, shaking his hands, and then patting them dry on his jeans before he turns to Alex, who is still cleaning his hands with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“I-” Michael starts and stops when his voice cracks and Alex darts a look at him out of the corner of his eye.

Michael clears his throat and tries again.

“I have a first aid kit if you don’t want to go to the nurse.”

Alex catches his gaze in the mirror and just stares at him for a second in suspicion, before he nods his head once, wincing.

Michael tugs his bag off, and opens it up, digging through clothes and books to find the small, beat up off white box with the faded red cross at the front.

It’s cracked, and doesn’t close properly without the rubber band surrounding it, but everything inside is new.

Michael balances the kit on the edge of the sink before he closes his bag and sets it by his feet.

He opens the kit, sliding the rubber band around his wrist for safekeeping and pulls out cotton gauze to help staunch the bleeding.

He looks to Alex mouth open to ask him if he’d like an icy cool strip to tape to his nose to prevent swelling, and stops at the look on Alex’s face.

It’s not pity, which would have pissed Michael off, but understanding, like he knows why Michael would need to keep a well stocked first aid kit because he does the same.

Michael looks away and hands him the gauze, which Alex takes with wet fingers, not bothering to shut off the water as he presses the gauze to his still bleeding nose.

“You should tip your head back,” Michael says, and Alex gives him a look, like he knows, and tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

Michael’s eyes drop to his throat, to the way the black chain he’s wearing is pressed to his skin, the way it goes taught when he swallows and he has to look away when he feels the insane urge to reach out and touch him.

He looks down to his hand, to see that it started to bleed once he pulled his hand out of the water.

Michael clears his throat again, “Want me to bandage your hand?”

He sees Alex flex his fingers and then a sigh.

“I can do it myself, if you leave the stuff-”

He starts voice muffled.

Michael shakes his head. “I don’t mind, and you won’t be late to class.”

Alex tries to snort, and makes a pained noise and clenches his jaw.

“Okay,” he says and it sounds like its taking a lot to say those words.

Michael works as carefully and as quickly as he can, not thinking about how rough the pads of Alex’s fingers feel, or the way Michael can feel how his pulse jumps every time Michael’s fingers brush against his skin.

He sprays the antiseptic that also serves as a type of bandage and coagulant.

He still wraps Alex’s hand in gauze and pins it tight, before he lets go.

His fingers tingle and he puts away the supplies, taking out the icy cool strip just in case.

“Thanks,” Alex says and Michael jumps a little and turns to look at him.

Alex takes the bloody gauze away from his nose.

“You’re welcome,” Michael says, and holds out the icy cool strip.

Alex takes it and gives Michael a half smile, before the bells ring, signaling five minutes until roll call.

Michael wraps the rubber band back over the kit and stuffs it back into his bag before swinging it over his shoulder and waves as he leaves.

He turns at the door, to find Alex staring down at his hand and flexing the fingers of his bandaged hand.

Michael swallows hard and leaves before Alex notices that he’s still there.

*

Michael is in the middle of his calculus homework when the door to the tool shed opens with a slam.

He jumps, heart in his throat, but it’s Alex.

Who doesn’t even seem to realize that Michael is in the room as he walks straight to the other side, squatting down quickly to drag a black bag out from beneath a small broken chair.

He turns around and jumps when he sees Michael.

“Fuck me, Guerin,” he says putting one hand to his chest. “Make some noise or something next time.”

Michael swallows down the automatic reply to someone who looks like Alex saying ‘fuck me’ and concentrates on the blood sliding down the side of his face from a painful looking gash on his temple.

“What happened?” He asks because he doubts that Valenti would be at the Manes’ House on a rainy Saturday night.

Alex swallows hard, clenching his jaw, and his fingers tighten around the strap of the black bag.

“Brothers are rough, you know?” he says swallowing hard and not looking at Michael in the face.

Michael doesn’t really believe him, but he doesn’t know him well enough to know if he’s lying or not.

“Do you need-?” Michael asks moving towards his bag on the floor by the couch.

Alex shakes his head. “Keep your supplies, Guerin. I have my own.”

He drops the bag on the floor in front of Michael and then sits down on the other side, unzipping the bag quickly and digging inside.

Michael sees wraps for sprains, and splints for broken fingers, and slings, and medical supplies that look more like they belong at a nurses office or at a hospital than inside of this bag that belongs to one of the nicest people that Michael has ever met.

Alex pulls out gauze, and alcohol, and the same brand antiseptic, cougalant spray that Michael has.

He pours alcohol on the gauze, and Michael is moving before he can lift it to his face.

“Let me,” he says dropping down beside Alex and carefully taking the alcohol soaked gauze out of his hand.

Alex doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t move away when Michael leans in closer and starts to dab at the cut on his temple.

He hisses a little at the sting, but stays perfectly still.

Michael cleans up the blood sliding down his face, and dabs at the cut once it’s clean to gauge it’s depth.

It starts bleeding immediately, but head wounds always bleed like a bitch. There is still blood down Alex’s neck and wetting the collar of his black shirt.

“I think you might need stitches,” Michael says softly.

Alex shakes his head. “The spray and a few butterflies and I should be fine.”

He sounds like he’s done this before, and the thought makes Michael’s heart squeeze in his chest.

“Okay,” Michael responds swallowing hard and continuing to dab at the cut before grabbing the spray.

He sprays and Alex bites down on his lip, but makes no other noise.

He hands Michael the pack of butterfly stitches, and Michael carefully presses two to the cut.

The spray makes the cut stop bleeding, but it still looks a little gruesome.

Michael moves before he can stop himself, pressing a kiss right against the cut.

Alex inhales sharply once and freezes, but he doesn’t move away from Michael.

Not even when Michael slides his lips down to his cheek, and presses his forehead to Alex’s temple.

“Alex,” he says voice soft, wanting to talk about the moment they shared a couple of days ago and the almost kiss.

But Alex moves then, sliding away from Michael and closing the bag back up.

“Thank you,” he says and moves to stand.

Michael reaches out and grabs his hand before he can go too far.

“You’re welcome,” he says back.

Alex nods his head once, giving him a small smile, before he’s dragging the bag back to where he had it.

*

“I can’t go to the hospital,” Michael says desperately, clutching his hand to his chest. Alex only looks at him, blinking several times before he nods his head and walks over to the other side of the tool shed where he has his black bag full of medical supplies.

Alex might be in shock, but when he kneels in front of Michael, his eyes are determined and understanding, telling Michael that Alex can guess why he wouldn’t want to go to the hospital because he’s made the same choice before.

Alex moves methodically, his breaths deep and even, and his hands don’t shake as he starts taking things out of the bag.

Michael concentrates on him and tries to ignore the pain.

Concentrates on his even breaths and his capable sure fingers that gently but firmly wrap around Michael’s wrist so that his bloody hand is hovering over a metal bowl.

Alex opens a bottle of water with his mouth, and then pours it over Michael’s hand, sliding his fingers to remove the blood from the unbroken skin, carefully skirting the edges of the wound.

He opens another bottle and pours half of it on a towel beside him before he pours the rest over Michael’s hand, and then he uses the wet towel to start cleaning the actual wound.

The blood wells up as fast as he cleans it, and drops into the bowl beneath until the water is completely red.

Alex grabs a glass bottle that reads, mercurochrome that he opens and also pours over Michael’s hand.

It stings a little, but almost distant. Michael thinks that he might be going into shock.

Alex shakes only once, when he starts to splint Michael’s fingers, and feels just how shattered they are.

He inhales and looks at Michael in the eyes, lips parted as though he was going to say or ask something, but he closes his mouth at the look on Michael’s face.

He exhales and swallows hard, clenching his jaw before he continues.

He works fast and careful and knowledgeably and Michael wants to ask him how he got good at setting broken bones, but he also doesn’t have to, because he already knows.

He wraps Michael’s hand tight enough that his fingers don’t move, but it hurts a lot, especially because even if Alex had pain relievers in his black bag, they wouldn’t work on Michael.

What he needs is some icy cool acetone, to numb the pain and help him think for a few minutes, but he could just imagine the look on Alex’s face if he asked him for some.

Alex pulls the sling out, and instead of wrapping it around Michael he just stuffs in into the pocket of Michael’s hoodie.

Alex inhales shakily, and looks at Michael in the eyes, and Michael sees the way the guilt pools in them, and he would rather get hit with a hammer, again, than have Alex apologize for something that’s not his fault.

He leans in and places a soft kiss to Alex’s mouth, stopping the words.

Alex inhales sharply, breath caught in his throat, and his eyes are wide and surprised when Michael pulls away.

“I have to go,” Michael says, remembering how Manes had looked at Alex as he left telling him he had an hour before he was going to come looking for him.

Alex just exhales and looks away, starting to gather the supplies from around him.

Michael gets to his feet and looks at the top of Alex’s head wishing there was something that he could say to make him feel better. Wishing that there was something that he could do to make the last half an hour disappear.

He just shakes his head and walks to the door, clenching his teeth against the pain in his hand.

He slows down and inhales before turning around and looking at Alex who is still kneeling on the floor.

Michael clears his throat and Alex’s eyes fly up to him. “Thanks,” he says trying to smile, but having to bite down on his lip as pain spasms through his hand.

Alex nods his head once, eyes filled with tears as he looks at Michael. He inhales deeply and says in a low shattered voice. “You’re welcome.”

It’s the last thing that Michael hears Alex say for a long time.

*

Michael remembers getting punched so hard that his head spins, and for a few seconds it feels like whoever it was actually punched his consciousness out of his body.

And then he lands hard on the floor, cracking his head on the ground hard enough that the edges of his vision starts to fade to black.

He stays on the cusp of passing out for a few long minutes before his vision clears.

He looks up, and sees an angel, haloed in the streetlights as they tilt their head and looks at Michael with familiar eyes.

“Am I dead?” Michael asks, words slurring.

The angel, snorts and steps closer, revealing itself to be Alex, or well, Michael’s hallucination of Alex that only appears on nights like these to judge him for all of his life choices.

Tonight, Alex doesn’t sneer and try to rub salt in his flayed open wound.

Tonight, Alex crouches down to his level and says, “No, you’re not. But you’ll be wishing you were in the morning.”

He’s smiling gently like Michael is something precious and the change in script from usual is enough to stall Michael.

He doesn’t know what comes next.

Alex usually goads him until he’s angry enough that he rage walks himself home.

Tonight Alex helps him get to his feet and settles him in the passenger seat of what smells like a rental.

“Here,” Alex says pressing tissues underneath his nose as he tips Michael’s head back against the seat.

Michael reaches up to press them against his bleeding nose and closes his eyes.

Before he knows it, Alex is coaxing him out of the car and into his Airstream.

By now, the Alex hallucination has disappeared, but because tonight is just not going anyway like how Michael is expecting it to, Alex gently pushes him to sitting position on his bed, and says he’ll be right back.

As soon as Alex disappears, Michael sighs and drops his head to his hands.

Of course, tonight of all nights his Alex hallucination is sweet and kind when Alex is on a plane probably, on his way to an active warzone.

Michael is never going to see him again in the flesh.

He still doesn’t know how he feels about that.

He sighs again and then starts to get himself undressed.

His shirt gets stuck as he tries to pull it over his head, and he struggles for a few seconds before he hears a noise and then someone is helping him pull the shirt off.

He looks at Alex holding his shirt in his hands, giving Michael a soft smile.

“I told you I’d be back,” he says gently.

Michael stares at him. “You’re oddly…solid, for a hallucination.”

Alex licks his lips staring at him for a long second before he drops Michael’s shirt to the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Michael feels like he’s dreaming, and maybe he is.

But as Alex, gently cleans the scrapes on the side of his face and bandages his knuckles and helps him out of his clothes and settles him beneath his covers, Michael thinks this is the kind of dream he never wants to wake up from.

“Thanks,” he slurs and sighs when he feels a hand in his hair, brushing his hair back and a kiss being pressed to his forehead.

“You’re welcome,” Alex’s voice is low and soft, and everything that Michael longs to hear in moments like this.

He thinks that Alex is a figment of his imagination until the next night when Maria tells him that he should be grateful that Alex stopped him from getting his face punched in.

Michael pulls his lips into his mouth and looks down at his left hand, clenching his fingers until the bandages go tight around his knuckles.

Instead of replying to her thinly veiled question, he just asks for another drink, ignoring the dirty look she gives him.

*

Michael is dabbing at the split along Alex’s lip, his own lip firmly entrenched in between his teeth, wondering how things got out of hand so fast that he actually fought Alex physically instead of just yelling at him.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says when Michael drops his hand down to the supplies to grab a butterfly stitch to press against the cut.

Michael inhales deeply but doesn’t reply.

“I’m sorry about what I said about your mom,” he continues.

The anger flares up within Michael again, and he presses the stitch a bit too hard, making Alex wince.

That’s right, Alex goaded him into a physical fight after Michael tried to kiss him and then told him to leave because he was going to either fight or fuck someone and he obviously wasn’t getting anywhere with Alex.

He hadn’t planned on falling for Alex’s taunts. And then he’d said those words. Asked him how he thinks his mother would feel that he’s wasting away the life she sacrificed her own to save.

“She told you to run!” he’d yelled in front of Michael’s face. “To live! And this is what you’re doing?”

He’d sneered, an ugly look on Alex’s face, that reminded Michael bad of Jesse Manes. “She’d be so ashamed if she could see you right now.”

Michael had punched him in the face.

But Alex had given back as good as he got.

Alex is dabbing at the cut on Michael’s cheek, split open from the rings Alex had started wearing again not too long ago, and there was cotton stuffed up his nose to stop his brain from leaking out.

“I’m sorry for saying that you’re just like your father,” Michael says in turn, and Alex’s hand stops moving, before he drops it to the side and shrugs.

“You don’t have to apologize for speaking the truth-”

“Alex, no,” Michael says immediately trying to catch Alex’s eyes and becoming frustrated when Alex just keeps avoiding him.

“I was upset,“ Michael says. “I didn’t mean it. You’re nothing like him. Okay?”

Alex doesn’t look at him, but he picks up the tube that looks like neosporin but is an pain relief ointment made specifically for the aliens by Liz and Kyle.

“I’m not going to apologize for calling you a shitty brother, though,” Alex says instead and dabs some of the ointment on the cut on his cheek.

Michael just sighs and nods his head.

“Or for calling you an even worst boyfriend,” he continues, pressing the square bandage on his cheek and pressing the adhesive edges down.

Michael closes his eyes and tries not to think about how much of a shitty boyfriend he’s been to Maria, for the entire time they’ve been dating.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says pressing shaking fingers to the cut on Alex’s eyebrow. “For being a shitty soulmate, as well.”

Alex tenses up and makes a low sound in his throat. “You can’t call me your soulmate in the same conversation where we just agreed you’ve been a shitty boyfriend to someone else.”

Michael licks his lips and lets his hand fall to the ground. “Then what are you to me? You said I’m your family, but I’m definitely not your brother.”

Alex makes a face at that as he starts cleaning another cut on Michael’s chin, “Definitely not.”

He hums thoughtfully, and Michael just watches him, feeling tired and like he could actually sleep without the need to knock himself out first for the first time in weeks.

Looks like he really did need a good fight to take the edge off.

“How about, best friend,” Alex says pressing another bandage to Michael’s chin.

Michael nods his head slowly. “I promise to be a better, best friend.”

Alex smiles at him, and Michael just keeps staring at him as Alex continues to clean and bandage his face.

Best friend, he thinks.

It’s a start.

[disembowel-me]

Baal & Slith ft abuse, dubcon(?), extreme gaslighting/brainwashing, recording, and death

“You know Ren, in my old life I wanted to be a director.”

Renoe didn't care about Baal’s career ambitions, but it seemed humoring him was the only way he was going to get information about Slit.

Baal grinned, setting up a tape. “Being so concerned about my brother, I mostly stuck to photography as a hobby. Clearly, it didn't work out. But, that doesn't mean I haven't totally forgotten about it.” Baal snapped his fingers, summoning the illusion of a chair and sat down. “I made a… ah, experimental film? And I’d like to show it to you.”

Renoe scowled. “Get to the point.”

Baal laughed. “Come on, Ren, have a seat. I think you'll want to see this.”

Begrudgingly, Renoe pulled a dining chair out and sat. The two men exchanged glances, and Baal pressed play:

-

Slit sits in the middle of a white room.

He is naked, showing off his every rib under skin stretched thin. His skin is no longer a healthy flush pink, but a pale, pallid sallow, and impossibly dark circles line the under of his eyes. His hair has grown long past his shoulders, frizzy and brittle looking.

Vast amount of scars cover his body - thick, sloppy keloids running along his thighs, up his forearms, along the curve of his breast; slabs of skin missing from his stomach and chest, burns of all sizes scattered between. Dark mottled bruises run up his upper thighs into his groin, torso, and ribs.

“Slith,” Baal’s voice comes from behind the camera. “Smile for me.”

I turn my tired eyes toward him and give a weak smile. He’s smiling too, adjusting something on his camera. I don’t know what the camera is for. It’s making me a little nervous, but… I trust him.

“Today is special. Do you know why?”

I shake my heavy head. Every day Baal comes to see me is special. Why would today be any different?

“It's your anniversary…” He continues. “You've come so far.”

My voice, so hardly used above anything but a whisper, is frail and cracks. “...How long?”

“Six months!”

I glance around this plain white room, fluorescent lights beating down on me just as they had the first day I came here. I try to not think about the past… it's all so hazy. But still, has it really been my home six months?

“Why are you… recording?”

“You remember Renoe, don’t you?” Baal’s voice was soft.

My blood chills. Hazy memories of that man hurting me fill my head. For the life of me I cannot remember specific things, but I know he did terrible things. I can’t believe I ever trusted him. They both, admittedly, were controlling, but at least Baal made sure I was always comfortable. And if he did hurt me… it was a good reason. You have to purge the sins with fire. These scars are reminders of what I’ve overcome and what not to repeat.

Renoe… he made me suffer for no reason. Even before the torture, he needlessly hurt me. He’s a cold-blooded killer. I was an idiot to ever trust him. At least I learned I can’t be trusted to make my own choices.

Baal will keep me safe from everything. From Renoe, from the world. Even from my own bad judgment.

“Don’t worry, I'll never let him touch you again,” Baal reassures me, “I just want to show him how happy you are with me.”

I watch him wearily, not saying anything else. I don't really care. I just want Baal to come and give me attention.

Baal finishes fiddling with the camera and comes to sit with me. My heart surges - finally! He situates himself behind me and places his hands my shoulders. Ecstasy fills me, radiating from the warmth of his fingertips into my core, and I melt into his touch right away, eyes rolling back. I lean into his lap, pressing myself against him as hard I can in hopes that maybe, this time, he’ll never let go. His breath is hot on my ear and his hands wander, touching me everywhere. My muscles twitch under my skin as my body becomes hot, so hot, and an itch grows between my thighs. I’m going lightheaded. My head rolls back against Baal’s shoulder, grabbing handfuls of his shirt.

He kisses me, laying my back against the concrete floor, and lifts my legs by the ankle, exposing me to the camera. I fidget my fingers over the concrete at my side and wince in a mix of pain and pleasure when Baal enters me. The bruises on my thighs burn hotly. Another wave of ecstasy flows over me, blurring in and out with the sensation where our bodies meet. He keeps touching me, fucking me, making me feel good, and I am so happy to be here with my savior.

“Ba-aal,” I whine, tears in the corner of my eyes. “Tha-ank you…” I hook my legs together around Baal’s hips and lift myself against him. Burying my hands in his hair - This pain - feels so nice - I think our bodies are melting together. I’m so happy. I want to be a part of him forever.

My affection. My savior. My entire world. I live and breath for him. He saved me. He knows what is best for me.

He flips me onto my elbows and knees, and rapture so powerful fills me that my limbs give out beneath me and my vision blurs. Above me, Baal keeps moving and my mind goes blank.

Baal holds Slit’s chin up, giving a clear view of his intoxication. The position of his hand keeps Slit’s mouth open, allowing every whine and moan and cry freely out.

His shame, his dignity, his very identity has been erased. The modest, shy boy who blushed at a slight touch or implication is long gone; what is left of him sweats and drools and makes lewd, undignified sounds; he shudders and shivers and writhes under Baal, who keeps going until Slit is sobbing from over-stimulation.

Baal lets go of the boy’s hips, letting him fall, and comes on the floor. Leisurely, he stands and takes Slit’s chin to direct his gaze toward the mess on the floor.

Eyelids drooping and a labored breath shaking his flush, frail body, Slit drags himself to the mess and, pressing his cheek to the concrete, flicks out his tongue to lick it up. When he finishes, he pulls himself to Baal’s feet, laying his forehead on his boots.

“Th-thank you,” he breathes. “My lord, my- my savior... I lo-love you. I love… you.” He repeats himself feverishly, snaking his way up Baal’s leg, stuttering out praises. “You-” a sob escapes his lips, “-You’re so good to me.”

Standing above him, Baal shoots a smug glance at the camera and reaches down to pet Slit’s hair. “Do you love me, Slith?”

He pushes his head up into Baal’s hand. “I love you.”

“Would you do anything for me?”

“A-anything.” His voice is full of fervent obedience.

Baal kneels down behind Slit to wrap his arms around his shoulders and places something in his hand. “Show Renoe how much you love me. Show him how much I mean to you.”

Slit stares wide-eyed for a moment. Slowly, hands shaking, he lifts it and allows the camera to see Baal’s dagger, a blade that had gotten to know Slit’s skin intimately even before he disappeared. He raises it to his chest, eyes trained on Baal, who gives him a nod of encouragement. Bringing the blade down on his right breast, he begins carving a line down. Immediately, his face tightens, tears rolling down his cheeks as the letters B-A-A-L slowly appeared in red, blocky and dripping. On the last letter, L, his hand hitches, driving the blade through his nipple. The blade clatters to the ground as Slit screams, holding his chest.

“Baal… I… I did it…” he chokes out.

Baal leans in, firmly taking Slit’s wrists and pulling his arms apart. “Let me see…”

“It h-hurts,” he sobs, chest heaving.

“Revel in the pain, Slith,” Baal coos. “That’s the proof of your devotion, remember?”

He nods pathetically but smiles through his tears.

“Good boy.” Baal strokes Slit’s head. “Really, you're doing such a good job.”

Slit chokes out a sob, smiling even more at the praise.

Baal brushes a strand of hair behind Slit’s ear. “You know it's almost time.”

Slit nuzzles against the hand for a moment, holding it close with his own, but then freezes. “Wait- I-I’m not ready. I don't want to leave yet.”

Baal’s voice grows cold. “That’s not your decision.”

Slit’s eyes shift erratically. “Please-”

“I made you.” Baal stands suddenly. “And I can destroy you. You belong to me. Did you really forget already? ”

Slit pales. “I-I-” His voice cracked. He swiftly puts his head to Baal's feet again. “Pl-please forgive m-me… I-I-I, I love you, I just want to stay with you-”

Baal yanks me up by my hair. I gasp but don’t fight back. I ache to apologize more, I really do, but I don’t want to make him even more upset. I’ve already far overstepped my boundaries.

“This is what I’m talking about. Do you really still not trust me?” His violet eyes pierce right through me and I squirm. Something about them prevents me from looking away. I really don’t want to answer, but I think he’s going to force me to… Something in my stomach churns.

“Is this still too much freedom for you to handle? Do I need to relieve you of even more burdens?” He looks genuinely hurt, like always, but some intonation in his voice makes me uncomfortable. My stomach feels even worse now.

I don’t even know what else he could take from me. He controls my everything.

The sickness increases suddenly. Excessive saliva fills my mouth, bile rises in my throat, and he still hasn’t let go of my hair. “Ba-” I try to warn him, but regurgitation bites the back of my tongue and I’m afraid if I try any more I’ll puke on him. Blood drips to the floor and my chest aches, and a chill runs through my body as I remember he’s still recording this. Why is he recording this? Just to show it to Renoe? I feel even sicker at the thought. Renoe can’t see me like this…!

Baal finally let's go, and I hang my head low. “Cat got your tongue, hm? Or… is it that you want me to decide for you?”

I can't hold it back anymore. I shudder and vomit on the floor, my hands, Baal’s boots. It burns, and I cry. I hear Baal sigh, and he crouches down with a napkin to wipe my face with. Did he...plan this?

“Are you really showing this to Renoe?” I ask quietly.

“Why, love?”

“I…” Tears blur my vision. “I can’t let him see me this way.” I feel ashamed. It's not from being covered in vomit. This has happened before. Why do I feel so ashamed?

A hand takes a firm grip on my jaw and forces me to look back into those violet eyes. I really think he can see everything about me with them.

“But you're happy, aren't you? Being here with me?”

“...Es.” I barely squeak out the answer.

Maybe the vomit was symbolic because my head feels so much clearer now.

“What was that?” He asks softly.

Maybe Baal was trying to teach me one last lesson…?

“Yes… I’m happy here.”

I really am.

“Then that's all that matters.” He smiles. And his hand lowers to my neck.

But I don't want to leave.

His other hand clamps down around my throat, and I find I can no longer breathe.

I relinquished control long ago, but I so desperately want to stay here forever with him.

Panic sets in as the burning pressure builds in my lungs.

His face is so calm above me. Not calculated like Renoe, but serene. “You’re so beautiful, Slith…”

My heart swells- though maybe it's just oxygen deprivation.

My savior thinks I’m beautiful…

I’m so glad I get to die by his hand.

He doesn't struggle. He simply smiles up at Baal, a smile of resignation and gratitude, until even that is impossible, and his face goes slack.  

Baal keeps hold on Slit’s neck long after he turns blue, his eyes roll back, and stops moving. Not until he is certainly dead does Baal let go.

He stands up and looks down at Slit’s body for a moment. Then he brushes himself off, gives a slight, malicious smirk at the camera, and the video cuts out.

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (19/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: This chapter includes warnings for a bad panic attack and hints of PTSD. i work all day tomorrow so im uploading this slightly early. pls remember that this fic is based off of real experiences, so this fic is not true for everyone who has been in an abusive relationship, but it does hold many truths to it and many real feelings! thanks to @snowbunnylester for editing this for me! The lyrics at the beginning of this fic are from the song Pine by Basement! 

I have started a patreon account for those of you who would like to support me and my writing endeavors! You can find my patreon account here, and also find more information about perks of this here!

Previous | Masterlist

Read it on AO3 Read it on Wattpad

-

Chapter Nineteen

I don't love you, I just need to be loved. Want me; I need you to want me. I hate myself, but that's okay because I never have enough.

-

Nico Caragen - 2:12am

Im sorry i hurt u. I miss u so much. What can i do to fix this?

Message Deleted.

-

Two weeks and four days after the idea was proposed to him, Phil got the restraining order.

It took a lot out of him, a lot of resistance on his part. He cried as he filled out the paperwork, but he felt strangely numb despite it all. There was a little section on the form that told him to explain why he was getting the restraining order, and he stared at it for moments on end because he didn’t know what to put exactly. It was such a little box, but there was so much that had happened that there was no way he could possible put it all in there.

He glanced up at the receptionist lady and gnawed his lip before speaking up, comforted slightly by the presence of Dan beside him. “Is this all the space I have to write in?” he asked quietly, somewhat confused. How would they be able to tell if he needed the restraining order if he could barely write what had happened in that tiny box?

The woman barely glanced up, but she did flash him a quick smile before going back to typing. “If you need to write more, you can just write the rest on the back of the page,” she said distractedly, pushing her glasses higher up her nose with one finger.

Phil nodded and glanced down at the piece of paper, his pen hovering over the space with such hesitance that it would made a turtle start to cry. He put the pen to the paper, drawing a line, a single ‘I’ that looked out of place on the paper.

He didn’t know what to write, because in his mind, Nico hadn’t done anything that bad.

“I have no idea what to write,” he whispered to Dan, who put his arm around Phil’s shoulders and began to rub softly.

“Write about the bad experiences,” he replied calmly. “Ignore the good things. Just focus on the bad and write those down.”

Phil swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to think back on his experiences. They’d been together for so long, how was he supposed to remember every little thing? There were moments that stood out to him, but he couldn’t remember everything, and that bothered him. Since when had he stopped hanging onto every word Nico had said, instead casting it away to the back of his memory? At the time, each moment had felt like the most important time of Phil’s life. But now?

It meant nothing.

He wrote the sentence before he could think about it, his hand forming the loops and dashes to make words. When he reread the sentence, he wanted to stop, he wanted to quit, because he didn’t even know if they were true.

And yet there they were, written by him in green ink, staring him in the face until he was quivering in Dan’s grip.

‘I was in an emotionally abusive relationship with Nico Caragen for a year.’

He flinched, gagged on his spit, and Dan rubbed his back.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

That’s the only reason why Phil picked the pen up again and began to write. He wrote about everything he could possibly think of; the slut shaming, the ripping off clothes, the withdrawal of affection - and then, the deeper stuff; the knives, the suffocation, the breaking items, the slap.

Phil didn’t feel anything as he wrote. He could only focus on the memories that were haunting his mind until he could no longer see the green pen in front of him. Instead, the pen was replaced with green eyes, filled with so much fury that Phil gasped aloud.

He flung the pen against the counter, scrabbling away as quickly as he possibly could. He wrenched himself out of Dan’s grasp and crowded against the wall, ignoring the concerned questions of the receptionist.

Green eyes filled with fury, a nose that crinkled up when he was mad. Nico was going to be pissed at him, was going to hurt him. What was Phil even thinking, trying to get a restraining order when it would do nothing but upset Nico? He had no reason to get a restraining order, had only done so because he was drowning in too much self pity for himself.

God, he was so selfish. He never should have done this. He could hear Nico now, his haunting tone, could feel his fingers wrapping around Phil’s wrist. “Why the fuck would you get a restraining order?” He would say, his voice taunting. “Am I not enough for you? Do you really think I’m like my father? Is that what you’re saying?”

Phil let out a choked sob and shook his head. No, he screamed back. Nico was nothing like his father! He didn’t abuse anybody, didn’t harm them, didn’t molest people! He wasn’t like his father, and Phil had no right to claim that he was.

What was he doing here again?

“Phil.”

A voice spoke, and for a moment it sounded like a warped version of Nico’s but softer, much more calming. It didn’t hold a hint of venom or malice, and it was rather comforting. Phil shook his head. He didn’t want to speak with Nico right now.

“Phil, take some deep breaths. It’s Dan. It’s just me.”

Dan. Dan. Dan.

Phil reached towards the voice with a muddy hand, grimy from swimming through the depths of his mind. He opened his eyes, found that he was laying on the floor with Dan kneeling beside him, holding him so he was on his side and not on his back. Phil blinked, rubbed his eyes. He didn’t know how he had gotten to the floor, but by the looks of the receptionist making panicky phone calls, he must have passed out for a moment.

“How did I get on the floor?” Phil rasped out, struggling to try and stand up.

Dan pushed him back down with a gentle hand and a reassuring smile. “Stay down for a moment so you don’t pass out again,” he advised before saying, “You freaked out and started hyperventilating. I think you hyperventilated so much that you ended up fainting. I caught you before you hit the ground though, so you didn’t hit your head.”

Phil laid his head back against Dan’s shoulder. Now that he was getting his mind back, the echoes of Nico’s voice fading, he could comprehend that Dan was holding him, Phils back against his chest, his head laying on Dan’s shoulder.

He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what had happened, but maybe because that was because his head was still spinning and felt muggy. His head was a swamp filled with algae that he was trying to crawl out of, but couldn’t seem to find his way to land.

“Is he okay?” the receptionist asked in a louder tone so they could hear her, as though the room wasn’t quiet already. She was leaning over the desk, staring at them with a concerned face, and Phil found himself nodding, shrugging Dan off, and standing to his feet.

He only wobbled a little, and Dan was there to grab his elbow, steadying him easily without telling him that he shouldn’t stand. “‘M fine,” Phil muttered, making his way back over to the desk. He grabbed a blue pen this time, made sure that the green pen was out of his sight, and finished writing as quickly as possible, his fingers as numb as his mind.

When he was done, he slumped against Dan’s side, feeling exhausted. The receptionist took the offending sheet of paper and pen away from him, told them that she would take this to the judge right away, and to sit in the waiting room. She said that it shouldn’t take more than a few hours to make a decision, and Phil’s stomach sank because he didn’t want to wait that long. He wanted to get out. Now.

They sat on a bench in the waiting room, and Dan slung his arm around Phil’s shoulders so that Phil could settle into his side. He set his head on Dan’s shoulder and closed his eyes, listening to the calming sound of Dan’s breathing. He was exhausted, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this had been a good idea after all.

“Let’s celebrate after this,” Dan murmured, and his hand was massaging through Phil’s scalp just how he liked. It reminded Phil a little bit of the way Nico used to do it, made him shake, but Dan kept talking, so Phil was able to calm himself down enough to convince himself that it wasn’t Nico who was touching him.

“Celebrate how?” Phil mumbled back. He didn’t really want to celebrate, didn’t think this was worth celebrating, but he knew Dan was just trying to help him.

“What d’ya say we get together some of our friends and go to that nice bakery down the street you’ve always wanted to go to?” Phil paused. He had wanted to go to this bakery for a very long time. He could always smell the fresh baking bread every time he passed, sweet and mouth-watering, and he always had to pry himself away from the shop window. “We could call up Charlie and Jane and Jace, if you’d like. Maybe Ledjon as well? I know you’ve been texting him a little bit and it’d be a nice way to get to know him.”

Phil gnawed on his lip. That was a lot of people. He wasn’t really in the mood to socialise. It was just so exhausting, so time consuming, and Phil wanted to cry back at home about how he would never be able to talk to Nico again. But he knew that Dan would not let him do that, so he just nodded quietly and let Dan text his friends with the plan. Phil told him to emit the part where Phil had gotten a restraining order, and Dan just nodded and didn’t question why.

It seemed like hours later when the receptionist finally came back, and she had a thin smile on her lips that made Phil perk up. It’d only been about twenty minutes. There was no way that the judges had made a decision that quickly. “The judge has decided to accept your request. We will inform Nico Caragen tomorrow morning.” She went on to say that Nico was no longer allowed to be within twenty feet of Phil, and that the restraining order was effective for two years. But Phil couldn’t really hear her through the roaring in his ears.

What was supposed to take hours to come to a decision had only taken twenty minutes. They’d read Phil’s request and hadn’t even needed him to testify, hadn’t even needed him to speak. They took his word, his written word, and had decided that Phil’s situation was bad enough that Nico will not be allowed to be near him or talk to him for two years.

For the first time since Phil had broken up with Nico, Phil realized that his situation had been bad.

He moved like a zombie after that. Dan thanked the receptionist and grabbed Phil’s hand to pull him out of the building. He chattered to Phil about how proud he was, that Phil was such a strong person for doing that. Phil didn’t think he was strong. If anything, he was weak.

He couldn’t even look at a fucking green pen without freaking out. How did that make him strong? Why would that make Dan proud?

Phil had been destroyed. That was nothing to be proud of. All this time, Phil had allowed himself to be abused, badly enough that it had taken the court twenty minutes to decide that Phil needed to be saved from Nico, and he’d almost let it go on. He’d been weak enough to allow someone to destroy him.

That wasn’t strength. That was weakness.

They met up with their friends at the bakery, but Phil was still in a weird mood. He was exhausted, felt as though he were floating on a cloud. There was cotton wool in his ears that made it hard to hear, as though everyone were speaking underwater. His friends hugged him, told him that they’d missed him, but Phil barely felt a touch.

Jace kissed him on the lips, and Phil shrank away from him, his lips burning. Jace tried to hold his hand, but Phil’s skin began to crawl with the affection, so he withdrew it, stuffing his hand in his pockets instead. He saw Jace frown, and Phil didn’t look into his eyes, didn’t want to see the concern and betrayal there. Phil didn’t know why he didn’t want to hold hands or display affection, but he felt awkward in front of his friends. Dan was watching, and it seemed as though he were staring through them for a moment. Charlie and Ledjon were chattering off to the side, and Jane was introducing herself to Ledjon.

No one was paying attention to Phil or Jace, and yet Phil felt as if everyone were watching them. He felt as though his skin was crawling and like everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. Maybe coming out after the restraining order had been a bad idea, but Phil was weak, and he didn’t know how to say no, so he’d let Dan drag him to a social outing when Phil was not in the correct mindset to care about anything.

“Why don’t you want to hold my hand?” Jace’s question shocked Phil out of his sorry thoughts, and Phil blinked. His eyes were dry, too dry, almost sticky, like a chameleon trying to blink.

The words were out before Phil could stop them, and a cold chill went down his spine at the familiarity of the words. “I have anxiety.”

He was disgusting, a monster, and he knew it. He didn’t know why he said it, because it wasn’t really true. He just didn’t want to hold hands, didn’t want to kiss Jace. He didn’t want to make out in front of their friends. He didn’t want to kiss anybody. He didn’t know why he’d gotten himself into such a mess.

Jace’s eyes softened though, and he nodded, making Phil feel like the biggest piece of shit there ever was. Jace didn’t deserve this. Phil knew he didn’t, and yet, he couldn’t seem to just tell Jace that he deserved better, that Jace should just break up with Phil and find someone who could actually love him.

“That’s alright,” Jace said quietly. “I understand.”

Phil wanted to tell him that he didn’t understand, that nobody did, but he kept it in, biting his lip to stop himself from speaking. Instead, he just gave Jace a tight lipped smile and forced himself to give Jace’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. He would make it up to Jace later in the form of heated kisses in the dark of Phil’s room, the dull glow of the stars on Phil’s ceiling judging Phil with every move he made.

They all made their way into the bakery, and Phil’s friends chattered away with bright smiles and cheery attitudes. Phil tried to join in on the conversation, but he couldn’t help but feel tired. Exhausted, even. Whatever it was that had happened earlier had made him feel as though his feet were cinderblocks and his mind was weighed down by a million thoughts that refused to dissipate.

They all ordered pastries, and Phil ordered some sort of scone that was lemon flavoured, which seemed interesting, as well as a coffee. He ordered it black, because he liked it the way, the darkness of the drink contrasting with the porcelain of the mug. As emo as it sounded, it reminded him of his soul. When they sat down, Ledjon sat on one side of Phi,l and Jace sat on the other. Dan frowned at that, but he shook his head at Phil’s questioning look. Apparently the reason for his frown wasn’t that important, but Phil didn’t really believe him.

As the rest of his friends chattered amongst themselves, Ledjon turned to Phil. They’d been texting a bit over the last few days and Phil had quickly realised that Ledjon didn’t have any horrible intentions. He was genuinely concerned about Phil and his wellbeing, and he reminded Phil a bit of Dan in that way. He had a gentle smile on his face, and his voice was quiet so that the others couldn’t hear him when he spoke. “How are you feeling today?”

Phil shrugged, thinking about what’d happened in the courtroom earlier. “Not great,” he admitted. “Got a restraining order and then ended up passing out. It was really strange. Don’t know what happened exactly.”

Ledjon hummed and took a bite of his pastry. It seemed to be some sort of chocolate croissant, and Phil watched as his tongue darted out to lick off a bit of the chocolate that spilled onto his lip. “D’ya think it was an anxiety attack? Panic attack? Whatever it is that the kids call it these days?”

An anxiety attack. Phil has heard of those before. They were categorized by a feeling of extreme anxiety that was triggered by a specific stimulus. Except the last Phil heard, anxiety attacks didn’t exactly include fainting.

He voiced this much to Ledjon, who shrugged his shoulders and took another thoughtful bite of his croissant. “I dunno, man. Anxiety attacks are different for everyone. Just because not many people pass out when they experience one doesn’t mean you don’t either. I’m just saying; it’s a possibility.”

Phil liked Ledjon. He thought he was kind. He also thought he stuck his nose into Phil’s business when he shouldn’t. “I’m sure it was nothing,” Phil responded quietly. He picked at his scone, but he wasn’t really hungry anymore. “If it keeps happening, maybe I’ll go see a doctor.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Phil’s phone buzzed and he furrowed his eyebrows, glancing down at it. His only friends were at the table with him, so who could be texting him?

As it turned out, it was Dan. Even though he was sitting across the table from Phil, he had still sent a text. It made Phil’s lips turn up in a fond smile. The idiot.

Dan Howell - 4:56pm

you ok? you look like youre gonna murder someone.

Phil glanced up and made eye contact with Dan, whose eyebrows were raised pointedly. It made Phil’s smile grow wider.

Phil Lester - 4:57pm

just peachy. kinda wanna go home tho. movie marathon tonight?

Dan Howell - 4:57pm

im thinkin Baby Driver. you in?

Phil Lester - 4:58pm

you know id kill a man to watch Baby Driver. im in :)

With the promise of watching one of his favourite movies later with one of his favourite people, getting through the social outing was just a tad easier. He talked when he needed to talk, laughed when someone told a joke, and kissed Jace before he left, promising to hang out the next day as he was too tired to do so tonight.

He appreciated all of his friends and what they’d done for him, how they were still there for him, but even so, socialising for that long had been extremely tiring.

So tiring, in fact, that he fell asleep on Dan’s shoulder approximately twenty minutes into the movie.

-

Just as Phil had promised, he and Jace hung out the very next day.

They'd been together for a few weeks now, but Phil was ashamed to admit that while Jace was a nice guy, Phil didn't really like him all too much. Sure, he liked him, but Phil didn’t get butterflies like he had when he’d met Nico. He didn’t get that fuzzy feeling in his chest like flowers were going to bloom inside of his lungs, didn’t blush when Jace kissed his cheek, and his kisses just left Phil feeling cold and empty.

It was as if there were something niggling at his mind, something telling him that this was wrong. He had an inkling about why he may feel that way, but he hated the thought of it more than anything.

Phil didn't feel the same desire as he did with Nico. He didn't belong to Jace. He belonged to Nico and nobody else.

So when Jace told him he loved him for the first time that day, Phil didn't feel the overwhelming sense of excitement like he had with Nico. Instead, his stomach dropped, his whole body turned tense, and his smile became fake. Where a warm and inviting person used to be, Phil had suddenly been replaced with a plastic mannequin, one that smiled and looked happy, but was fake through and through.

"I love you too," he said, turning his face down towards his feet so he couldn't see Jace's response. He felt bile rising in his throat, threatening to come out, and he didn't want Jace to know. He didn't want anybody to know.

He just wanted to be normal for once. A person who could gladly tell their boyfriend they loved them without feeling like they were going to puke on their shoes.

He didn’t want his boyfriend to know that he was a liar and a fake, that he would tell a boy he loved him without meaning it because he was afraid to be alone. He just wanted to be needed, to be wanted.

Jace provided that for him. He gave Phil kisses and told him how amazing he was. He bought him candy on the days when he could see Phil, and his entire expression lit up when he caught sight of Phil.

Phil definitely didn’t deserve that, but he didn't know how to tell Jace that he didn’t love him, that he was only with him because he wanted to prove to Nico that somebody else did want him. That somebody else would love him. He didn’t know how to tell Jace that without hurting him deeply, though, so he kept his mouth shut and told him he loved him, the lies under his tongue choking him like poison.

He didn’t know when this had happened or how this had happened, he didn’t know when he’d started to use people for his own personal gain, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He wanted to patch up all of the pain that Nico had caused him bit by bit, piece by piece.

He would patch himself up with loving words and kisses, with a man who was far too good for him, with a soul that didn’t deserve to be destroyed. Phil would use fake declarations of love to make himself feel whole again, and he didn’t give a damn who he hurt in the process

Sadly, Jace was just the one who had to be dragged into it, but that wasn’t Phil’s problem.

Chapter Twenty

[trippydooda]

i’m aliiiiiiive.

sorry for lack of updates i have no excuse except for the fact that i probably have 5 or 6 WIP BTS related fics rn pls help

anyway, thanks for sticking by and reading, it makes my kokoro go boom boom.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin

Rating: from now on i’m just going to tag M, though there’s isn’t much explicit stuff in this part

Word Count: 3,874

as a side note: i’m going to try and stay to a weekly update schedule, probably every Thurs? i don’t even know how long this will be someone save me from myself

okayenoughhereisthedamnfic

iliedhereisthefirstpartshhhttp://trippydooda.tumblr.com/post/180504348312/another-blurb-because-i-have-no-self-control-fun

“Took you long enough,” Namjoon says once Jungkook and Jimin exit the club.

Cool air falls over Jungkook and makes him shiver. If Namjoon looked at Jimin’s neck he certainly didn’t say anything about the obvious hickeys, so Jungkook just straightens his back and pretends that is definitely the case.

Taehyung, who is leaning on Jin for support, giggles. “Have you gone off kissing other men?” He grins but Jungkook doesn’t return it. Instead, he stupidly stays silent, and Taehyung pouts. “That’s so rude,” he continues, “I thought what we shared was special.”

Jin looks down at his friend with furrowed brows. “What?” He starts to ask, but Jungkook just clears his throat.

“He’s drunk, he’s just talking about—” But Jungkook doesn’t finish.

Beside him, Jimin collapses to the ground, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Thankfully Jungkook catches him just before his skull gets too familiar with the pavement, but he’s dead weight in Jungkook’s grip. His chest is rising and falling irregularly, as if it’s a struggle to breathe. Jungkook recognises the clammy sweat that’s building on Jimin’s skin, and panic is settling in the back of his throat.

“Sheesh, and I thought Taehyung drank too much,” Jin laughs, blissfully unaware of what was really happening to Jimin.

“He needs water,” Taehyung slurs, ignoring Jin’s comment, and Jungkook has to physically hold back telling him he has no idea.

In the end, Yoongi is the one who discreetly helps Jungkook. He sobered up quickly (unlike Hoseok) and could see in Jungkook’s eyes that something siren-y was happening to Jimin. They took a separate cab home, and Yoongi presses a napkin with cool water soaked up on Jimin’s forehead. He sputters out a breath, but doesn’t regain full consciousness yet. Jungkook swallows hard.

“What’s happening?” Yoongi whispers so the cabbie can’t hear them.

Jungkook shakes his head. “I mean, it’s possible because he hasn’t had alcohol in years, but something tells me there’s more.”

Lips pressed into a thing line Yoongi asks, “What do you mean?”

“This happens sometimes, where Jimin gets his tail back without warning,” Jungkook explains, “It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does he looks like… This. Like he’s a fish out of water.”

Yoongi chuckles, wiping at Jimin’s brow. “I mean, isn’t that the case?” Jungkook doesn’t answer.

Despite Jungkook insisting that he could take care of Jimin fine on his own, Yoongi had stubbornly stayed at his side. He had kept a watch on Jimin as Jungkook started the water for the tub, and while it was filling he saunters back into the living room where Jimin is laid on the couch. His breathing has become slightly more even since Yoongi had given him a sip of water, but Jimin still didn’t stir beyond shuddering breaths and tiny gasps. When the tub is sufficiently full, Jungkook cradles Jimin princess style to the bathroom. 

He stops just before putting Jimin in when he realises he’s still fully dressed. The jeans he’s wearing are too nice to let a tail rip through them, so Jungkook sets Jimin softly on the toilet, confidently meaning to take Jimin’s jeans off. Only he wasn’t confident, and kneels down, staring at Jimin’s abdomen with bated breath. Sure, he had almost fucked the man in a club of all places, but he was overrun with whatever “spell” he was under, and now he was just sitting in front of an unconscious Jimin, completely vulnerable. What would he think if he woke up to Jungkook pulling down his pants? He shudders at the thought.

“You know, leaving him slumped on the shitter isn’t going to do him any favours.” Jungkook whips his head so hard it cracks slightly, and sees Yoongi standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He gives a curt nod towards Jimin. “Go ahead and toss him in, yeah?” Yoongi actually sounds concerned, and it’s a bit endearing.

What wasn’t endearing, though, was the prospect of peeling off clothes from an unconscious man. “It’s uh, it’s his jeans,” Jungkook mumbles.

Yoongi squints his eyes. “So?”

“So,” Jungkook swallows, “He really likes these ones, I don’t want them to get ruined by his uh… Tail.”

When Yoongi laughs, Jungkook tries not to be offended. “Alright? So take them off, then.” A flush no doubt creeps up Jungkook’s neck, one obvious enough that Yoongi sees it because he’s sighing and walking towards Jimin saying, “Move aside lover boy, I’ll do it.” 

For some reason the thought of someone else touching Jimin gives way to anger building in his throat. He bites down lightly on his lower lip and tries his best to quell the shakes he’s getting from it. He knows he’s being ridiculous, especially when Yoongi nudges him with his foot, probably saying something vaguely threatening and offensive, but Jungkook can’t hear it behind the thundering in his head. “Right, okay,” he forces himself to say, forces himself to stand, letting Yoongi lean over Jimin as he goes to fiddle with Jimin’s pant line. Jungkook tries his best to keep his breathing even, but it probably isn’t working as well as he hopes.

Yoongi talks while he works, “I really hope this is just because the idiot drank too much.” He makes a clicking noise with his tongue when he finally gets the jeans unbuttoned and fly undone. “I’ve been trying to look up information on this whole shit, but everything seems like conspiracy nonsense.” He grunts as he lifts Jimin’s hips so he can pull the jeans down the rest of the way. Jungkook’s breath hitches and he curls his hands into tight fists. Yoongi continues, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil Jungkook is drowning in. “I did find some shop though, just a little bit outside the city.”

This piques Jungkook’s interest, and serves as a distraction. “O-Oh?” He asks, cursing his quivering voice.

Yoongi just nods, sliding Jimin’s jeans down so they’re at his ankles. He delicately starts to slip Jimin’s feet out, one by one. “Yeah, some shop that’s been around for a Jesus. Like, it was passed between generations or some shit I dunno, could be a fib.” When he finally gets Jimin’s jeans all the way off Jungkook is about to pass out from the strange anger (jealousy?) he’s been harbouring. “It was the only thing that looked even slightly credible, as pathetic as that sounds. They didn’t spout shit like sirens had three tongues and eleven fingers, though, so I thought that was probably our best bet right now.” He nods again towards Jimin, “He hasn’t told you much, right?”

“No,” Jungkooks replies, voice slightly more stable. “He doesn’t tell me anything really.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi hums, “Strange.” He folds Jimin’s jeans and starts to walk out of the bathroom, squeezing Jungkook’s shoulder saying, “All yours, lover boy.” Jungkook ignores the slight sexual innuendo laced in Yoongi’s words.

After he places Jimin delicately in the water, he just stares again. He takes in Jimin’s astounding beauty, his soft features and pink hair falling peacefully over his eyes. That jeweled and shining earring still hangs from his right ear, and Jungkook absently wonders why he never takes the thing off. Jungkook takes a seat on the toilet, rests his elbows on either knee and breathes in sharply. Yoongi’s silent proposition rang in his head, the feeling that he could get some answers finally. It was almost like going behind Jimin’s back, but Jungkook feels like he has the right to know. Perhaps there are things Jimin doesn’t know either, he thinks. Maybe this could satisfy them both.

A groan brings Jungkook back, hid whipping up from where he was staring at his lap. Jimin’s nose is crinkling and there’s movement behind his closed eyes, but he still doesn’t open them. He shifts uncomfortably in the tub, and when Jungkook looks down his tail has in fact returned. When he trails his gaze back to Jimin’s face, he looks almost peaceful. Content. Jungkook is about to leave him there when he sees his eyes open slowly.

“Jungkook?” He whispers, voice low from what was no doubt exhaustion. He scoots himself up so he’s sitting more properly, and as he runs his hand through his hair he looks around blankly. “Where…?”

“You collapsed in front of the club,” Jungkook says, voice not as even as he would have preferred. “Yoongi and I brought you here,” he adds quickly, which warrants a sharp intake of breath from Jimin.

“I see,” he says quietly, looking down at himself. His tail swishes in the water, overflowing the tub just a little, and when Jimin frowns Jungkook doesn’t think it was because he was drowning his bathroom again. 

“Was it because you drank too much?” Jungkook offers when he realises Jimin is glaring almost resentfully at his tail.

Jimin shrugs. “I don’t know,” he replies, but it sounds fake. When he glances over at Jungkook and their eyes meet, the latter notices how exhausted he really looks. It causes Jungook to worry on his bottom lip.

“Do you, er, want your legs back?” Jungkook asks, unsure why he’s so hesitant.

Jimin says nothing, but rather hums. “When was the last time you went swimming?” He asks instead, and the question takes Jungkook a bit off guard.

“Wh-What?” He replies, having started to stand in anticipation of Jimin wholeheartedly begging for his elusive limbs back.

“Swimming?” Jimin repeats, cocking his head to the side as he says so. 

For some reason, Jungkook is struck dead at the question. He opens his mouth a few times just to close it before finally deciding to say, “Does when I dove after you count?”

The small smile that graces Jimin’s lips makes Jungkook’s heart ache. “I suppose it could,” he muses, then eyebrows shoot up in awe of something he’s just remembered. “What happened when you did?”

Ignoring the fact that this was something Jimin should have probably asked the night it all happened Jungkook says, “I nearly drowned.”

Jimin grips the side of the tub with both of his small hands, turning his body to better face Jungkook. He leans over with what seems like curious anticipation. It must be what the gesture was conveying because he hardly says, “Yes, yes, but before that.”

So Jungkook thinks. He takes an awkward seat back on the toilet and rubs what he now realises are sweaty palms atop his jeans. He shrugs. “I held my breath for a long while, longer than I thought I could,” he elaborates, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He watches Jimin’s eyes dart all across the room, resting on one thing and then moving to the next, but never resting back on him. “Why, exactly?” He slowly asks, not sure if he even wants to know the answer.

“I just…” Jimin begins, but stares down at his hands. When Jungkook looks down at them he sees Jimin’s knuckles going white with the severity of his grip. And Jungkook wants to know, is really tired of being in the dark, but he doesn’t like to see Jimin like this, so he surges forward, taking Jimin’s hands into his own.

“Hey,” he says softly, free one hand so he can tilt Jimin’s chin up. His expression is unreadable like it’s been many times before, but he just ignores it and just brings their faces closer together so his forehead rests on Jimin’s. “We’ll worry about it later,” he continues, “For now I’ll do what I know I can do.”

Jungkook presses his lips softly against Jimin’s, and finds himself sighing contently into the kiss. Despite the fact that he’s done this many times before, despite that he was grinding on Jimin not even four hours ago, this kiss feels different. Perhaps it’s because Jungkook is sobering up rather nicely (he had chugged about three bottles of water worth so he could watch Jimin more closely), or maybe he’s letting himself feel the things he keeps trying to push away. 

Jimin grips Jungkook’s hands tighter, tilts his head so he’s at a better angle, and kisses back. He presses himself farther up into Jungkook, parting his lips as an invention for Jungkook to deepen the kiss, but he doesn’t. He swipes his tongue along Jimin’s bottom lip and gingerly takes it in his teeth, but it’s only a soft bite before he releases it, more wanting to feel Jimin’s warmth against him rather than anything else. Jimin whimpers underneath him, squirming slightly in his grip, like he too is feeling something other than the friction they’ve been sharing. The moment Jungkook thinks of this, his eyes flash open in midst of the kiss, sees how Jimin’s eyebrows are laced in a purely blissful expression, and pulls back. 

It’s rather sudden, he realises, but the thought that something was blossoming between them terrifies Jungkook, and he’s not even sure why. “You… You got your legs back,” he says quickly, not even sure if he’s right. A quick glance into the tub tells him he is, and he sighs inwardly of relief. He doesn’t know how else he could have explained himself snapping away from Jimin’s face like it was on fire.

Jimin blinks at him, but before he can say anything Jungkook hears a soft chuckle behind him. He already knows who it is, but the look on Jimin’s face is just the cementing the fact. His eyes have blown wide and a new flush attacks his cheeks, and Jungkook would laugh right back if he didn’t feel the betraying colour reach his cheeks as well.

“I always wondered how that whole dynamic worked,” Yoongi says from behind Jungkook. Jimin has looked down at his hands still gripping the side of the tub. For all his prowess and claims of badassery, it was amusing to see him so flustered. “Can anyone do it, or does it have to be Jungkook?” Yoongi asks and the question boils Jungkook’s blood like before.

He stays watching Jimin instead, who shakes his head from where he’s staring down at his small hands. “It can only be Jungkook,” he says softly. Jungkook’s heart flutters at the knowledge, however, and he hates himself for it.

Yoongi makes a humming noise that was no doubt trying to be condescending. “Well damn,” he says and Jungkook finally turns. Yoongi looks absolutely exhausted beyond words, and Jungkook feels only a little bad that he keeps getting mad at him. For stupid reasons too, ones he doesn’t even fully understand. “Listen, I’m going to go, I’ll text you tomorrow,” he says and adds, “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Jungkook nods but doesn’t say much, telling Jimin under his breath that he’s going to see Yoongi out. When the two of them get to the door of Jungkook’s apartment, he worries on his lower lip before saying, “Are we bringing Jimin with us tomorrow?”

Yoongi breathes out, the sound of air whistling past his teeth. He bops his head back and forth as if he’s lost in thought, and maybe he is, before he just shrugs. “I mean don’t you collapse without him around?”

For some reason that comment makes Jungkook flush ever so slightly. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I suppose...”

“It’ll be fine,” Yoongi assures him, slapping an affectionate hand on his shoulder. He tries his best to genuinely smile but Jungkook doesn’t think it really reaches that. “Jimin probably has some questions himself.”

At that Jungkook nods in agreement, forgoing telling Yoongi that the night he found out about Jimin he was doing just that, only asking some entity Jungkook has no idea what it could be. “Yeah,” he says quietly instead, and gives Yoongi a quick hug goodbye.

When the door shuts he finally feels like he can breathe a little easier, and rubs a tired hand down his face. He doesn’t even know what time it is, but it feels late. Like, really late. Like maybe it’s even already five in the morning. He chances a quick glance at his clock as he walks back towards the bathroom and it reads three a.m. Not as bad as Jungkook thought, but still probably not that great. He approaches the bathroom and upon seeing it empty, figures Jimin probably went to go get dressed. When he walks in his room, he sees just that—a Jimin sitting cross legged on his bed and staring intently at the drawstring on his sweatpants.

“Those are huge on you,” Jungkook finds himself saying, laughing under his breath at how tight Jimin has the drawstring pulled.

Jimin looks up and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not my fault you’re a giant,” he counters and smirks. It fades quickly thought as Jimin struggles to say, “Can I… Sleep with you tonight?”

Because Jungkook has the mind of a fifteen year old his first thought is Jimin wants to have sex with him. And in all honesty, of course Jungkook would. He would fuck Jimin until he couldn’t speak, voice too hoarse from moaning in both pain and pleasure. He would bite at his neck, mark him as his, and my goodness how pretty Jimin would look under him. Not realising he started to breathe a little heavily and stare at the floor, he jolts his head back up to meet Jimin’s gaze, of which is one of confusion and what looks like regret. The regret is probably from asking Jungkook if he could sleep with him, which he now belatedly realises probably means actual sleep. Jungkook swallows.

“Sure,” he manages to say. He doesn’t bother to ask Jimin why, just quietly goes to remove his clothes. He makes a point to face away from Jimin as he does so, despite the fact that the guy has literally sucked his dick. He shivers at the thought and tries to tell himself it’s because he’s removed his shirt, but he knows he’s lying to himself. He wonders when he’ll stop with that.

After Jungkook crawls into bed, Jimin literally dashes at him, immediately pressing himself against Jungkook’s side and nuzzling his face into the crook of Jungkook’s neck. He’s not sure why he’s surprised at the action, but carefully pulls the blanket to cover them nonetheless, pressing a wordless kiss to the crown of Jimin’s head. Jimin trembles on top of him, so Jungkook holds him close, humming under his breath until the steady rhythm of Jimin’s breathing tells him he’s asleep. Jungkook is quick to follow.

It’s been a while since Jungkook has dreamed. Of course people tell you that you dream every night regardless of whether or not you remember it, so maybe it’s just been a while since Jungkook has remembered. He finds himself floating in what just seems like the air or maybe the clouds, staring at a scenery of white threatening to consume him. He feels cold, and when he looks down he’s not wearing a shred of clothing. He yelps, but it doesn’t come out quite right, like he’s underwater. 

He turns his head wildly, trying to figure out where he is but there’s nothing to tell him. He starts to feel panic boil up his throat but he tries to suppress it as best he can. He wiggles his legs to get a feel of what sort of suspension he’s trapped in, and finds they move easily. So there’s no resistance, Jungkook thinks, and tries to wiggle his fingers just to be sure. They are the same, and it just further deepens his confusion.

“How long do you think you can hold out?” A voice asks, but Jungkook can’t see where it’s coming from, nor can he ascertain who it is. “It’s pointless, you know, to resist it,” it booms, and it sounds angry this time. Jungkook is finding it harder to dampen his panic. 

He swirls himself around, now feeling like he’s treading water, and sees a shadowy figure far ahead of him. He’s not sure how far, but he’s content to keep the distance as best he can. He breathes in sharply, trying to make a shape out of the dark abyss. 

“Do you still not get it?” The voice coos, and it gives Jungkook goosebumps. “Oh,” the voice says, drawing out the sound, “He hasn’t told you.” The figure slowly approaches Jungkook, of which he can’t seem to move away from. It’s like he’s trapped in a cage, and when he tries to speak nothing comes out but choked bubbles. He doesn’t understand; he’s scared.

“Perhaps I should show you,” the voice says, becoming louder. The shroud covering it fades, and Jungkook sees what he thinks is a siren, but it’s not right. There’s what looks like a distinctive shark tail instead of the beautifully scaled one that Jimin has, and it’s covered in scars. When Jungkook looks up he sees the person—thing—has hollow eyes, devoid of any colour and any discernible pupils. Scars cover their face as well, and as Jungkook’s gaze trails down their torso, he breathes in sharply. The figure is wearing a shawl that covers most of them, but Jungkook can clearly see deep gashes and what might be burns on the exposed part of their arms. When he looks back at their face, they’re grinning widely and it shows off razor sharp teeth.

“How sad,” the thing taunts, “The poor lamb doesn’t even know.” It nods to Jungkook, the grin not fading even slightly. “Well go on then, look down and see for yourself.”

Jungkook doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t, but there’s a betraying part of him that looks down. He looks down and feels like his pulse might shoot right out of him: he has a tail. It’s a tail just like Jimin’s, and it’s on him. He has a tail. Belatedly he thinks, he’s a siren. The realisation chokes him and he frantically claws at his tail as if it will make it go away; it only serves to cut his hand slightly.

The shark-siren hybrid thing (that’s starting to get on Jungkook’s nerves) laughs at him, and it rings off his eardrums. Makes his blood turn cold. “At least you finally see now,” it says, and when Jungkook slowly lifts his head it isn’t smiling so much anymore, but something coy still tugs at the edge of their lips. “Congratulations, you’re a siren now.” It reaches out a hand and rubs a thumb across Jungkook’s lower lip as it says low and ferocious, “Forever.”

Jungkook wakes up with a shriek and a cold sweat.

Beside him Jimin stirs slightly, crinkling his nose, but doesn’t wake. Jungkook looks down at him sharply as he tries to remember how to breathe, tries to remember anything and everything Jimin has told him about this siren business up until now. He remembers him saying this spell was more a virus, and Jungkook’s immune system was failing. In his head he’s trying to desperately recall anything Jimin has hinted at, but nothing makes a connection to his dream. 

But that’s all it was, right? Just a dream. Jungkook lays back down, feels his breathing evening out more, and stays wide awake until he hears birds chirping on the horizon.