#the textured brush I normally use don’t like each other very much but I actually really like how it turned out…

[quirinah]

ally of justice, hero of fish, master of disguise!

[dailymobpsychodrabbles]

valentine’s day terumob?

But of course!

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: terumob, valentines day, flowers

In retrospect, maybe Shigeo should have realized that flower shops are at their busiest on Valentine’s Day. 

By the time he gets there, he’s out of breath, sweating through his school uniform, and there’s a line of people out the front door. Shigeo’s excitement very quickly turns into dread when he stands on his toes and counts the number of people ahead of him. Ah, not good. He’d thought that coming early before school might be enough to beat anyone else who may have his idea, but it seems like everyone had this idea. He even notices a few of his classmates a little bit ahead of him in line. 

Shigeo taps the shoulder of the person ahead of him. “Um, excuse me, do you think I could-”

“No way, bud,” they interrupt abruptly. “We’re all here because we forgot to get our girlfriend flowers. You can wait.”

But… Shigeo hadn’t forgotten. He and Teru had agreed not to get each other gifts, but then Shigeo had talked to Tome who insisted that was just boyfriend code for I’m secretly getting you a gift. Which only made Shigeo panic that much more, and he had decided to take a detour on the way to class to get something last minute. 

…And apparently, so had everyone else in Seasoning City.

By the time Shigeo is actually inside and able to make a selection, he’s pretty sure he’s going to be late for school. 

People brush by him carrying lovely bouquets full of roses and peonies and all sorts of big, pretty flowers. But when Shigeo reaches the shelves that are normally bursting with all sorts of arrangements, they’re totally bare. He frowns and looks around the store. They’re all empty? But… But it’s a flower shop. Flower shops can’t run out of the one thing they sell.

Panic grips his throat and threatens to squeeze the air from his lungs. No, no this can’t be right. He needs to get something for Teru! Or else that would make him a bad boyfriend, right?

Eventually, Shigeo makes his rounds around the entire store and finds one arrangement left. It’s… well, it’s minimalist, he supposes: one purple peony that’s still halfway to blooming, two smaller flowers, and a few sprigs of leaves. Shigeo feels himself deflate at the little bouquet in his hands. It’s nothing at all like his boyfriend. Teru walks into a room and exerts a confidence that demands attention to be drawn his way. This doesn’t fit him.

But it’s all that’s left, so it’ll have to do. Hopefully whatever Teru gets him won’t be too impressive.

–

Shigeo realizes he has to carry the flowers around all day, so he makes do and tucks them into the front pocket of his backpack with the blooms sticking out as much as they can. It’ll be alright. They only have to survive the school day until he can meet up with Teru.

Tome texts him in the middle of his last class to stop by the Telepathy Club slash Body Improvement Club’s room for a gift. According to Inukawa, she made Valentine’s for all her friends every year. 

She already has Shigeo’s waiting by her side when he comes into the room. Tome pauses her game and kicks her feet off the table to get up and greet him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mob!” Tome announces happily. Shigeo sets his bag on the ground to get some weight off of his back. His friend holds out his card, and he accepts it with a bow of his head.

It’s handmade: thick cardstock with a little alien in a spaceship orbiting the moon. In sparkly font, it says I’m over the moon for you, valentine! Shigeo runs his fingers over the lettering and smiles at its texture. 

“Thank you, Tome-chan.” Shigeo’s heart swells with appreciation.

“Don’t take it too much to heart,” Takenaka rings out from behind Tome, where he’s sharing a box of chocolates with Inukawa. “She uses the same, like, eight alien jokes every year.”

“At least I made something, moron!” Tome snaps back at him. “You just scribbled on a piece of notebook paper!” Inukawa grimaces as his Mobtendo Switch makes a very obvious game over noise. 

Takenaka points a chocolate in Tome’s direction. “But it was original, wasn’t it?”

Shigeo’s smile widens a bit. He’s just glad his friends are all in one place. 

The door to the club room swings open again, and it seems the Body Improvement Club is finished with classes for the day as well. They’re all talking to each other about a new workout regime and tossing their bags to the side. Shigeo watches in slow motion as Onigawara’s bag slips from his hand and hits against Shigeo’s.

Specifically, it hits the front of Shigeo’s bag where the flowers are neatly tucked away.

Shigeo ignores Musashi’s greeting and bolts to his backpack. No, no, no. Surely not. Surely this isn’t happening to him-

He removes the bouquet from his bag, and a few wilted petals fall to the ground around his feet. All that’s really left are some twigs and leaves and the vague semblance of some color. 

“What’s that- Oh.” Onigawara pauses behind Shigeo. “Shit, was that important?” 

Takenaka wrinkles his nose and scratches the back of his neck a bit awkwardly. Tome exchanges a look with Inukawa that suggests it didn’t exactly take the telepath in the room to understand that yeah, it had meant a lot to Shigeo. 

“Kageyama-kun-” Musashi starts, holding out a hand as if to try and calm Shigeo.

“I have to go,” Shigeo blurts. He bows to Tome. “Thank you for the card.” And then he bows to Musashi. “I’ll-I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

With that, Shigeo bolts out the door before he can do something stupid… something like crying. His eyes feel uncomfortably hot, and his throat squeezes tight as he fights back tears. 

–

Teru is already waiting for him at the train station. His boyfriend is looking around, trying to find Shigeo in the swarm of people as one train dispels its passengers and allows more on. 

But Shigeo has had a bit of a growth spurt, so he stands out better than he may have used to. Teru’s eyes lock onto him at the same instant Shigeo notices him searching for him. His boyfriend’s neutral expression very quickly changes into a big grin. Teru pushes off from where he’s leaning against the wall and shoves through the crowd to get to Shigeo.

Shigeo feels so guilty the second Teru starts to approach him, but Teru also has a quality to him that soothes Shigeo like no one else can. As soon as Teru is in front of him, Shigeo wraps him into a hug.

“Oh!” Teru laughs, voice ringing gleefully even with the subtle roar of hundreds of people talking at once. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too!” He hugs Shigeo back just as tight, tucking his face into his shoulder. Slowly, the horrible shame starts to melt. The warmth of Teru against his body is enough to seep away all the terrible feelings weighing down Shigeo’s conscience. 

They part after a moment. Teru still has his hands on Shigeo’s hips, and he’s beaming up at his boyfriend. Ah, he’s really cute, isn’t he? His school is strict on uniforms, but it seems Teru managed to rebel in his own little way with dangly heart earrings and pink hair clips. 

Teru reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Shigeo’s ear. “I know we said no gifts-” His hand moves to cup Shigeo’s cheek. “But I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry!” 

Only Teru would apologize for getting a gift. Shigeo’s heart sinks. He’d been secretly hoping Teru really didn’t get him anything, but it seems that Tome’s secret language had been correct. Shigeo can only watch in half-masked disappointment as Teru rummages through his bag and produces a little gift bag, maybe a little bigger than his hand. Reluctantly, Shigeo takes it from him and peers inside. 

A keychain with a milk carton. Shigeo takes it out and lets it dangle from one finger. “It’s a little silly, I know,” Teru starts with a sheepish smile, “but it reminded me of you. I saw it whenever we went to that store that’s beside the churro store- you know the one? And I couldn’t help but-” He cuts himself off, smile dropping into a horrified expression. “Shige? Are you crying?”

Oh, when did that start? Now that Teru’s mentioned it, Shigeo can’t focus on anything but the hot tears falling from his cheeks. He drops his head in shame. “I-I tried to get you something too, but-but I…” Shigeo sniffles loudly. “It’s terrible.”

Teru ducks his head so he can see Shigeo’s face. “I know for a fact that nothing you could have gotten me is terrible,” he says, offering a reassuring smile. Shigeo only hiccups at that. Why is Teru so wonderful? His boyfriend nestles close to him, rubbing his arm. “Can I at least see for myself?”

Every fiber of Shigeo’s being screams at him not to show Teru, but… he can’t deny him anything. Teru’s his biggest weakness. So Shigeo reaches around to take out the sad, wilted bouquet from his backpack. It looks even worse than it did in the club room. Even the leaves are starting to fall off now. All that’s left are stems and maybe the leftover bud from one of the flowers and- man, Shigeo is crying again.

“I-I couldn’t- There weren’t-”

“They’re perfect,” Teru says.

Shigeo risks looking up at him. He expects… well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly not the pleased expression on Teru’s face. His boyfriend takes the sad bundle of stems in his own hands and looks up at Shigeo. 

“You thought of me when you got them,” Teru explains with a warm smile. “That’s what matters.”

The tears stop coming, but Shigeo can’t stop his lower lip from trembling. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asks softly.

Teru nods, and he stands on his toes to meet Shigeo halfway. Their lips brush together, and it’s like coming home. It’s taking your shoes off and flopping into bed. It’s submerging into a warm bath with a candle lit. It’s comfort. It’s home, Teru is home-

The stems in Teru’s hands tremble, and as if they were fireworks waiting to pop, they explode into an array of big, colorful flowers. Teru yelps in surprise and looks down in awe at the transformation happening right in front of them. The sad little arrangement is no more. Now it’s pinks and yellows and oranges and purples- roses and carnations and peonies and exactly what Shigeo had been looking for when he set his alarm extra early this morning to get Teru a bouquet. 

Teru grins down at the bouquet, then back up at his boyfriend. “You-”

“Thought of you,” Shigeo finishes.

Teru reaches up for a second kiss, a third, a fourth. The cracks in the sidewalk around them start to have wildflowers sprout up, the flower beds lining the pavement begin to spill over-

And they end up missing their train. 

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

Sweet Poison - Yandere Alpha! Tamaki Amajiki x Omega! Reader

Shout out to  @homework-is-the-real-killer for the inspiration. I don’t know if you wanted something spicey... but that’s what your getting. I have a part 2 planned out for this guy to kinda explain a little more from Tamaki’s side of things of what is actually going on. Also I have no clue if y’all will like my take on him, but I see him as being someone who yea he’s a little shy but once he gets used to you he’s at least not a complete stuttering mess. 

Part 2

Warnings: NSFW, quirk play, definitely tentacle porn, unknowing drug use, dub-con if you squint?, Honestly I don’t know how to tag so If you think I need to add something please tell me. 

Word Count: Just over 2k

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“What’s wrong Y/n? You are so fidgety today.”

“Oh, haha am I? Sorry I just really want class to be over so I can go see Tamaki.”

Your friends shared looks before turning back to you questions in the eyes.

“I know you guys are courting, but don’t you think you spend a lot of time with him? You don’t even sit with us at lunch anymore.”

“Oh come on guys, I literally went to the movies with you guys last night.”

“Yea but…”

They didn’t get a chance to finish their sentence, the bell chiming to let everyone know that the school day was officially over. You were flying out of your seat and down the hall before they could even call out your name. You were absolutely giddy, ready to be enveloped in the scent you had grown to love. You turned the corner, pausing for a brief second as your breath caught, watching as Tamaki and his two friends stood chatting. You couldn’t help but think about how much he looked like an angel. He was so perfect, and he was all yours.

Without a regard for the rest of the students you took off down the hall practically jumping on the alpha wrapping your arms around his neck as his instinctively wrapped around your waist pulling you against him and burying his blushing face into your neck.

“B-Bunny. You got here fast.”

“I missed you.” You took a deep inhale of his scent and could feel him doing the same. Nothing made you feel as good as being near the alpha.

You didn’t see the looks that his friends shared, Mirio clearing his throat one, twice, three times before Tamaki finally pulled away from you enough to look at the taller blonde. Shoving his hands into his pockets but still leaning on you, his face beet red once he realized the attention the two of you had garnered from the rest of the hallway.  

“Ah, I’m sorry Tamaki, I didn’t mean to make a scene…”

“Trust me, it’s fine. He won’t say it but he loves it. He hasn’t stopped talking about you all day.” Nejire jumped in making both of you blush even harder, Takami burying his face in your shoulder mumbling softy to you.

“Can we go now?”

You couldn’t help but smile, reaching up and patting his hair gently, agreeing quietly with the timid alpha before the two of you said your goodbyes to his friends.

The two of you slowly made your way over to the third years dorms, fingers intertwined, completely skipping over your own room and opting to go into his instead. Shortly after the two of you had started courting, he had been so nervous to ask you to move your nest into his room, saying he just wanted to you close to him, and how could you say no to such a sweet request? Now, just two months into courting, you practically lived together, only leaving when the teacher would come by to do their final check that everyone was in their correct rooms, just to sneak back in only an hour later.

The only reason the two of you weren’t bonded yet was because UA had a strict policy against it, insisting their students wait until they were graduated so as to keep them focused on their studies. Still… everyone knew you belonged to Tamaki.

Once the two of you were finally alone in his room, you couldn’t help yourself, immediately latching onto him, nuzzling against his cheek softly and cooing into his ear. He wasn’t any better, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling the two of you into your nest that was on his bed, pressing his lips against your scent gland kissing softly as he started to thoroughly scent you, taking his time and making sure to cover everything.

“I missed you so much. I hate that you have to be around other alpha’s all day, muddles your scent.” The stutter in his voice was gone, and even though he was speaking softly, murmuring really, he was doing it right in your ear making you wiggle against him. He had grown to be so comfortable with you that once the two of you were alone, it was clear as day he was an alpha. One that your omega was dying to submit to his every, albeit quiet, whim.

You hummed in agreement, shifting so that you were comfortably laying halfway on top of him, a soft purr leaving your lips as he rubbed his cheek against you, before he started to pepper soft kisses along your jaw moving towards your lips.

The entire room was filled to the brim with his mouth-watering scent, the scent of sea salt mixed and lavender with just the slightest hint of something warmer, darker, that you couldn’t place. Whatever it was, was absolutely heaven to you, and the timid dark haired alpha was pumping it out like he wanted to coat the entire building in it.

“Tama-“ You started to whine, your omega needing more, only for his gentle and oh so soft lips to be pressed against yours, swallowing your needy sound, his inner alpha making him a little bolder after being separated from you all day. You kissed him back, feeling yourself getting worked up just by being near him, touching him, smelling him, let alone kissing him. He slid his tongue against your lips hesitantly and you immediately parted your lips allowing him entrance which he greedily took. You practically melted against him, a soft purr leaving your chest as one of his hands slipped up into your hair lightly holding your head in place. It was at that point you noticed his tongue was getting bigger, longer, slimier, and the texture changing. You knew that if you pulled away now you would see that it had changed into a tentacle and you couldn’t help but clench your thighs slightly at that thought, a groan leaving his lips at you squeezing him between your thighs.

And then all at once he tasted so mouth wateringly sweet, so delicious, so… addicting. You could feel your mind filling up with the dizzying fog that always came with kissing your alpha, a high that you could never get enough of. It was this feeling, this feeling of flying, that made you so sure that he was the alpha for you. That made you know without a doubt that you would never want another. That you would never leave him.

You felt like your body was going numb, no longer having control of it and enjoying the high that he was giving you as he regarded you carefully through silted eyes before he slowed the kiss and pulled away, your eyes latching onto the string of saliva that connected the two of you, a soft whimper leaving your lips as you shuffled closer. You wanted more, needed more. More, more, more, more, more of him. You couldn’t control the whine that left your lips, your eyes transfixed on his own, leaning down to press soft kitten licks that he blushed at, tasting the lingering sweet spit that was left behind.

“D-do you love me bunny?”

You didn’t hesitate, pressing your lips against his own in short quick pecks, desperately trying to get him to open back up, to let you have more of that high that you so badly wanted. That only he could give to you.

“Yes. More than anything.”

His hands came up shakily to your hips, digging his fingers into the plush flesh there, just the touch making you gasp softly, his eyes transfixed onto your face with awe, soaking in every reaction, even blush, every flutter of your eyes as he kneaded your skin.

“Do you promise?” You could feel his grip guiding you, nudging you to move up and up and up until you had your knees on either side of his blushing face, his fingers cupping your ass from underneath your school skirt, shaking as they brushed at your panties which were already soaked tugging them down slowly, oh so slowly. His eyes flicking from your face to what lied before him, begging for attention, slick dripping down your thighs. He could practically taste you from here.

You nodded, not even realizing the amount of whimpers that were leaving your lungs, your fingers gripping into his hair as you looked down at him, your brain filled to the brim with every thing him. His smell, his taste, his touch. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him.

“You won’t leave me?”

You shook your head, your body trembling at this point from pure excitement. Did everyone feel this way with their alpha? Would it always be this intense? How did anyone get anything done?

“I…I n-need to hear you bunny.” You could feel it as his tongue, no, his tentacle, slid up your thigh, licking up the running slick, suctioning to the highest part, just below your sopping cunt before releasing making blood rush to the spot and forcing a high pitched mewl out of your mouth. His eyes never leaving your face, seeming more and more confident with each gasp and whine leaving your lips.

“I promise. I love you Tamaki. Please.. god.. I need you. I won’t ever leave you. No matter what. I love you. Please, please, please, please. Alpha.” Your fingers gripped his hair, you could feel tears stinging into your eyes, you felt like you would actually combust into flames if you didn’t get more of him right this second. Your skin was starting to itch, feeling like something was crawling all over you and you could feel your body breaking out into a sweat.

Somewhere in the very back of your mind, something told you this wasn’t normal. Being completely and utterly addicted, to the point of almost pain-… you weren’t due to start your heat any time soon, knowing full well that most omega’s didn’t go into heat until they were at least 20. No… this was different… this was-

Your whole body shuddered, brain turning off completely when he all at once yanked on your hips, forcing you down onto his face, his tongue sliding against your core and deep into your cunt, much farther than it was supposed to be able to, to the point that you could feel it in your stomach, suction cups sliding against your sensitive swollen clit as he pumped his tongue in and out of you, making you choke on your own screams, tears spilling over onto your cheeks at the intensity of it all.

You should have been embarrassed when he inhaled deeply, a low primal growl that you never imagined him making leaving his lips as he breathed in your scent, but you couldn’t do anything, couldn’t think of anything, other than the glorious feeling of euphoria that was filling your mind, as the high that you had been chasing finally returned to you again. The world was filled with bright colors, your mind filling with a fog that just felt so good that you never wanted it to leave. Everything was perfect. He was perfect. Your alpha. Nothing could ever change that fact. Nothing could ever make you want to leave.

When you finally came back down from your high, you had realized you must have passed out from the bliss. Tamaki had you laying on your back, a warm washcloth pressed to your forehead, his arms wrapped around you tightly as he layed against your side, his face pressed against your neck, nuzzling you softly and cooing into your ear of how much he loved you, asking if you were okay, how he would take care of you, how you never needed to worry about anything, how he loved his omega.

You couldn’t help but smile trusting all of his words and snuggled further into his grasp, a soft contented sound leaving your lips, enjoying the sounds of his pretty words being murmured to you. The soft, gentle, loving kisses that were carefully placed along your neck and face. The feeling of his arms turned tentacles tightened their grasp around your form, holding you in place against him leaving no wiggle room.

You felt completely and utterly safe in his grasp, knowing he would never let you go.

You were his sun, his moon, his everything. You were his.

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[rqnvindr]

special delivery

pairing: delivery boy!albedo x gn!reader

genre: fluff, humor, pinch of suggestiveness

w.c: 1.5k

synopsis: it was getting harder and harder to resist the beautiful boy who always delivered your pizzas. especially when he notices the way you look at him, ever the observant one...

a/n: happy birthday chae !! @albehoe  i’m glad we met and i enjoy all of our talks in the server! welcome to being 19; hope you enjoy this little gift i put together for you hehe

--

the doorbell finally rings, snapping you out of mindlessly scrolling on your phone. you grab your wallet and hop off the couch, more than ready to receive your pizza order for dinner. 

you open the door and your brain immediately shuts down.

a young man, around the same age as you, stands before you and greets you with the most princely “good evening” ever. and if his voice wasn’t already enough to melt you, the red and black uniform looked like it was made just for him, complimenting his perfect skin and hair. that, along with his sparkling eyes was enough to convince you that he couldn’t possibly be real. you resist the urge to pinch yourself to check if you were dreaming.

“for (y/n), correct?” albedo, as you read on his name pin, snaps you out of your trance with his dreamy voice. it sounded even better when he said your name.

“yes.” you hand him the required amount of cash and take the box, brushing fingers ever so slightly. you offer the boy a smile, to which he nods in response.

albedo waves a gloved hand as he walks off of your porch. “have a good day.”

“thank you.” it sounded like the most appropriate choice of words at first, but you mentally curse yourself after he gets into the car and drives off.

you should’ve asked for his number, dammit. or at least told him to have a good day too.

what was supposed to be a perfect treat of an evening ended with you chastising yourself all throughout your meal. 

this was your chance. you were going to order another pizza at the end of this week and hope that albedo would be your delivery boy again. you would at least try to remember to make more conversation with him this time, before leading up to hinting that you wanted to get to know him better. 

you take a deep breath on the awaited day, when you answer the door. to your luck, it’s the exact same platinum-haired, blue-eyed mystery of a man who stole your heart within seconds.

“oh! good to see you again!” you sound a little too excited, and albedo appears perfectly unfazed. 

“good afternoon. that’ll be $10.” he holds up a packet when you hand him the fee, and you raise an eyebrow. “i also got you a free sample of our newest secret sauce. it’s not supposed to be out until next month, but i’m conducting some research for my university and wanted to get a head start on people’s opinions on the taste, the texture, if they could perhaps recognize any of the ingredients used to make it..” he clears his throat. “anyways, since you’re such a dedicated customer you’re the first on the list. let me know what you think next time.” 

“ah.” you lightly giggle at his rambling. he seemed very passionate about whatever field he was studying and determined to flesh out the best results for his research. you were the one who was nervous about keeping a conversation going when he seemed more than capable of doing so, as long as it was something he was acutely interested in. 

and most importantly: he planned on meeting you again. there would be a next time.

“may i ask what your major is?” 

“i’m a chemistry major. i was originally planning on doing biology, the study of life, but there is just as much essence of life in chemical reactions. taking two or more things to form a new substance...the embodiment of the life cycle itself.” 

you nod, feeling nearly as fascinated in his studies as he appears to be. you would love to hear more about it, perhaps sitting across from him at a cafe, dressed casually out of his work clothes...

“excuse me. i do not wish to take up too much of your time. enjoy your pizza.” 

“wait.” you call out, a fleeting sense of courage rising up, only for it to collapse once more when you catch yourself staring directly into albedo’s eyes. an endless ocean of curious orbs, their intensity making you feel seen right through, inside and out. 

“um, actually never mind. sorry, have a nice day!” albedo nods, scratching the back of his neck as he heads off. 

being unfathomably nervous and having a crush on someone farther than they appear was not a good mix.

--

you open the cabinet, ready to do some spring cleaning. your hand slips, accidentally knocking over an empty container. before you can pick it up, you notice a white packet that had been hidden underneath.

right. the sauce.

you hadn’t forgotten about it. you simply put it aside to try it out later with another food, just for a little adventure. but there was never any time to cook anything that would possibly go with an unknown condiment. 

or more like, no one to cook with.

you grab your phone and dial the number that you’ve pretty much memorized by now. you bite your lip while listening to the other line ring.

“hello, thank you for calling favonius pizza co. this is albedo, how may i help you?” 

“hi, albedo.” surely he’ll recognize your voice when he promised a next time, after all.

“oh, (y/n)? will it be the usual?” your stomach flutters from the way he perks up while saying your name. 

“no, but i’m so glad it’s you answering the phone. i actually wanted to talk to you regarding the sauce. um, do you mind maybe coming over when you get off from work and i can show you exactly what i wish to convey?”

this doesn’t feel right. asking someone you’ve only met twice over into your own house, just for the sake of your silly crush that led to silly little fantasies in your head-

“sounds good. it’s been really difficult gathering feedback from other customers, due to the lack of communication. and it also works out that i can see you in person so i don’t have to take up too much time during my shift. i’ll be there in an hour and a half or so.”

you stop gaping, realizing you have to confirm your meeting. “okay! take care and i’ll see you then!”

“bye.” with that, albedo hangs up.

you rush to set up the ingredients for your cooking, date, perhaps, with albedo. even if he didn’t think of you the same way that you did, you would always cherish him agreeing to spend time with you.

an hour passes by and he’s already promptly ringing the doorbell. you can’t help but feel your knees grow weak at the sight of him in his gray hoodie and light colored jeans, his hair uncovered without the cap. and his eyes glimmer differently, adding to the new feeling his casual attire grants the sight of albedo outside of work.

“hi! the kitchens right this way!” albedo takes off his shoes and follows you to the adjacent area, right to the counter.

“you seem to have gathered more than just the sauce. and you also didn’t order a pizza either.” he remarks placing a hand under his chin. 

“that’s because i wanted us to cook together and for you to see my reaction to it with other food. that’d add more variety to your results y’know?”

albedo continues to inspect the ingredients you had laid out for the chicken nuggets, picking up a jar of seasoning to smell it. “you’re definitely more invested in this than i expected you’d be.” he chuckles, the deep vibrations of his chest sending shivers down your spine.

“we shouldn’t have much of a problem if we’re doing this together, even though i’m not really the best at cooking. however there is one other thing i’ve realized...” albedo puts the jar down, turning to face you. he possesses the same observational look that he gave you the last time he delivered, and walks closer to you. the closing gap effectively cages you on the counter, your chests brushing against each other, making your breath hitch. 

“(y/n),” he hums. “were you really ordering pizza the last time? or were you ordering me, instead?” 

you want to reply, but any form of coherent speech dissipates in your throat. he’s so close, and normally you’d be embarrassed if someone was able to figure you out like this, yet you only found his curiosity and the way he pried into things even more attractive. especially if he had that kind of attitude towards you.

a sigh escapes your lips and you place a hand on his shoulder. “i like you albedo. and yes, i did only order pizza just because i wanted an excuse to see you. i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, and if you don’t feel the same way feel free to leave and never speak to me again. i mean that.”

albedo remains silent for a few seconds before blinking slowly and shyly taking your hand.

“i’m not going anywhere. people who care about my work...are important to me. and i do admire your directness.” he lightly strokes your skin. 

“perhaps i should give you what you asked for in your special delivery then, hm?” albedo chuckles. you giggle while playing with his fingers. 

feeling a little bit bold, you press your lips to his digits, causing him to short circuit on the inside at your touch. 

“i shall enjoy it then.” you whisper.

[fenristheorem]

Lance: Dragon Headcanons

A staple mark in Lance’s character is his dragon genetics, and I have a lot of headcanons regarding this, so I figured I'd write about this while I have it in mind. A lot of these probably aren’t canon at all, mainly just me rambling away about what I'd like to see, but I think they're still pretty interesting regardless. 

~Do note: Lance is going to be a bit more feral than usual in this one (this is discussing his dragon side, after all), and many of these are going to be romantic. Combine feral and romantic and you get something along the lines of NSFW. It’s not exactly NSFW, but this post certainly isn’t clean, either. This is really only a concern near the end of the post.

~ Under the cut ~

It’s known that in a partially transformed state, Lance’s mother - Tia - has a tail, scales on certain parts of her body, makeshift claws (technically they’re just filed down nails, at least that’s what I’ve read in certain descriptions), and a few other dragon-like features, but since this post reflects my own headcanons I want to add on to and alter that. 

In my headcanons, dragons in a partially transformed state have tails, as well as wings, real claws (not nails, it’s like an extension of the bones that turn into claws), scales in certain areas, and can actually transform to the point where their limbs are more dragon-like the further away from the body it is. They can also control exactly what features appear when they partially transform, but only to some extent. There’s either a full human appearance, or a full dragon appearance, and in the middle there’s a small range of partially transformed traits that they can choose to display; like having the claws, tail, and scales, but no wings, or limiting the amount of scales on their body while having the other traits appear fully. I imagine controlling their transformations is like a muscle; the more they work with it, the more control they have (which is already sort of canon since Valk admitted he wasn’t as strong as Lance because he didn’t practice as much when they were younger), and they can control a fine selection of which traits are active and when.

From that; dragons - like many other living creatures - have their own distinct scents, and with that there are scent glands (there’s a lot of reptiles that don’t have scent glands I think, but also some that do, and since dragons can shift between a reptilian and mammal form I like to imagine that they do have scent glands). In nearly any state, dragons’ scent glands are a lot like a cat’s and are placed in the same areas as their scales when they’re partially transformed; around the mouth, on the cheekbones, the neck, genitals, and a few places on their torso, chest, and arms. In their complete dragon form these locations are primarily the same, but since their anatomy is a bit different, there may be other locations with scent glands as well. These glands work partially with releasing their natural scent, but for the most part they’re also used for scent marking. Again like a cat, dragons can rub off their scent on objects and people by rubbing their scent gland scales across something.

Because of this, Lance may have a small tendency to brush himself against his partner... a lot, especially if he’s partially or fully transformed. It’s common for him to be laying with his partner and begin to repeatedly rub the side of his face against any part of her, but he especially prefers around her face, neck, or chest, and this is usually disguised as aggressive nuzzling. He can do this at random moments through out the day as well; when he suddenly comes up behind her and takes her in his arms and nuzzles into her neck, at night when he pulls her close and accidentally wakes her up just to rub against her, or even if they’re showering together and Lance wants to remark his territory because the water is washing his scent off.

For this reason, he probably doesn't like his partner wearing heavy perfumes or anything that can disguise his - and her - natural scent.

If his partner allows this scent marking to be a commonplace thing, they can find this becoming a habit for him even when he isn’t transformed, and he especially likes when his partner willingly touches his scales - even if just to feel the textures again. Along with that, his partner may make it a habit to brush herself against him; acting as though she’s scent marking him, or just brushing against him so that his scent rubs off on her more. Since dragons probably follow some set of instincts (like any other living creature, even humans), Lance’s partner ‘scent marking’ him is probably incredibly endearing to him, as not only does it mean that she accepts his instinctual nature, but it also shows that she wants to take part in it too.

On the topic of instincts, I image dragons to be incredibly feral and impulsive in at least some basic ways, specifically with some forms of communication and relationships (no matter if it’s romantic or not), so body language may be a major way of communication with him some days. Of course, he’ll still actually talk to other people, but if he’s having a day where he’s just really not in the mood to talk but he needs to communicate with his partner in basic ways, he may revert back to a relatively feral form of communication: body language. Everyone and all species display things through body language, so it would make sense for Lance to rely on speaking with his partner through body language when he’s not in the mood to talk, but he’ll probably use other basic sounds like huffs, grunts, groans, and growls to relay things more clearly since his partner may not be as fluent as he is with this type of communication. 

On these days, she can expect to come back to their room at night and ask a question, only to be answered with a grunt, or a faint growl with a glare, or a scratchy purr and contently closed eyes as he takes her into his arms. It will take his partner a while to decipher exactly what each noise means, as well as what they mean when combined with different facial expressions and posturing, but she should pick up on it quite quickly. Fortunately he acts a relatively similar way on the days he is talking, so many of those days where he resigns from speaking shouldn't be too much of an issue, as he acts mostly the same way minus the words.

Keeping on the topic of nonverbal communication; when he's partially transformed, he probably has a few other habits than just scent marking is partner. As a show of being territorial, he may drape or curl his tail around her, be it her ankles, legs, or even her waist if they're lying down together. As a sign of affection, he may lightly drag his claws along her skin, similarly to how he would with his fingers to relay tender affection.

In a general idea; when Lance is partially or fully transformed, he acts much more on feral instincts than usual. This can lead him to being simultaneously more territorial and romantic towards his partner; it imprints the idea to others that she belongs to him while he maintains a quality relationship with his partner so she doesn't seek to leave him. He feels emotions very deeply, and it's those emotions that influence him to act more on feral instincts (after all, emotions are basically chemical reactions within the body that we then respond to). This means that his emotional reactions can be - and usually are - amplified, or at very least it's easier for him to have a stronger than normal reaction.

This last headcanon may be a bit iffy, but I imagine dragons definitely take a singular mate for the rest of their lives, and have a sort of mating ritual where they leave a physical mark - a bite - on their partner that signifies that from then on, their partner belongs to them.

Marking in general - be it biting, clawing, or bruising (that last one is typically on accident) - may be a common thing with Lance due to his interest in making his partner his mate, and he may perform those markings willingly (usually on the gentler side) or by pure accident as he's caught up in the moment of pressing his partner into the bed and holding her down as she squirms (it's in these accidental moments where the more rough, violent-looking marks come from). He's alright for the most part if his partner would rather not have him inflict a lot of physical marks, he understands her reasoning - after all, its certainly not entirely painless - but his partner may need to understand that if she allows him to act on his more feral instincts sometimes, even in nonsexual ways, he may still end up accidentally inflicting some small mark on her. Of course, if she's sensitive enough to pain that any sort of marking will make her show signs of distress, he'll immediately back off upon noticing those signs (the last thing he wants is to truly hurt his partner), but if she doesn't show signs of discomfort, he may indulge in the feeling of sinking his teeth into her flesh a bit too much and end up accidentally leaving a mark. While on the topic of marking by teeth; dragons - being carnivores - probably have abnormally sharp teeth, even in a human form. This also helps their marking mates by a bite mark stand out more, as not many other species can do similar things.

On the other hand, if his partner is entirely fine with - better yet; likes - marks, be it of any kind, expect him to make that a semi consistent thing. He's much more likely to inflict smaller, more common marks (like hickeys), but if his partner lets him, he'll gladly leave a few scratches or light bite marks on her skin next time he finds himself between her legs and deep within her. On occasion, when he really lets himself go and indulge in the feel of his partner, he may leave a more aggressive scratch or other mark, but this would usually only happen when he knows his partner doesn't mind - or likes - these physical marks.

An important thing for his partner to keep in mind is that he has a human form but his species is dragon. At the end of the day, he’s a dragon by nature. He can certainly be civil and calm, but he will have his moments where he seems more beast than man. Living and being intimate with him is very different than just working with him, so his partner does need to be aware that she may find out some interesting facts about him that she may have never guessed before.

Being with a dragon isn't for the faint of heart, Lance is a true testament to that, but as long as his partner approaches the topic of romance and heavy instincts with an open, considerate mindset, it's unlikely there should be any issues that would arise from this.

I'm glad I finally got those written out, I've been meaning to write them for a while! Hopefully it's not too unorthodox of a topic, but I've noticed the topic of Lance being a dragon is something people like to continuously acknowledge, so I figured this is a good topic to post about.

Thanks for reading!

[duskamethyst]

de trop.

a/n: idk why but i love creepy and asshole dabi. also, i noticed i just went slightly over 100 followers. thank you!

word count: 5.3k

genre: quirkless AU, smut, nsfw, mature

warnings: disgusting–  noncon, dubcon, pseudo incest, infidelity, forced breeding, degradation

pairings: touya x f!reader (with mentions of enji x reader)

summary: you and enji are married to each other. there is still tension in his relationship with his children and they are still in the process of accepting you as their new mother but touya takes the initiative to get closer to you.

being married to enji todoroki isn’t easy.

you’re a sight for sore eyes. young with a body that’s to die for. to some people, you were considered as a trophy wife or a gold digger judging from the obvious age gap between the two of you and how wealthy he was. you and enji paid no mind to it, the love and trust you had for each other was more than enough to keep the relationship going and it was all that mattered. you enjoyed playing the role of a little housewife; cooking, cleaning and managing the household while he provided for the family. 

his children had a hard time accepting it but what child wouldn’t when their new (super hot) mom is around their age and the strains they had before you exist in their lives didn’t help either. it took months for any of them to even speak to you, and it’s usually only a couple of words throughout a week. deep inside you knew if they ever had a say in their father’s marriage with you, they would be quick object to it.  

you love them, though– with all your heart. you didn’t want to feel like an outsider. you hope to be in their good graces sooner or later so they could fully accept you into the family. you even tried to learn what their favorite meals are and how to cook it. aside from enji, you’ve never really gotten any compliments for your cooking but it’s okay, you took it as an opportunity to try harder! dinner time was always a bit racking and quiet, neither of you nor his children really tried to talk to each other and even when you tried, you were always answered with one word replies that entirely cut off the whole conversation. after dinner, they’d usually walk out from the room to be alone by themselves, leaving only you and enji by the table. nonetheless, fuyumi was nice enough to help you with the dishes. 

usually it'd only be the same faces you see around the house in the evening: enji, natsuo, fuyumi and shouto. all of them were usually occupied with their normal activities outside the house, leaving you alone to manage whatever there was that needed to be done and the only time you’d usually walk out of the house was when you needed to buy groceries. you’re aware that your husband had a total of four children, but you rarely saw the eldest around and you had no idea what he did for a living. all you knew is that you’re a couple of years older than him.

you saw him once at the wedding ceremony, though only for a short while. enji had introduced you to him; touya. if anything, he seemed rather uninterested about the whole thing but you were grateful that he made an effort to come to the wedding although he was also the first one to leave and you never heard from him ever again. like all people around his age, he probably had a lot going on in his life right now.

turning the corner to the todoroki’s residence, you are suddenly met with a male sitting down in front of the gates. you slow down in your tracks as you try to identify the mysterious guy while your hand clutches on your phone harder in preparation to call the police in case it turns out to be some perpetrator roaming the neighborhood in broad daylight. 

however, the man notices you and turns his head towards you– immediately greeting you with his cerulean orbs; a very prominent feature of the todoroki family. 

“touya?” you call hesitantly as the male stands up on his feet, his hands shoved lazily inside his pockets. 

“yeah.” he simply replies as he eyes you up and down when you walk up to him with a grocery bag in one of your hands.

“it’s nice seeing you again!” you chirp as you look up to him in awe, unnoting the mischievous glint in his eyes and his lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “are you here to see your father?” 

“kinda, yeah.” he scratches the back of his neck as he steps aside to allow you to open the gate for the both of you.

“well, he’s at work right now.” you frown before smiling again when an idea pops inside your head. “but you can stay until he’s back. i’ll cook you something while we wait for him. you must be hungry!”

touya doesn’t answer but instead he follows you inside the house. after sliding into your house slippers, you put down your groceries on the table and swiftly put on your apron before taking out the ingredients to begin cooking. 

“i’m not sure what you like… but i can make curry or omelette rice for now.” 

touya snickers as he leans on the kitchen island, eyeing you as you fish out the vegetables from the refrigerator and the grocery bag, “don’t trouble yourself.”

“oh, i insist!” you wave your hand dismissively. “we’re family, after all.”

you turn to the sink to wash each of the vegetables and eggs thoroughly all while striking up a conversation. as you’re about to reach for the cutting board and the knife, a pair of hands suddenly rests on your shoulders, making you jump in surprise. you turn your head around to see touya looming too close behind you as his gaze boringly through you. 

“um, do you need something?” you ask nervously, wiping your wet hands on your apron that you only wrap around your waist and below. 

he ponders for a moment as he continues to stare at you before speaking, “just wondering how you ended up with a scumbag.”

your eyes widen in shock at the heinous word that rolled off his tongue. you’re well aware of the tension in enji’s relationship with his children but none of them dared to say such words about him– well, at least not in front of you but the mocking smile etched on his lips makes you fumed inside and you’re definitely not having it. 

“listen,” you shove his hands away and turn your body towards him. “if you’re here just to insult any of us, the door is wide open for you.”

touya whistles as he revels in the amusement of watching you play the role of a good little wife for his dear father. such pitiful little thing. throwing your youth away and devoting your life for the man that least deserves it. he finds it even more ridiculous how hot you are and his dad was the one that managed to land you, not him. where the fuck did he even find you? why did you even end up with him? you obviously made a mistake and he wants you to see it.

“how good was it? you got fucked dumb by his cock or something?” he jeers. 

you feel your cheeks begin to heat up from anger and embarrassment from his crude words that your hand instantly lifts up to give him a slap on the face. however, it never reaches his cheek instead he has caught you by the wrist– just a few inches away before he’d actually feel the harsh impact. 

“tsk,” he scowls before twisting your hand and making you turn back around and shoves you in front of the counter as you yelp in pain. “got some fight in you, huh? no wonder that old geezer likes you.”

“t-touya– it hurts!” you whine as you struggle under him. he notices how your ass subconsciously rubs on his groin with each movement and (as if he wasn’t already mid hard from seeing your ass when you bent down in front of the fridge) he feels his cock twitch inside the restraints of his pants. he notices that you might’ve realized it too since you suddenly stop grappling and freeze underneath him. 

“why’d you stop?” he chuckles. “such a tease, aren’t you?” 

a tint of pink spreads across your cheeks in shame this time and you quickly shake your head to deny the outrageous accusation. seeing how fast you change from being so uptight to suddenly becoming uneasy in front of him, he thinks you look like a puppy that just got kicked and trembling in fear. and boy, it sparks some sort of disgusting excitement in him. 

“you see,” touya’s fingers reach for the loose ribbon of the apron, easily tugging it as it comes undone before carelessly discarding it to the floor. “it makes me a little jealous.”

as much as your mind is spinning and how scared you feel right now, your eyes wander around to look for something to protect you since you still have your other free hand to reach for the knife. there’s no way you are going to commit murder but you still could threaten him to leave you alone, the very least. if only you could reach for it, though. 

as if he could read your mind, touya grabs a fistful of your hair that leaves a stinging pain on your scalp in order to pull your body back against his. your neck twists to the side as he forces you to look into his menacing eyes. 

“pay attention to me when i’m talking to you.” a sharp and threatening tone enfolds in his voice as he speaks. before you could retaliate, touya turns both of you around and pushes you down towards the kitchen island with his weight pressing behind you to keep you from escaping. he releases the clutch to your wrist and your hands quickly try to prise the hand that has been holding the back of your head. despite your efforts, his grip only remains tighter and makes you wail in agony. 

“shut up.” you don’t miss the rattling sound of a metal buckle coming from your back. when he releases the grasp on your hair, he swiftly pulls both of your wrists together and next thing you know, the texture of leather can be felt brushing against your skin. 

“touya, let go.” you muster all the courage you still have but your voice betrays you as it comes out weak and meek. 

“no,” he grins. “i like seeing you like this.” he presses his body down further, making you bend down on the counter and you gasp in surprise as he takes the opportunity to rub his hard-on against your ass. 

“fuck.” he growls in your ear. the friction feels like an itch that he finally gets to reach. almost. the soft flesh feels so good against his cock and he can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like to be inside of you. you must be warm and tight. god, he hopes it’s tight. 

it’s wrong. it’s so wrong. you chant inside your head as you find your thighs already pressing against each other while touya is making himself busy finding relief from your back and the grunts in your ear don't help either. you want to cry, you want him to stop but the twisted feeling in your gut tells you otherwise. you feel revolted and disappointed in yourself.

the grinding comes to a halt as he pushes himself back to take off your jeans. the thick fabric is in the way and it isn’t enough for the ache in his pants. his bottom lip gets caught between his teeth as he relishes in the sight of your ass, adorned with a pair of simple red panties that seems to be provoking him further. 

“shit, you’re gonna make me cream in my pants.” touya smacks the flesh hard enough to see it bounce and you yelp in shock and humiliation. his fingers move around your thigh to reach your clit and to both of your surprise, your juices are already pooling and forming a damp patch on the flimsy fabric. 

your heart stops and your eyes wide open in horror as touya’s sinister laugh rings in your ears. 

“holy fuck. mommy is a fucking whore.” he mocks, voice laced with amusement on his discovery. 

“stop this, touya.” you plea but a sharp pain shoots throughout your body as a hand comes down hard on your ass again. he has one hand pushing you down on the island by the neck, your cheek pressed against the cold marble and one roughly spreads your legs apart before pulling your panties down, the slick forming a clear string from your sopping cunt onto the fabric and eventually splits as it slides down further to the floor. 

“why? you clearly enjoy this.” he breathes against the shell of your ear, making your body shudder in response. you open your mouth to retort, instead a soft mewl slips out from your lips when his fingers creep up on your slits and coating it with your essence. his thumb rubs circles on your throbbing clit and it got you biting your lower lip to stop any more shameful noises from escaping. 

seeing how stubborn you are is leaving him unsatisfied so touya props himself on his knees and pulls you closer to his face by the hips. he swallows almost too loudly when he sees how your pussy is glistening with your slick when he spreads open the folds with his fingers. immediately, he sticks out his tongue and begins to lap off the juices from your dripping cunny. 

“nggh– ” you try to push away but the firm hold he has on your thighs only pulls you closer to his face and cements you in place. you turn your head to look back at the male, but the sight of his face drowning between your ass cheeks only adds more fuel to your arousal. his eyes flutter open and catch you staring. he continues to lock his gaze with yours as he watches you whimper when he inserts his tongue into your wet, gaping hole. 

it feels so lewd, so dirty but fuck it makes your hips jerk desperately closer to his face, wanting his tongue to fuck inside you deeper and drool starts to trickle from the corner of your mouth. the kitchen is filled with nothing but the pants and squelching sounds that are borderline pornographic as he sucks and laps all your essence. touya revels in your flavor as his wet muscle moves in and out deliciously while his mind wanders and curses how enji got to be the one to taste you like this every night. 

“wanna cum already?” he audibly whispers as he realizes how your legs are already trembling. if it wasn't for him holding your thighs, you would’ve sink down to the floor. 

it shouldn’t be a question. of course you want to cum. he’s only asking because he wants to humiliate you and probably to boost his ego. so you remain quiet through the heavy breathing while painfully trying to deny your orgasm. 

a cocky grin quirked on his lips and you don’t miss how his chin and lips are shimmering wet with your juices. touya is strong-willed and he takes your stubbornness as a challenge. he actually prefers to deny you your orgasm but he’ll save it for another time because right now, he wants nothing more than to make you cum on his tongue. 

“can’t hear you, doll face.” he slides in two digits inside your cunt and groans at the way your walls are already milking his fingers. touya can’t wait to ram his cock inside your tight pussy so he sets up a new determination; pumping his fingers fast and deep to make you cum faster. 

an uncomfortable sensation is squeezing down in your core from the intrusion. it gives you some sort of relief and throb at the same time. it feels peculiar; something like you’ve never felt before and it feels so fucking intense. touya rubs deep circles on your clit and you’re no longer able to hold in the moans from your lips and your eyes squeeze shut as the orgasm continues to build until it dramatically crashes down– your vision turns white at your foreign but mind blowing release. 

you erratically pant for air and your eyes flutter open again to realize that you just squirted. 

“that was so fucking hot.” he pulls out his fingers and slaps your pussy. you whine at how your cunt convulses from how empty it suddenly feels. “don’t worry, doll. i’m gonna give you something better.” he coos and gets back up on his feet.

your body is already limp from your release and you’re feeling light headed that you don’t even fight back when touya carries you over his shoulder and walks out from the kitchen. your eyes wander from door to door, thinking that he’s probably marching towards his room. 

but once you land on a familiar large and bouncy bed, eyes staring up to the familiar ceiling– you know something is terribly wrong. as if to reaffirm yourself, you turn your head to the side and you clearly see the picture of you and enji from the wedding ceremony on the vanity. there’s no doubt that touya has brought you to the very room where you share your nights together with your husband. 

your stomach churns once touya immediately hovers above your body and caging you in, a smug and devilish grin curves on his lips. 

“d-don’t do this, touya– ” you whimper, the restraints from your back making you uncomfortable as you try to move. 

“ah, ah.” he shushes you. “after i made you squirt on my face, of course i have to feel your pretty pussy around my cock. bet he never even made you squirt before.” he knows damn well it’s true because he sees the hesitation in your eyes before you look away in embarrassment. 

your bottom part is already bare and naked when he kicked off your jeans and panties before carrying you earlier and he kneels between your thighs to keep your legs spread. touya kisses you before you can even utter another word and he easily slides his tongue inside your mouth when you gasp in surprise. 

while his tongue is roaming around in your mouth, sucking on your tongue and making you pant for air, his hand snakes into your shirt to grab a handful of your breast. he starts to massage your mound, fingers slipping into your bra to rub your hardened nipple with his index and thumb. the kiss breaks as you mewl underneath him and he leans further down and attacks the soft flesh of your neck with his teeth.

“don’t– it’ll leave a mark.” you say between pants. 

touya pulls away to look at you. his turquoise eyes flash between amusement and bewilderment. “that’s the only thing you’re worried about?” he cackles. “not at the fact that another guy is gonna fuck you on your husband’s bed?”

your cheeks burn pink in shame when you realize that he’s right. you’re worried about the wrong thing. your mind fumbles to find the right words, to make it make sense when you’re also trying to reason with yourself in this compromising position. 

touya realizes the question strikes something in you from the perplexed look on your face and he finds great pleasure in it. your attention draws back to him as he suddenly lifts up your shirt, a brow raises when he notices you’re sporting a front clasp bra. you’re really making this easy for him, aren’t you? it’s almost like you’re asking for it. 

“then i’ll leave a mark where no one can see.” he suggests nonchalantly, reaching to unclasp your bra before your breasts pours out from the confinements. touya leans down to suck on one nipple while he flicks the other with his finger, sending waves of pleasure down to your core. you squeal at the sensitivity, thighs unable to press against each other for relief because his own legs keep you nice and open. 

touya continues to suck and nibble harshly on the skin of your breasts, still intent to leave bruising marks all over your chest while you try to shake him away. while the possibility of having marks on your neck is bad, having them on your breasts are even worse. should enji wants to fuck you tonight, would he let you keep a shirt on? would it seem weird? his orders are absolute and you always listened like a good girl but what if–

“you’ll be sore by tonight, i don’t think you can take another cock inside your slutty cunt.” as if he could read your mind, he interrupts your train of thoughts.

touya stands on his knees and a sense of pride washes over him as he takes in the view of littering bruises on your breasts and the flustered look on your face. he continues to take off his jeans and boxers down to his knees before kicking them off the bed. his hard cock finally getting an alleviation as it springs free from the restraints of his jeans for too long. 

the tip is already flushed with a bead of precum and you swallow heavily at the girth– it’s not as thick as enji’s but the length makes up for it. touya begins to line his cock with your entrance, mixing the pre from the tip with the juices from your sopping pussy. a soft whine finds its way past your lips as he rubs his tip through your folds and teases your neglected clit. 

“are you gonna let me fuck this pretty little pussy?” he nudges your clit as his cold gaze pierces through you. “on your husband’s bed?”

the reason touya never stops pointing it out is simply because he likes it. he gets off to the thought that he gets to fuck his dad’s hot wife on his own bed and especially when she is this submissive and vulnerable. above all, enji is his least favorite person in this world. 

you seem reluctant but there’s a brief glint of lust in your doe eyes and it makes his cock grow impossibly bigger. 

“if you’re not gonna answer me, i’ll just leave you like this until he comes home.” the threat masks his impatience. he can’t wait to fill you to the brim and make you cream all around his cock. 

you shake your head, “n-no, don’t! i– please...”

“please, what?” he snickers, slowly poking his tip just by the entrance before pulling out and it affects your body just as much as his. “tell me what you want.”

“please,” you purse your lips flat, bracing yourself before the next few words. “f-fuck me.” 

touya pushes your legs back to your chest before pulling you back down closer to him. a hiss slips out from his lips as he protrudes into your warm cunt– it’s everything he imagined it to be and you’re already sucking him in. you’re so perfect for him.

“so fucking tight,” he growls as he inches in deeper until he’s in balls deep while you squirm underneath him. “i don’t think he fucked you right.”

that’s wrong. in fact, your sex life has been fulfilling. enji can be rough but he can be gentle when you ask him to. the only extra points touya gets is the fact that he managed to make you squirt once and nothing more than that! hopefully.

the current position makes you put your weight on your back and it’s causing discomfort when you have your arms tied behind you but the moment touya starts to pound into your pussy, the ache suddenly becomes the least of your worries and is replaced by the feeling of being stuffed full by his cock. you can feel the popping vein brushing against your walls each time he rams in. 

thanks to your dripping cunt, his pace is relentless and you quickly become nothing more than a moaning mess. 

“who’s fucking you– hah– this good?” he grunts, eyes watching you as your face contorts into a blissful expression with his every thrust. he smacks and bite your thigh roughly in an attempt to draw your attention to him. 

“y-you are!” you wail in a mixture of shame, pain and pleasure. 

“what’s my name, slut?” 

“t-touya!” the lack of resistance in your voice surprises not only you but also him.

he lets out a throaty chuckle, “don’t tell me you’re already dumb on my cock?” he rams deeper and you can feel the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. “such a dirty whore.”

you find yourself not able to care about the crude names he’s throwing at you anymore. he’s right, you’re already drunk on his cock. touya rejoices in the sight before him and burns the image deep inside his memory. he wishes he could send a picture of you to his father, his mind already picturing the horrid look on his face and it serves as a fuel to the firing resentment inside him.

“you like me fucking you while your husband is out?” the thought of it is so revolting but it somehow makes your pussy throb. it’s as if there’s an ongoing war inside your head and your body seems to betray you.

he presses down on your clit and you feel your pussy clench tighter around his cock. the pressure that has been building overtime feels so tight and it’s threatening to snap. 

“ah– gonna cum!” you cry. you feel so close and your toes are already curled in anticipation for your next orgasm. 

but you’re suddenly pulled far away from your awaiting orgasm and you let out a pathetic whine when touya suddenly stops ramming his cock inside you. 

“if you’re gonna cum on my cock,” he grabs you firmly before rolling to the side so he’s laying on his back while you’re propped up above him with his cock still inside you. “then you gotta work for it.”

instinctively, your hips begin to roll desperately. you’re just so horny and so needy for his cock. 

“that’s a good slut.” he moans. his hands rests firmly on your hips to guide and help you from falling down as you wildly bounce on his cock. suddenly, the sound of a shredded fabric rings in your ears and you realize that touya has ripped off the shirt that you still had on earlier while your bra is already hanging loosely down your arms.

now everything is perfect. your back is arched and your amazing tits are bouncing up and down in front of him while you ride his cock in desperation to reach for your high. 

“tell me i fuck you better than your husband does.” he teases your clit with his thumb and your head lulls back from the intensity and tingling sensation in your core. 

you bite your lip so hard, it could draw blood. you don’t answer him but instead you try to grind closer and harder on his mere touch, your mouth agape as you whine like the bitch in heat you are.

“say it.” he presses his thumb harder but draws back immediately when your body starts to shake. you’re panting for air and the roll of your hips start to stutter though still aching for your release.

“t-touya, i want to–”

“then let me hear you fucking say it,” he smacks your thigh before gripping your hips to force you to stay completely still. “you had no problem screaming my name earlier.” he mocks, fingers digging into your flesh.

your slick is dripping down on his balls, your walls are already clenching on his cock and you’re just longing for some friction to fully push you over the edge. “you fuck me so much better than him, touya.”

“mmhmm,” he lets out a triumph sigh, guiding your hips to move agonizingly. “what else?”

what else? what else does he want you to say? your mind is already hazy with lust and the tight coil in your guts are begging to snap any time soon. 

“i-i want you so much! need your cock! want your cock to make me–  ah!” 

touya lifts up your hips slightly and slams deep inside your cunt. an overwhelming sensation aches deliciously in you core and it only grows more with every thrust. strings of curses escape from his lips and his fingers bury in so deep into your skin, you’re certain that it’s going to leave more marks on your body. 

his thrusts are so vicious and you can’t prop yourself up any longer and it results in you quickly melting down to his sweaty chest. his hands clutches the meat of your ass as he lifts up his hips higher and continuously rams inside your pussy while your hips buck to meet his thrusts. 

“ngh– fuck. right there!” you moan as your body quivers and there’s the presence of that intense feeling again. a feeling you can’t quite catch in the pits of your stomach but is begging to come out. with a snap of his hips and his teeth sinking on your shoulder, a potent wave of pleasure washes throughout your body and you could see stars. your hips shake brutally from the results of the impact and your mouth parts to a silent scream. 

your breathing turns inconsistent as you find solace in his rapid heartbeat. 

“you’re not lying, huh?” he muses. you look up at him meekly and confused but his eyes are concentrated where your bodies are joined together and he’s very pleased. “you really needed my cock to squirt.” 

the bed sheet is soaked now. the very bed where you and enji always cuddle up against each other and you ruined it. because of another man, and not just any man– has caused you to wreck it. 

“i’m not done with you yet.” touya pulls out his cock and pushes himself off of you so you’re laying weakly on your stomach. he positions behind you before lifting up your hips, forcing your back to arch and ass to perk while your cheek rests against the mattress. your body shivers as you feel his tongue licks a strip of your juices. a groan erupts from his throat as he mercilessly slides his cock inside your dripping cunny. you wail from the overstimulation but he pays no mind to it as he remains rutting his hips in pursuit of his own orgasm. 

“that’s it, doll. so– fucking good.” he breathes as he picks up his pace while you whimper underneath him. “you can take it, yeah.” you hope that he’s showing you concern but the tone of his voice implies that it’s a command rather than a question. 

the grasps on your hips are tighter each time he impales his cock inside you. his thrusts are so strong that you can feel your head getting closer to the headboard. the lecherous noises of skin slapping against each other reverberates throughout the huge room, almost loud enough to overpower both of your gasps and moans. 

“i’m gonna fill this slutty cunt with my cum,” he grunts, rutting his hips faster. “you want it, right? fuck– make you carry my children.” 

realization shoots through you and tears start to well in the corner of your eyes. “no, no. please, not inside!” 

his sporadic pace starts to falter before his cock twitches inside you and you feel warm, ropes of cum filling up inside you. touya breathes heavily and his semen drips along from your pussy as he pulls out his cock. he keeps your hips in place as he shoves back in the cum inside with his finger before untying your wrists and laying down next to you to catch his breath. 

“don’t worry your pretty head. the bastard will never find out.” he suddenly interrupts after a brief moment of silence. you both know what he’s going on about and it’s definitely not the bruises nor how messed up the bed is. 

“h-how?” 

“it’s gonna come out of you. he’s never gonna ask any questions.” 

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[ohmyasmodeus]

𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘮 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 ❖

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳 ; 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘵

✧   Sure, Lucifer is looking forward to appreciating art and the history behind each piece, but he finds himself much more excited to spend more time alone with you. History can be preserved, but every moment spent with you is simply irreplaceable; he ends up surprisingly spending more time gazing at you than admiring the artwork.

✧   You make him feel young again. In between displays, he sneaks kisses, mischievously pulling you away from the crowds just to hold you in his arms for a stolen moment. Lucifer adores the way you fall into his arms with soft laughter, and it makes him cradle your face between his gloved hands while he whispers about the way everyone looks at you like you’re a work of art.

“But do you?” You ask softly.

“I always do, ______.” Silhouetted by the gallery lights, he pulls you into a tender kiss full of emotion; a moment that no doubt belongs among the displays of beauty and immortality that surround you.

✧   Lucifer is the kind of person to actually read the little plaques beside the pieces that go into detail about the artist and the intentions behind their art. It takes a while for him to take it all in, but you don’t mind— it’s very cute to see him have to bend down and squint to read them.

✧   Your day hardly ends there. Even as he takes you home, he very much enjoys discussing your opinions on the works included in the gallery and the artists behind them. It’s Lucifer’s way of getting closer, trying to decipher how your mind works, how you view art pieces that are open to multiple interpretations. It’s his favourite part. He loves you and your brilliant mind.

♡ 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 ; 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 / 𝘢𝘳𝘵

✧   Your demon is the definition of a kinaesthetic learner. Mammon fits right in with the kids that run around the place, tugging on your hand as he begs you to come play these games with him! He never wants to do anything without you and you end up being basically dragged around the museum. But it’s okay because he’s cute!

✧   While surrounded by so many people, it’s even easier for him to get flustered about affection. His cheeks flush red whenever he thinks too hard about holding your hand, whether it’s to bring you somewhere, or just to hold your hand for the sake of it. The back of his fingers brush against yours, making you smile.

“Hm? What do you want to show me?” you ask as you take his hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

Mammon fidgets with his free hand before shoving it into his jacket pocket, looking away with a brilliant blush. His voice is quiet as he mumbles, “N-nothing, I just… wanted to hold your hand. Or whatever.”

✧   He’s much smarter than people like to give him credit for at times, and surprises you with bits of information he picks up that you couldn’t understand. At the same time, it’s hard to stop him from gushing about how cool it was to see that chunk of sodium explode when dropped in water and how he wants to watch that over and over again.

✧   Mammon runs wild in the gift shop, especially at those little archaeology or mining kits that let you dig through hunks of sand that claim to contain a piece of gold. Of course, there are a million things the both of you want to buy for yourselves, but so little money to do so with. He settles for something small in the end, because he wants to be able to buy something small for his brothers too.

♡ 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 ; 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

✧   From the beginning, Leviathan is absolutely fascinated. The calming atmosphere of the museum and being completely surrounded by his element makes Levi relax, even if he’d normally panic and try to hide from the people that walk along the exhibitions with you. But even then, you make sure to hold his hand just to reassure him a little more.

✧   Just like he rants about pretty much anything he has an interest in, Levi rants about the equipment on display and compares weapons or ships from different eras to each other, as if he’s talking about mere video game stats. It’s actually kind of hot to see him act like the Grand Admiral of hell’s navy is supposed to.

✧   Treat him like a Grand Admiral, actually. His brain totally short circuits when you lean into him and put a hand on his chest and gasp about how knowledgeable and strong he is.

“Oh captain, my captain!” you sing as you pepper his face in kisses, making him squirm in your arms. His face is beet red as he attempts to cover it with his hands.

“People are- they’re going to see us!” Levi whines.

You laugh and kiss him properly, arms wrapped around him tight. “That’s the point, baby! I like it when people know I’m yours.”

✧   He actually gets a little sad when he sees the bones of massive whales or the various preserved remains of sea life on display. They all feel like a part of him. At times, he feels like sea animals understand him much better than people do, and he has to give your hand a squeeze as the two of you through the section. At least he brightens up when you tell him that most of these specimens die a natural death or were cared for during their life.

♡ 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯 ; 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺

✧   His choice of museum goes without explanation. Humans are frail creatures that are essentially doomed to make the same mistakes again and again, despite a new era or millennia, but Satan still finds their history remarkable. He’s fascinated with seeing the butterfly effect ripple through time, sparking wars and conflicts. It makes him wonder about the universe’s decisions— especially the ones that brought you to him.

✧   Satan has always been more fond of reading the ancient texts on display or translating archaic inscriptions on bronze age charms, but when he’s with you, he finds himself more drawn to the elegant gowns and elaborately crafted jewellery on display. You always find his emerald eyes lingering on you, imagining what you would look like in something so grand. Your beauty stuns him in every way, especially with the way you smile at him while framed by the display’s lights.

✧   “I thought you wanted to learn,” you mumble with a quiet laugh into the kiss that Satan pulls you into. The two of you are wrapped in each other’s arms in the back of a crowded amphitheatre, making an attempt to watch a historical film.

In the darkness, Satan’s blush goes unseen, but you feel it in the heat of his face as you kiss him back eagerly. “I’ve learned enough about humans, ______. I want to focus on my favourite one now.”

You close your eyes, and so does he. History couldn’t matter less, not when it feels like the two of you are the only beings to exist, the only people that matter.

✧   Despite wanting to learn, Satan finds himself getting dragged into shenanigans with you as you voice historical figures with the goofiest accents and clown around with some of the interactive props. He laughs along and snaps a million pictures of you to keep, and he supposes that humans aren’t the only ones that make recurring mistakes. After all, he lets you loosen him up and lets you force your way into his heart time and time again, but he still can’t force himself to complain about it.

♡ 𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘴 ; 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘯

✧   Beauty in its different forms has always mesmerised Asmodeus. Museums have never been his thing, but with a fashion museum, you might just be able to change his mind. He goes between gushing about the textures and layering of different pieces to gushing about you and how amazing you look today!

✧   Asmo is always on top of the latest trends, but there’s something that always brings him back to the ostentatious allure of baroque and rococo dresses. He loves reading about the rise of these styles, but he would rather pull you along into a waltz as the quiet ambient music plays around you, the both of you giggling and referring to each other as ‘lord’ and ‘lady’.

✧   Or ‘your majesty’ and ‘my consort’...

✧   You, as always, expect him to pull you away somewhere quiet to make out and be general public nuisances, but Asmodeus surprises you this time. He’s far too busy taking pictures of you together and of just you alone, his amber gaze so soft as he contemplates your beauty. He ends up leaning in serenely as the two of you find yourselves alone together in a gallery.

“You’re gorgeous,” Asmo mumbles with a smile, delicately tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “There’s just something so magnetic about you, I can’t look away…”

“I don’t have to say it back because you know you’re handsome and your ego is big enough... but there’s nothing that can compare to how lovely your soul is.” You chuckle softly, resting a hand affectionately on the side of his face. Asmo rests his forehead against yours, wrapping his arms around the back of his neck with a delighted giggle, delighted in knowing that you see him beyond his superficialities and flaws.

✧   He buys you a set of jewellery from the gift shop, and not one of the cheap ones either. He splurges on one of the most expensive professionally made vintage sets because he really wants to daydream about you dancing with him in those rococo dresses, the most gorgeous royal couple in the world…

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘻𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘣 ; 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘵

✧   Delighted by the more colourful and almost bizarre applications of mixed-media art (think Yayoi Kusama), Beelzebub enjoys contemporary art the most. He’s easily fascinated with the elaborately abstract displays, and quietly wraps his arm around your waist as the two of you gawk at stunning larger-than-life works that probably get him a little hungry.

✧   He’s a respectful visitor and likes to stay silent so he doesn’t disturb the quiet atmosphere for everyone else appreciating the art. It ends up in him having to lean down and murmur softly in your ear when he has something to tell you, his warm arms pulling you into an embrace that you never want to leave.

✧   Workshops! Please bring Beel to the workshops because they’re his favourite part of museums. No matter how hungry he gets while putting in so much effort, he’ll sit still and work hard to make you something you can treasure.

“Do you like it?” he asks with a smile as he presents you with a little figurine version of one of the sculptures featured in the exhibition, hand painted by him. It’s easy to notice how the colours he picked out match your features. “It’s yours.”

“I love it, Beel! Oh, it’s wearing my coat and everything!” you gasp. The elated smile he gives you is absolutely priceless, and you can’t help but tiptoe to kiss him in thanks for his hard work.

Beel lets out a soft laugh and nuzzles his cheek into yours. “I really liked the art, but it felt like something was missing… Maybe the exhibition would’ve been a lot more beautiful if you were an art piece on display too.”

✧   Bringing him to a museum like that just might inspire him to create art by himself. After creating something for you, he feels hooked on it! You find him doodling a lot more on his homework and giving you the most endearing drawings of things you like, or his own hilarious renditions of what Lucifer looks like when he’s about to burst a blood vessel. Beel definitely has a hidden talent for caricatures.

♡ 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳 ; 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺

✧   Humans? Belphegor has had enough of them for a lifetime and can’t be bothered with learning more about them, but natural history is something that captivates him. There’s a kind of innocent wonder in his eye as you lead him around the exhibitions, marvelling at the displayed remains of the massive creatures that came before, wondering how they evolved into the tiny little animals of today. (But it’s probably also morbid curiosity with the way he looks at preserved carcasses and skeletons.)

✧   But you’re an exception to him. He's tired of humans but never of you, even if he jokes about it at times. Even if he knows about most of the things on display, Belphie is still asking you to tell him about them because he just loves hearing your voice. Coupled with the soothing silence of the museum, it almost puts him to sleep.

✧   “Don’t fall asleep! You paid to watch this!” you whisper when Belphie rests his head on your shoulder. You want to pay attention to the dinosaurs beating the shit out of each other in the surprisingly well-rendered 3D documentary, but you can’t help but gaze at your boyfriend instead, and the way he looks in those dumb 3D glasses.

“I won’t,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. “You’re warm.”

“You’re a little leech, you know that?” Despite your snarky tone, you lift up the partition between the theatre’s seats to let Belphie snuggle into you. Just like a leech, he’s immediately all over you with his arms wrapped tight around your waist, chuckling as he buries his face in your neck.

✧   You wouldn’t expect it, but he’s also the kind to go wild in the gift shop, albeit in more subtle ways— like staring really hard at something or carrying something only to put it down for you to get the hint. He ends up getting the both of you a big plushy to cuddle and name on the way home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[weirdlittlecorner]

Lin Kuei Hospitality: Cyrax

Notes: nsfw, 18+, comfort

Plot: A little slower, a little more sensual. Because Cyrax is a great character and deserves more attention and love

h/t = hair texture

Tags: @lilliannmac @onesillybeach @icy-spicy

—

The five men stood patiently as they awaited your decision. There was no doubt that any of them would show you a good time, which only made it harder to choose. You pursed your lips as you considered your options. Eventually, your attention shifted to the man in yellow. His dark skin and beautiful hair made him stand out as the most handsome of the men. But funnily enough, it wasn’t just his looks that drew your eyes to him. His demeanor was much different than the others. While he was standing at attention, as disciplined as the rest, there was a small crack in his stone exterior. As if he were in pain, though there was obviously nothing hurting him. That you could see, anyway.

It was almost as if he couldn’t stand being in the others’ vicinity. You wondered what could have happened to warrant such a reaction. This was the first time that you had ever seen any of the warriors up close, so you had nothing to go off of. It was most likely just some petty drama that was common amongst roommates- if they could even be considered as such. It would make the most sense. You, too, had your friends that you loved dearly, but you couldn’t imagine actually living with them every day. Either way, it wasn’t your place to pry.

The Grandmaster cleared his throat impatiently, motioning toward the line of men once more. Clearly wanting you to hasten and pick one so the rest could return to their business. Offering the dark-skinned man a warm smile, you nodded, “Come on, let’s get out of here,”

—

“Thank you for my new buzzsaw. I was able to try it out today; your work is very impressive,” The man, Cyrax, whispered as the two of you made your way through the long corridor to get back to your room. You smiled at the compliment, though that nagging confusion didn’t allow you to fully enjoy his words. His new buzzsaw. The one that had been amongst the new additions to the Grandmaster’s standard request.

What exactly did a clan like the Lin Kuei need all this new technology for? Again, it really wasn’t your business what your clients did with your products. But you couldn’t help but wonder... Whatever was going on, you just hoped that it was at least somewhat ethical.

__

The impending ‘improvements’ were a sensitive subject amongst the warriors. Cyrax had taken the most offense to the idea, as any normal person would, yet his fellow assassins thought that he was the crazy one. No, what was crazy was forcing one to give up their free will in exchange for the efficiency of automation. But he didn’t dare challenge the Grandmaster. Doing so would result in the most severe punishment; as if becoming a fusion of flesh and metal wasn’t already punishment enough.

“Hey, I noticed that you kind of… seem at odds with the others. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I just thought I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it,” You broke the silence, sinking down onto the bed and patting the space next to you. He claimed the empty space, sitting close enough so that your knees touched.

By the way his brows knitted together, you half-expected him to tell you. But he merely shook his head after a moment, “I am not at liberty to speak on the matter. But thank you for your concern,” His voice was even and had that same cold quality that was the standard, but you could tell that there was great sadness behind his words.

Instinctively, you opened your arms out to him, willing him to position himself in between them. You weren’t really sure what you had expected to happen, but soon enough, Cyrax was locked in your warm embrace. You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, basking in the silent comfort of each other’s embrace. But soon you felt his shoulders stiffen, along with a kiss being pressed to the base of your neck.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” While you had been excited for tonight’s proposed activities, now was obviously not a great time. You wouldn’t ask him to perform for you just because it was what the Grandmaster had ordered. He needed, deserved, a break. And while you would certainly enjoy the contact, you refused to degrade the man. But he clearly didn’t think the same way. Not when his face was still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I understand that. This is something I want to do,” His words made you shiver as renewed excitement tore through your abdomen. Well, in that case…

A rough hand quickly found its way into your h/t, h/c locks, effectively undoing the delicate hairstyle. A pleasured shiver wracked your body as he used your hair to bring you closer to him as you two shared your first kiss of the night. You hummed as the tip of your tongue darted out to drag itself across his bottom lip, granting you an elicit moan in return.

Without breaking the intense oral lock, Cyrax’ hands freed themselves from the mess of hair in favor of untying the knots in your overshirt. You moved your dominant hand to assist him in the process while your other hand remained cupping his face. Shrugging to remove the fabric from your shoulders, you reluctantly pulled away to unclasp your bra. Seeing that you had things under control, Cyrax removed himself to focus on shedding his own clothing. But not before giving a hard, playful tug on the hems of your pants, effectively pooling them around your ankles.

A giggle slipped past your parted lips as you bent down, yanking your pants, along with your panties, off the rest of the way and kicking off your boots. You repositioned yourself so that your knees pressed against the soft sheets as you returned the favor to your partner. Eager fingertips clawed at the form-fitting armor, as if that would make it disappear faster. Cyrax hummed in amusement at your eagerness before unbuttoning the clasps and untying the knots for you. Impatience turned into wonder as your hands brushed over his chest. His abs. His shoulders. All of which were hard bands of muscle, but also soft in a way. Even his body reflected the gentle demeanor that had separated him from the others. The two of you were content to sit just like this, fingers exploring each other’s bodies.

You embraced each other, much like how you had done previously. Though this time, the intention was very different. The warmth radiating off of the two of you was almost unbearable, but you ignored it as you took to kissing each one of his prominent muscles. He sighed softly, enjoying your impromptu muscle worship. This continued until the pooling heat in your respective pelvises won out and you just had to go further. Cyrax shifted so that his legs boxed in your hips. Pressing himself against you once more, he brought his lips down to your manubrium to plant soft kisses in the crevice of your breasts. Meanwhile, his right hand was making quick work of his pants and boxers, his hard length pressing against your inner thigh. Which, if you might add, was already slick with your dripping arousal.

There was obviously no need to pregame, as you were both more than ready. You didn’t think that you could tolerate more teasing, anyway. Impatient once again, you wrapped your hand around the head of his penis to guide him in. The man groaned as your walls began compressing his cock immediately. With a few more pushes, he was completely in, reveling in the feeling of being consumed by your flesh.

Sighing, your arms found their way around his broad shoulders as he began thrusting into your tight core. The sounds of your mutual pleasure were only slightly louder than the creaking sounds the bedposts made as they scratched the wall behind them. Your e/c eyes closed in bliss as you enjoyed the rocking sensation of intercourse. His lips found yours once more as his speed increased and his hands made their way to your s/c legs. In a fluid motion, your ankles were craned toward the headboard as he pushed himself deeper. The sensation of your cervix being stroked caused you to scream, and you were glad that no one could hear you. You hoped not, anyway. What were once your gentle fingertips rubbing your lover’s back turned into talons that began clawing at the tingling flesh.

If it had hurt, he didn’t complain. But despite your muddled concerns, the feeling of you scratching his back only enhanced the warrior’s experience. He grunted each time your hips met, feeling his climax approaching. And you were right there with him, your smaller body trembling as the familiar knot twisted in your stomach. It kept building, and building until the knot finally uncoiled itself with a burst of wet heat. It felt as if the sun had just imploded inside of you and that you should be a pile of ash. But you were whole, despite the thick dick that was still stretching your pussy relentlessly.

Your screaming had grown impossibly louder as the warrior continued to batter your walls in anticipation of his own orgasm. What seemed like endless abuse to your cervix abruptly ended when you felt a spray of liquid spattering against the muscle. Your lover grunted, his brown eyes screwed shut and his bottom lip bleeding from his teeth cutting through the skin, as he hosed your insides with his warm semen.

Despite having finished, Cyrax made no move to pull out. Rather, he chose to rest over top of you, his cock warm inside your trembling hole. You allowed it.

There were no words. Maybe when you could think clearly again, you would be able to find your voice. It might be a little hoarse, to accompany the ache that would surely be present when you tried to walk in the morning, but that sounded like just that: a morning problem.

[flowerwrites06]

break my mind’s eye VIII — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation 

Picturesque day framed by the window of the brightly lit clinic, cool air swirling around them aiding Belle’s anxiety in whatever slight way it could. Fingers gripped at her knitted lavender cardigan, pressing her legs together to somehow prevent more chill to flow through the white floral dress. She seemed to focus on every other little thing while the man in a white coat in front of quickly typed and clicked in his own time.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Jeon.” The doctor smiled as if he just confirmed the happiness of a new family.

Six weeks passed since Belle took the dozens of pregnancy tests haunting her with pink pluses until finally the doctor gave the final verdict. Thankfully with the Spring Line show coming in close to around a couple months, she was able to avoid any conversation of whether the ritual worked.

Ritual. Fucking hell what year was this?

Her silence caused a slight awkward confusion to grip the doctor’s face, almost as if he was inching close to a verdict that something was wrong.

Nothing should be wrong, Belle reminded herself. Happy relationship, remember?

The woman quickly adorned the perfect smile on her face using her glossy eyes as the sparkle of joy. “Sorry…it’s just all very exciting to take in.” She chuckled and thankfully the doctor was immediately convinced giving her a proper smile.

“Of course—very happy news though. I’m sure your entire family would be elated.” His grin stretched from ear to ear like he was related to her some way.

Then again anyone who so much as knew the Jeon family seemed to have that mindset.

“I’ll have your report prepared in just a few minutes, Mrs. Jeon.” He nodded in reassurance while Belle leaned back on the chair.

Gaze moved to the window looking out at the people strolling back and forth living their lives. She wondered how many were living by their own accord. Based on their own needs. Were they happy with where they were? Some rushing in suits trying not to drop their coffees, mothers and fathers pushing their strollers with toddlers skipping next to them and then couples walking calmly in casual clothing.

When she was younger, Belle told herself she would not end up in any of those situations. She would get a car, halt on marriage and kids while focusing on her career entirely until her thirties at the very least.

The naivety of dreams. Dreams of a life no one could ever control. Dreams that were already in the hands of fate.

“Mrs. Jeon?” The doctor addressed for the third time.

Belle finally realized that was her name now, stripping back to reality. Even her name was not under her control any more. Legally she had her original name but people wouldn’t care. Taking the husband’s name was more popular. So now she was officially Mrs. Jeon to society.

Quickly smiling she accepted the envelope handed to her and bowed slightly. “Thank you, doctor.”

-

Walking out of the clinic into the beautiful day, she spotted Yoongi leaning back against the side of the car with his arms folded over his chest. Raven hair a little longer now hovering over his eyes as he watched her taking a deep breath at the entrance stairs. “So?” He asked, squinting a little in the sunlight.

“What do you think?” Belle mumbled with the envelope heavy in her hand much like the twisted feeling in her stomach. Stepping down to the end of the stairs, she looked around every corner that was visible to her. Scanning for any movement.

“No peeping in the bushes, don’t worry.�� The older male reassured, pushing off the car and opening the door for the new mob queen. Even though he would never use that term in front of her without risking a kick on his foot.

Strolling to the other side of the car, Yoongi couldn’t help but mimic Belle’s scanning and ended up seeing a figure lurking in one of the alleys. Not that he was proud of it but Yoongi pretended to reach into his coat for a gun which evidently caused the figure to rush out to the streets.

“Fucking reporters.” Yoongi muttered under his breath before climbing back into the car and driving them back to the mansion.

-

Being invited to Sangria House during the day had not been on Taehyung’s to-do list but here he was anyway being driven to the establishment, by Kim Seokjin’s personal request.

The establishment exuded a different aura during the day as they parked to a halt in front of it. Flowers adorned the entrance in an arch matching the blossom trees behind the building creating a beautiful frame, most of the angels strolling around with their customers linked in hand while a lot of the juniors were simply having picnics under on the ground like it was their own paradise rather than people who entered.

As he walked into the makeshift garden, white coats welcomed him with a bow and led him into the private room with a brief statement of having a full days’ appointment with the best angel in the House.

Full day. Seokjin seemed to know his way around apologizing, he supposed.

Even on the inside things were so much more different. Customers were eating food normally instead chortling the whole way through; they were genuinely having good conversations with the red and lavender coats as if it was not going to lead anywhere. Purple drapes were replaced with more floral arrangements in strings trailing across the walls and he could have sworn butterflies passed them a moment ago.

The white coats stopped down the hallway to a familiar door knocking politely first.

Taehyung already had an achingly strong hope of who to see on the other side of the door.

And thank god, luck was on his side today.

The door opened and gracing him with her presence stood Angel in a different attire. It was still golden but a more casual hanbok with intricate floral designs on the overcoat that shimmer in the light against the silk. Less extravagance but more quality. Taehyung could immediately recognize who designed the dress.

Angel’s heart swelled finally being able to see the man again especially after the horrid way he was dragged out. She could still remember all the things he told her…all the things that haunted him now slowly taunted her.

Once the door closed behind Taehyung, the golden lady padded closer to the male.

Eyes moved around his body before she took a leap to cup his cheeks. “You’re okay.” A bright grin spread across her lips but her forehead knitted like she was close to crying. “Come in.” Gently Angel took his hand and walked to the table.

Taehyung couldn’t help but feel his entire body relax into her touch, leaning slightly into her touch before happily holding her hand. “You did full day appointments too?” He would have asked for that package in a heartbeat.

Angel smiled as they sat next to each other this time, shoulders brushing together. “No this is not a normal thing. Mr. Kim just wanted to apologize for the inconvenience caused last time.” She reached out and gave him some rice cakes. “I know you probably don’t want our tea right now so…I asked them to make these.” She pulled apart one rice cake in half and took the first bite to ensure him that it was safe to eat.

Warmth spread across his chest watching how her cheeks puffed when she ate, hiding her mouth and smiling, trying to stay elegant but still enjoy the taste. Taehyung had the strongest urge to press little kisses on her adorable cheeks.

The golden lady held up the other half of the cake to his mouth, giving him a reassuring smile that it was okay to eat.

Taehyung was not proud to admit that it did not matter if she offered him literal poison, he would still drink it just so the last thing he saw was that fucking smile. Though the cake did smell heavenly. Opening his mouth slightly he waited until Angel brought the cake so close that it brushed against his lips before he took the treat into his mouth. As soon as Taehyung bit into the soft texture, a burst of warm sweetness burst through and he felt a small lump in his throat.

How long had it been since he was able to really taste something properly? The man could never tell whether he was healing or not in the process of vomiting, taking medications and other methods Taehyung deemed boring or painful. It was only now at this incredibly simple moment of recalling just how tasty a rice cake was. How much he loved it in the years before.

“Is it bad?” Angel noticed the smile faded from his face. “I could go get something else.” She tried to get up but Taehyung softly touched her arm.

“No I’m just—” Taehyung chuckled after swallowing, eyes a little glossy as he met her gaze. “I haven’t had rice cake in a long time. It was really nice.”

She relaxed once more sitting next to him allowing a comfortable silence to seep through the air for a few moments.

Eventually the curiosity peeked far too much for her to control. “So…how was the wedding?”

A boulder seemed to drop and crash onto the hope of relaxing in this session now the question lingered. Taehyung could not blame Angel for being curious as she probably had been working the whole time it was happening.

But now he was reminded of the things other than the actual ceremony. The fake vows and calculated kiss under the blossom trees was more for the press.

Taehyung learned the hard way that the real ceremony was behind closed doors. He only found out after it happened because every relative from the Jeon family wanted to chat with him giving him no time to go and check on his sister. Now he wished he just pushed past all of them and ran to her.

It was too late though. By the time Taehyung got the chance to see Belle in the early morning, she was already in tears and shaking beyond belief before jumping into his embrace. She did not say a word to him or anyone for that matter. The whole two nights they were there, his sister stayed quiet merely smiling to the people who didn’t matter. When he found out about the secret ceremony Taehyung did the same.

With Jungkook, he didn’t even bother smiling. Every time he came close his fingers automatically curled into a fist conjuring up all the ways he could just get rid of him.

Now more than ever Taehyung grew aware that his baby sister was going through pain beyond belief while he healed. Aside from the heart clenching sadness, he grew determined to see an end for Jeon Jungkook.

“Taehyung?” Angel placed a hand on his arm gently before pulling away quickly. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer.” Her fingers played with the fabric of her dress with her head hanging.

Taehyung jumped back to his current state and shook his head quickly. “No—” He shifted closer until his hand rested behind her. “No it’s okay. Please ask me anything you want.” He gave her a reassuring smile trying to meet her gaze again.

The golden lady’s eyes flickered up see him so close that the warmth of his body radiated onto her.

“The wedding—” He sighed. “The wedding was beautiful…in a sense, I suppose.” Taehyung spoke with bitterness touching his tongue, pursing his lips together. He wondered for a moment if it were too much to speak these things out. Were these walls thick enough the hold the dark thoughts in his head long enough? Was it worth it show a side of him to Angel that he despised? A side of him created as soon as Belle told him, holding a teary smile that she was going to marry a monster and bear his child for his own benefit.

It turns out that part of Taehyung didn’t care who saw or heard him. “Do you ever have that situation where—you despise someone so much—because they’ve hurt you or someone important to you?—a hatred that runs so deep, the mere thought of them—” He huffed out a breath to somehow to cool down the anger erupting inside him. “Makes you thinks things unimaginable.”

Angel’s chest rose and fell slightly as her eyes now grew glossy. In a rush of painful memory, she remembered those words rushing in her own mind at some point. “Yes.” She muttered immediately pressing her lips together. All the nights of hiding in a bathroom and covering her ears hoping that her ex-husband would just pass out drunk. The way she trained herself to zone out every time he climbed on top of her.

Eyes shining and vision blurring just a little but enough to see Taehyung’s welcoming features so she could feel at ease. “You end up stripping them down to being nothing but a human. Not someone powerful…or someone with status that you can’t touch…Just a human. Vulnerable…soft…if you just grabbed a knife and stuck it at the right place. They’re nothing but meat.”

Taehyung’s expression softened hearing such a composed woman speak out the unimaginable things in his mind already. “What if that powerful person is Jeon Jungkook?” It was not something he didn’t think about before. There were dark points in his time living in that place knowing the man was just sleeping soundly in the room with no one really watching over him.

“You can’t do that.” She shook her head.

“But you said—”

“No, Taehyung—your sister is now a Jeon.” Angel raised a hand to ensure that the man listens to her every word. “If you sister is widowed in the Jeon family, it won’t bode well on her. She’ll be tied down to the family until her death. If Jungkook is doing something then there needs to be a divorce.”

“How do you know all that?” His brows furrowed.

“Seok—Mr. Kim told me a story that Jeon Boyoung was a widow…she had to marry someone arranged by the family a day later. It’s a terrible life, Taehyung, remarried widows are not given any kind of respect in the family. The new husbands are allowed to be unfaithful to them or abusive to them without any consequence. The only reason Boyoung is doing somewhat well is because she is a Jeon by birth. Belle isn’t.” Concern riddled her expression hoping to the high heavens Taehyung understood what she was saying. “Jungkook cannot be killed while they’re still married.”

Taehyung shifted in his position feeling a slap of clarity right across his face. “Seokjin—how does he know all these things?” He shook his head. “And how does Belle get a divorce? That family controls everything.”

“Not everything.” Angel whispered so low, she had to lean closer to him. “Belle needs someone to support her alibi. Someone just as powerful as the Jeons. It’s not just them that controls everything, there are other influential people in the city.”

“How am I supposed to find someone just as powerful?”

Sighing shakily, she glanced around the room before moving to stand on her feet. A quick smile tugged at her lips almost as if this whole conversation never happened. “Would you like a take a stroll with me, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung nodded before trying to return her smile, standing up as his mind filled with nothing but confusion.

-

By the time they reached the mansion the envelope in Belles hand scrunched up as if it has been read a million times already. She tried smoothing it out a little when the car parked but it still look just about as messed up as her mind orientation. Crinkles mimicking a drought riddled land and light stains of foundation remnants from her fingers.

Yoongi climbed out of the car first as the two guards from the front walked a bit closer. Standing on her side now, he waited for her to take a break to breathe before opening the door and watching her step out. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be waiting just outside the room.” He muttered as they moved to enter the mansion.

Guards as usual welcomed them with a bow and Belle had the urge increase her pace towards the second living room, her heart racing at the same speed. Fingers shook, body burned from her toes to her head and her legs moved slower than normal at the lack of concentration. She hated wearing a lavender cardigan today because the colour looked far bright for her actual mood.

Looking over her shoulder, Belle saw Yoongi standing with his hands in his jacket, giving her a reassuring nod.

She couldn’t hide it for too long. At some point it was going to get difficult to avoid everyone on the truth. Especially Jungkook.

For a moment Belle paused again hearing muffled voices on the other side of the office door. A usual sound now for the past few weeks. Padding closer to the wooden barrier, only one voice stood out like a teacher scolding an empty classroom. It would be easy to just turn away with the excuse that Jungkook was too busy but no one should be too busy for this. At least in her mind.

She stood close to the door that someone might mistake her for kissing it. Closing her eyes, Belle knocked twice before opening the door just enough to walk inside.

“Move the surviving associates to the other dens, fucking fight back next time!” Jungkook growled slamming the phone down so hard that she heard a crack. He stepped away from the phone, rubbing his face with a frustrated sigh padding through him.

Belle stood inside the room, immediately regretting that she entered but it had be done now or the courage would never arrive again. “Jungkook?”

“Not now.” He muttered without even giving her sideways glance.

Anxiety faded a little; the same heat but it ignited a different kind of fire in her belly. “Yes now.” She spoke firmly, lips pursed together.

Slightly reddened eyes met Belle’s gaze as he padded over to the table once again more, leaning on the edge, dark curls falling over his face. Jungkook tried to control his heavy breathing but it only seemed to get worse when he started thinking about it. “Belle, I’m not in the mood for any more drama today, alright?” He shook his head slowly, hands nearly trembling with fury.

Belle sighed to calm the fire down somehow as the envelope grew so heavy in her hand, she worried her grip would relinquish without her knowing. “This is important.” She took a step forward but quickly jumped back.

Jungkook knocked the phone off the table with the back of his hand, harsh thuds and broken rings echoing throughout the room. “Important?! What could be so fucking important that you can’t give me a moment of peace?” He stomped across from the table almost leaving steam behind him.

“My entire goddamn empire is breaking apart into pieces!” He threw his hand towards the fallen phone as his feet nearly stepped over hers. “I’m sure whatever you have to say can fucking wait.” Hot breath brushed against her already warmed up face.

“It can’t fucking wait!” Belle shouted back despite her mouth feeling incredibly dry, the heat around them collecting and making her a little dizzy. “This—” She jabbed the envelope at his chest not really caring whether it caught or not as it dropped to the ground. “This is what your screwed up family wanted, you got it.”

Eyes burned with tears once again, stomach clenching and her head spinning abnormally. “You won.” She smiled sadly. “Congratulations.” She seethed turning on her heel and stomping out of the door, slamming it so hard that it echoed through the whole mansion.

Stomach twisted in such a way that it almost meant to give Belle as much pain as humanly possible making her wince while tears forcibly streamed down her face. She rushed across the second living room completely ignoring Yoongi who tried to call out her name.

It didn’t take a genius to see that breaking the news had been worse than he expected. The family wanted the damn baby so why did he have to see Belle running out with one of the most heartbreaking expression he had ever seen on the girl? And Yoongi had seen a lot, much to his own discontent.

Yoongi tried to open his mouth to say something but Belle already flashed past leaving the gust of wind behind with her speed. If he knew what happened then it would be easier, right now nothing but confusion and a little sadness gripped his face.

“Get my car ready, please.” Belle announced to one of the guards who immediately bowed and rushed off to do her bidding.

The older male lurked at the edge of the second living room and watched a young looked guards who he remembered was called Jongho. One of Belle’s regular guards who usually kept an eye on her the most. The amount of influence this woman had in the entire Jeon mansion honestly could frighten even Yoongi. Every guards seemed to lose their composure and give her a sad look as if wanting to comfort her in her time of need.

Jongho leaned in a little to hear her whisper, possibly about her location because it had to be known to someone just in case. The young guard nodded and opened the double doors for her.

Yoongi would have rushed to the girl and provided some comfort but if she purposely ignored him then it was clear that her intention was to be alone. All he knew was no woman should ever come out looking that fucking upset after trying to tell their husband she was having their baby.

Jungkook tightened his jaw as the sound of the door still rung in the air. Roughly raking his fingers through his hair as if he was pulling it from the roots, gaze flickered down to the discarded envelope. Crouching down Jungkook picked up the slightly crumpled paper and ripped it open letting the little pieces drip carelessly to the ground.

His heart began to race when he saw a doctor’s pregnancy test report details. Forehead knitted reading through the report until the word ‘results’ caught his eye.

Then in big capital letters, his mistake came crashing down harder than a bag of bricks to his head.

POSITIVE.

All the anger faded away quicker than Jungkook prepared for as it replaced with a painful clench in his chest and the whole world momentarily crashing down on him.

The ritual worked.

‘You won’ she said.

His family won.

The walls of his mind closed in on itself tightly not knowing whether to spread elation or guilt through his body. Instead a deadly mixture of both feelings pumped in his veins making his fingers tremble for a whole different reason.

Jungkooks’ biggest den had been infiltrated by the police, once again with the mayor’s direct orders and the speculations of his hand being involved grew stronger by the day. He knew with all his heart how important it was to keep his business and empire safe but now…

What was more important now?

Something wet dropped onto the paper soaking through the ‘I’ and ‘E’ of the word ‘positive’ bringing him back to reality. Jungkook sniffled quickly, wiping away the tiny trickles of tears escaping down his cheek before opening the door.

“Where is she?” The question posed and everyone’s eyes were on him now, even the maids paused in their tracks to look at him. Could they notice the tears gathering in his eyes? Once again Jungkook had to succumb to feeling like a lost boy who didn’t know what to do without the guidance of his family.

Hair over his face managed to cover most of his distress but Yoongi only had to glance down at the paper clasped tightly in the younger male’s hand to know why.

“She drove out.” He nodded towards the entrance.

Jungkook did not utter another word before practically rushing out of the second living room but immediately paused when Yoongi stood in front of him.

He raised his hands in defense seeing Jungkooks’ glossy eyes burning into him at the disrespectful action. “Sorry, sir but—I believe your wife wanted to be alone right now.” Yoongi attempted to explain in the most careful way possible. Though his mind conjured much more colorful words. The last person she wants to see is the dickhead who impregnated her against her will.

Anger burned to his very core seeing Yoongi speak to him so casually. “Do you even know where she went? What if she gets into danger?!” Jungkook growled making the maids jump back and frantically continue on with their work.

Fortunately Yoongi had been significantly numbed to acts of intimidation. “I know where she is and she’ll be as just as safe there as she would be here. You don’t have to worry.” He shook his head, trying to keep his voice calm and collected.

“But—” Jungkook held up the paper pathetically, sighing shakily.

“I know…I went to the clinic with her.” Yoongi nodded. “She’s okay. She just needs a little space, it’s completely normal.”

It’s not normal and she wasn’t okay but he really just needed to live right now.

Jungkook had the strongest want to keep fighting and just push past to find her but where would that even lead? Ever since that night, Belle couldn’t even look at him properly. Honestly he didn’t have the courage to look at himself either. All his life his parents taught him that the family customs existed for good reasons. Reasons which kept them alive for so long. As a naïve child he found himself never finding anything wrong with these customs.

Until he had to go through them. Along with dragging the woman he grew to care about into it.

Turning away from Yoongi, Jungkook dragged his feet towards one of the couches in the second living room and slumped down.

“I made her think it wasn’t important.” He stared at the paper, reading the same word over and over again. “My father would always tell me how happy he was when my mother told him she was pregnant.” Jungkook scoffed, his vision blurring a little. “He picked her up and twirled her around right in front of all his men not giving a care if he would look weak.”

Yoongi pursed his lips together leaning on the wall behind him.

“Family makes you stronger, he said. Nothing stronger than family.” Jungkook pressed down the inner corners of his eyes with his index finger and thumb, shutting his eyes tightly to stop any more tears from flowing.

“Anyone can pretend to be happy at first.” Yoongi spoke plainly. “It’s what you do for the next twenty years that actually counts.”

Jungkook licked his trembling lips not completely convinced but it wouldn’t be the first time he succumbed to the alluring beauty of a lie.

-

Clouds spread out to welcome the heavenly blue and golden warmth as Belle padded across the entrance gardens of the Sangria House. For a second, a few people stopped with their usual activities to stare at her, twist of recognition on their faces. With a sigh Belle hugged her cardigan again being the only comfort for today despite the colour being so harsh on her tired eyes.

Through the entrance doors, she looked around the area like a slightly lost puppy. The lobby used most of the natural light making it look like a beach hut of some sort as the warmth was now replaced with fresh cool air.

Belle hoped with all her soul that the person she wanted could just appear right here out of luck. Unfortunately luck was not a trustworthy friend in recent months.

More eyes now fixated on her presence and a figure even padded towards her; tall with lines adorning his face, tattoo peeking out from his shirt and a smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you open?” The man’s gaze trailed up and down her body. Waft of cologne and tobacco swirling around his aura as he moved closer.

“Excuse me?” Brows furrowed but before she could channel any more of her frustration, a red coat rushed over to her side.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jeon…” The red coat bowed in a meek tone even though it was not her fault in the slightest.

The rude customers’ smile immediately disappeared into a look of despair and fear, widened eyes staring back at Belle. “Mrs. Jeon…” He bowed so low that he almost vanished from her line of vision. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“Would you have continued on with your shenanigans if I wasn’t Mrs. Jeon?” She glared down at the male.

He gripped at the fabric of his trousers tightly, still bent down as if ready to be flogged.

“I assumed too quickly, Mrs. Jeon. Please accept my deepest apologies.” His voice shook slightly knowing the smallest word to Jungkook about this behavior would end in a whole lot of limbs being lost.

Belle sighed lightly, averting her gaze. “It’s alright. Just make sure I don’t find you doing it again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jeon…” The man smiled giving repeated bows as he backed away. “You are most kind.”

The man now led away by the red coat, Belle was being hosted by one of the white coats who asked what she needed today.

The previous aching in her stomach seemed to get worse despite getting the fresh air while even the mildest rush of heat from the day increased tenfold when it reached her skin.

Oh god…not now.

“Park Jimin, please. If he’s free.” Belle spoke, her strength wavering a little as every part tried to suppress the pain in her chest pushing something up to her throat.

Giving her another bow the white coat led her off to one of the private rooms.

Once again her feet seemed drag across the floor like the world moved too much to catch up properly. More swirling around in Belle’s head, the bitterness in her throat erupted with cruel strength, forcing her to grip on the edge of the door to steady herself.

“Mrs. Jeon? Are you okay?” The white coats’ hands hovered over her to prevent any dreaded fall but distant enough for manners.

Belle gave her a shaky smile through she still held onto the edge as if her life depended on it. “Just a little queasy…” Stomach clenched again and her mind grew stubborn, only thinking about something heavy being pushed up her throat almost choking her. “Is there a—” She tried to swallow it down but it seemed to get more violent. “Is there a bathroom anywhere?”

Her eyes widened before quickly nodding and gesturing towards the private room. “This has a bathroom, madam.” The younger girl tried to gently lead her inside where a small door stood closed.

Passing the little empty table, Belle felt saliva flooding inside her mouth until drool almost leaked out of the sides forcing her to burst open through the door without waiting for the girl and throwing herself in front of the toilet.

Knees ached against the cold wooden floor, chest lurching painfully as the contents of her stomach spewed out in the form of a burning liquid. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes struggling to breathe, a small part hoping it was over before her stomach lurched again.

She vaguely heard footsteps coming closer before her hair was being brushed back gently and her back soothingly rubbed.

Belle coughed feeling a harsh burn in her chest but finally being able to breathe easy as the nausea faded albeit taking its sweet time. As soon as she turned to the side, a hand towel gestured her way. She accepted it with a rush of gratitude as she wiped off her mouth still letting out small painful coughs.

Glossy reddened eyes flickered over to the side, seeing a familiar pair of sultry eyes and pouty lips look back at her with an expression of concern.

“You okay?” Jimin whispered, hand sliding from her back to her shoulder, squeezing it a little as a form of comfort.

Belle sighed before pursing her lips, more tears threatening to flood out if she continued to speak. So the woman merely shook her head, chin trembling and heart crumbling into pieces. The action alone held more truth than anything she ever forced herself to say.

His expression softened not needing any type of explanation as to why Belle looked so upset. Jimin saw the whole thing with his own eyes. No one could ever come out of that and still feel the same. All he could truly do was pull her close and wrap her into a warm embrace, allowing the woman to sob into his shoulder.

Fingers curled into the lavender fabric, sobs now pushing out of her as Jungkooks words replayed over and over again. All the smiles, laughter and kisses. All of them were fake. Nothing was real. Now more than ever Belle had been forced awake from the fantasy that began to thicken far too much. It stripped down to the harsh reality. When her whole future was taken away in one night.

-

They embraced until their legs fell asleep before eventually moving over to the main private room. Jimin’s hands still on Belle’s arms carefully guiding her to a seat.

Once the new air brushed in, the nausea slowly fizzled out allowing her to breathe in without feeling like a nasty potion being conjured in her throat.

As the pair sat across from one another a moment of silence lingered. Whether to consolidate the memory of their embrace or just time to adjust to their usual setting, both of them were not quite sure.

Then she spoke in a raspy and exhausted voice.

“I always thought I’d feel like the happiest woman in the world when I got pregnant.” Belle said with her head hanging, tears still freshly formed and a heart that could not seem to stop clenching into itself like it hid from something. “Every time I saw a baby smile…I’d always think…I’m going to have that one day with the man I love and he loved me.” She shook her head before scoffing at the naivety. All those stupid dreams of a happy life filled with love, loyalty and trust. Everything replaced by deceit and manipulation.

Jimins’ could feel the burning behind his eyes watching the broken shell of a strong woman speak out thoughts of a time when she was whole. Fingers twitched wanting to embrace her again but the moment for that passed. Now they both had to come to terms with speaking the truth. “You–you can still be happy…” He winced a little at his own words. “Arranged marriages can—” He swallowed hard. “—they can work out through time.”

Not this kind of arranged marriage. At least some arranged marriage gave the couple a chance to say agree or disagree on things. Here Jungkook merely took a fake girlfriend, then he and his family proceeded to do whatever they needed to her for their own benefit. All she had to was sit there, smile and take it.

Belle smiled at the lavender figure as if to reassure him that she appreciated his help. “It’s—complicated…” She chuckled, a small droplet trickling down her cheek. Averting her gaze, she wiped away her tears quickly with a light sniffle. “I supposed I shouldn’t complain. You probably have it worse.”

Jimin hummed in disagreement, shaking his head. “I feel safer here than anywhere else.” His brows furrowed lightly. “Seokjin—” He stammered a little accidentally calling Mr. Kim by his name. “I know he has a reputation but he’s a good man. Really. Never gets angry unless it’s at customers which is rare. He’s always keeps us safe.”

Eyes flickered to meet his, blinking slowly as her curiosity now peeked more than she ever felt it before. “But…what he did to Taehyung…” Belle gestured towards the table before them which had a half-drunken glass of water near her.

He leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “To protect Angel.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Taehyung didn’t do anything. Why would he get punished like that?” Belle kept her voice soft but loud enough for them to hear. As her words became consolidated in the air and in their memories, something struck in her mind that seemed to muffle everything out for a moment.

Jimin paused thinking over what to say before slowly taking a breath. “His… methods are little—”

Calculated. Planned.

For the first time in too fucking long, Belle could see past this thick veil of confusion. It wasn’t all just cruel fate. Her heart raced so hard it tried to crash through her ribcages and even her toes began shaking from the rush of adrenaline pumping in each vein.

Taehyung wasn’t drugged so Angel could be safe.

Tears dried up and a new rush of determination touched her broken form. Belle leaned in, gaze fixated on his, speaking in a firm tone. “Is there any way I could organize a meeting with Seokjin?”

-

Taehyung tried his best to suppress the intense heat on his cheeks feelings Angels’ soft hands interlock with his slightly rough ones. Through one of the backdoors, they were welcomed by the bright light of the beautiful day and the beautiful blossoms in all their glory.

Pink, red and purple petals falling to the green ground or continuing to fly through the wind to their own personal freedom. Subtle scent of jasmine and lemons touching his nostrils despite the actual plants being situated all the way at the end of the large backyard. A few angels both red and lavender wore more comfortable clothing rather than extravagant while entertaining their customers. Some of them danced in front of the picnic set up or simply sat with them engaged in light-hearted conversation.

He almost forgot the purpose of their visit to this slab of imaginary heaven as Angel led him past the laughing the patrons and towards the jasmines hanging on the fence just facing all the lemon trees. Taehyung wondered if this was what they used for their tea recipes. The small wonder momentarily halted when he felt himself being pulled under one of the lemon trees.

Subtle scent now became potent in his nose, the heavenly jasmine and citrus mixing with Angel’s sweet vanilla perfume. It would have been overwhelming if Taehyung had not lost his focus when meeting the golden ladys gaze.

Her grip on his hand loosened a little but a few fingers still struggled to depart from one another. “I wanted to say this to you in more privacy. The rooms are always watched.” Angel whispered with a light smile. “I’m so sorry…I was the one who put the drug in your tea.” She hung her head. “I didn’t know it was going to make you sick.” The usual composed walls around her once again opted to fade away when standing so close to Taehyung. “I—I thought it was going to make you feel more relaxed and calm—I didn’t…” Angel paused in her shaky words when she felt his hand cupping her cheek gently.

Taehyung watched her beautiful eyes getting glossier every second she continued speaking, each second his heart sunk deeper into a pit. “Did Seokjin ask you to do it?”

Angel pursed her lips, blinking frantically to get rid of the tears forming. “Yes.”

He scoffed averting his gaze, rush of heated fury erupting in his belly. “They’re all the same.”

“No…” She shook her head immediately holding onto his arms. “Taehyung, look at me.” The leaves rustled in a gust of wind causing her hair to flow over her lips a little. “Seokjin isn’t the man you think he is.”

Taehyungs’ brows furrowed searching her expression to find some sense of delusion or lack of surety but the woman looked collected as normal. “What kind of a man is he then? Who drugs their own customers for intimidation?” He seethed more so directed at Seokjin than the beauty before him.

Angel glanced quickly to the side ensuring that nobody was close to listen in. “The helping kind. Taehyung, if he was anything like Jungkook you’d be dead by now or he’d never allow you to see me ever again.” Her own heart jumped at the very mention of the idea. “Seokjin would never do what Jungkook did to your sister.”

He tightened his jaw as his stomach twisted and leaped causing an ache in abdomen. “What?”

“I know about the deal.” She whispered. “Seokjin told me as soon as you walked into Sangria House.” Angels’ bottom lip trembled moving one of her hands to caress his cheeks.

“How much did he tell you?” Taehyung swallowed down hard.

“Everything. He always does.” She smiled sadly, brushing her thumb over his temple. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Her smile quickly disappeared however as she halted her actions. “But your sister isn’t.”

“What can I do?” He muttered leaning in closer with the guise of being secretive but really he desperately wanted to close the distance between them. “Please tell me.”

-

Door opened gently by Jimin who quickly bowed as soon as they walked inside. A rush of cold air flowed through even Belles’ thick cardigan gushing from the air conditioner swirling with the soft linen waft of cologne. Seokjin sat at his table in the middle of writing something out on a paper before he peered through his glasses to see the two figures walk into the room. A calm expression across his handsome features as per usual despite clearly being disturbed in his work.

Belle padded further inside, fingers intertwined with each other and her posture at its perfect stature determined to look her most composed.

Seokjin quickly stretched a smile across his plump lips before standing up as a sign of respect. “Madame Belle, it’s always nice to see you.” He gave her a nod. Eyes flickered over to Jimin who stood politely in the corner looking a bit confused as to what he was supposed to do. “Thank you for escorting our prestige guest here, Jimin.”

It was a kind but clear sign that the lavender adorned male could leave the vicinity for their private conversation.

“Jimin can stay.” Belle glanced towards him before facing Seokjin. “I trust him if you do.”

Silence plunged into the room as both males still attempted to figure out just what Belle was trying to do or say. However Seokjin had to suppress a smirk at a few theories conjuring in his mind. He gestured for the two of them to sit at the vacant chairs.

Jimins’ confused gaze flickered from Belle to Seokjin before quickly closing the door of the office and following the woman to the chairs, sitting down as soon as she did.

Belle brushed away any creases on her dresses as she situated herself on the chair, the chill creating goosebumps on her bare skin.

Seokjin pushed away his blazer careful not to crease the ends as he sat down. Sighing happily, he smiled at the both of them leaning back on the chair. “What can I do for you, Madame Belle? Has Jimin been doing something inappropriate?”

The lavender males’ heart jumped frantically looking over at Belle with wide eyes.

“No. In fact the reason I wanted him here is to thank him…for helping me answer a question I could never wrap my head around.”

“And what question is that?”

Belle searched his expression, heavily impressed with how he could keep such a composure. Deep down she almost worried that her theory might sound silly at the end. “Why would a man with such a heavy security system in his facility—and security guards the size of buildings feel the need to drug a potential threat?” She squinted lightly.

Silence plunged into the room like a welcomed disease as Seokjins’ smile appeared back again even wider. “Well…I have less than glorious methods sometimes but it’s all to protect my beloved angels. Especially my wife.” He explained in the most rehearsed way possible even though they both knew it was merely a dialogue recited many times for people more gullible.

“Angel was never in danger.” The corner of her lip twitched as her goosebumps dialed down through the warmth radiating inside. “Your angels are always safe. At all times. The second something goes wrong, the guards are there in seconds.” Twitching turned into a steady smirk that for the first time Belle did not have to think about or force. “You knew that.”

“Knew what?” Seokjin asked, much to Jimins’ confusion, the man looked utterly pleased with the exchange.

“You knew Taehyung would never do anything to hurt Angel.” Belle shook her head. “You just needed an incident…the perfect incident to get anyone who could carry a simply vial to the Jeon mansion.” She chuckled softly at her own gullibility despite her cried out eyes burning in the harsh cold wind. “The most foolproof infiltration. Make Jungkook’s beloved girlfriend think her brother was terribly sick and sneak a police officer in to play the medic just at the right time.”

The older male grinned brighter than Belle or Jimin had ever seen it. Clearly this was not a dark secret he meant to keep from the woman otherwise the conversation would have turned into something a lot more different. “I must say, Ms. Belle…” Seokjin leaned in and rested his elbows on the table. “I’ve been at this for years now—possibly longer than Jungkook has been leader. Never once did anyone decide to question me or my involvement in traitorous behaviors. Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re a powerful man.” Belles’ smile faded away for a moment. “They won’t question anything you do even if they know it’s wrong—because you can make them lose everything with a flick of your fingers.” She pursed her lips together. “I’ve already been one of them once…I’m not doing it again.”

Seokjin nodded slowly, noticing how her gaze mended from shattered shards to the woman who was ready to pick all the pieces up and mend herself together. “And who are you now? Mrs. Jeon Jungkook? Kim Taehyungs’ sister? Or Madame Belle?”

It always came down to this, didn’t it?

In a series of mind breaking and heart clenching events, one rushes out of the woods to find themselves wondering if they were the same person who entered in the first place. Was she still the same little sister who desperately wanted her brother to get better? Was she the perfect wife for Jungkook? Or was she the designer striving to be as successful as Saito herself?

Maybe Belle was all of them combined. Or none of them and this was all a sick dream playing out in her head but it couldn’t be.

The path in front of Belle now split into two; a fork awaiting her to step into to lead into a future that might make more sense than this one.

This felt too real. It didn’t feel good or satisfying nor did it make her feel relaxed.

This was real. It was time for her to wake up and draw the curtains on this fantasy.

-

Sun began moving over to the other side when Belle drove back to the mansion after feeling a significant brush of relief in her body.

For the first time she walked through the door with an air of both confidence and a little fear when her hand caressed her belly. You’re not going to be born in this mess. I promise. Padding across Belle smiled at Jongho who waited politely just at the entrance before returning a smile of his own with a nod.

Inside the main living room, Yoongi paced around biting down his fingernails mostly trying to stop himself from drinking something at the bar. Not that it would help since it was full with fucking apple juice. He wished he bought a coffee earlier but in his past experiences a boost of caffeine almost never helped with stress.

Footsteps made him pause in his tracks. A rush of calm pulsed through him when Yoongi saw Belle walking towards the male. “Jesus fucking Christ…” He whispered padding closer. “You okay?”

The woman stayed silent, completely dried out of tears and Jimin comforted more than enough. Now the only thing left was that feeling of exposure when the truth finally revealed itself. She felt naked in front of it but free from the lies. “I just went out to the Sangria House, I was safe.” Okay was a difficult word to associate with her right now.

Yoongi nodded fingers curling into themselves before he repeated the same action at the payphone.

“Taehyungs’ there too, I’m told.” Belle didn’t get a chance to catch him but she now knew that Seokjin had no intentions of hurting him in the first place. “Where’s Jungkook?”

He gulped, averting his gaze and gesturing towards the stairs. “He—read the report. Hasn’t come out of the room yet.”

Stomach started doing leaps again, fear rising that she might have another episode with her head over the toilet. Belle hummed mulling over her thoughts before leaning into his cheek and pressing a chaste kiss. One couldn’t even truly call it a kiss, just a light press of her soft lips against his burning skin. When she pulled away the woman smiled proceeding to cause more heat to bundle up inside him. “Thank you.”

Yoongi merely breathed out a sigh unable to speak as Belle gently walked past him up the stairs.

He felt the guards’ eyes on him, some of them judging his reddened cheeks while others smirking. Quickly clearing his throat Yoongi bolted towards the guestroom.

In the same gentleness Belle did earlier, opening the door with care peeking inside briefly before completely entering and closing the door behind her. Turning around Jungkook sat at the edge of the bed just as she was the first time they came into the mansion. His head hung, dark locks forming a slight curtain while his hands rubbed his face, light sniffling riddling the air mixing in with the strong stench of tobacco.

Gaze flickered over to the study table to see a few used cigarettes including one still exuding smoke almost halfway used.

The woman winced accidentally taking a big waft when she tried to breathe in causing her to cough and break the silence.

Jungkooks’ head shot up hearing the sound, quickly jumping off the bed and rushing to the study table. Picking the cigarette he roughly pressed it against the ashtray waving the smoke away from the woman. “I’m sorry.” He muttered in a slightly shaky voice.

“For what?” Belle padded towards the bed to her side, placing her bag on the nightstand before carefully sitting at the edge. Her legs melted into the soft surface finally being able to rest physically at least. Lazily she swung them over fully onto the bed after taking her shoes off, shifting back she rested her back on the headboard.

Jungkook leaned on the edges of the table before hanging his head again. “For everything.”

The vague answer was always the easiest.

Belle reached out for the throw blanket and placed it over the bare parts of her legs providing extra comfort and warmth. “You were stressed, I should’ve waited.” She replied simply.

“You shouldn’t have to wait to tell me something like that.” He shook his head finally turning around to face her. “Six weeks.”

“Six weeks.” Belle gulped, fingers beginning to tremble a little. “I had to make sure.”

Jungkook blinked slowly before nodding as he padded over to his side of the room, pushing off his shoes. Sitting against the headboard the male let out a small sigh as he unbuttoned one more button on his white shirt to feel less constricted. “How big would it be right now?”

“Probably the size of a peanut.” She looked down at her belly and instinctively caressed it.

He immediately flickered down at her belly, still unable truly to understand how a human was going to grow in there. Despite the things Jungkook had seen in his life this was going to be the most surreal of them all. “You’re important to me, Belle.” He reached out and placed a hand over her belly. “Both of you.”

Belle moved her fingers over his and caressing the back of his hand slowly.

“Everything’s a mess right now I can’t—” Jungkook sighed leaning on the side of his head against the headboard. “I can’t think straight.” With his biggest den taken down, one after the other like a cruel domino effect his empire seemed lose each of its pillars. At the same time he had to try and pick all the pieces while protecting the standing pillars making his mind curl up into itself. As if a survival mode to get away from extreme stress.

She shook her head, patting his hand. “It’s okay.” Belle whispered knowing the word lost all its meaning a long time ago.

Jungkook tilted his head to search her expression watching the dull sunlight shine onto her locks making them look golden. Like a sailor being allured to the siren, he leaned in and pressed a kiss on her cheek and another on just on the corner of her lips. “I want you to be happy.” Nose nudged against her cheek.

Belle closed her eyes momentarily feeling his hot kisses against her skin, heavy remnants of tobacco on his breath forcing her to breathe through her mouth for a while.

Pulling away, the male shifted to lay his head on Belle’s lap facing her belly and blanket covered thighs used as a pillow. Finger traced at the little creases on the dress from her sited position as Jungkook relished in the scent of her perfume hopefully masking his cigarette riddled one. “It doesn’t matter what happens to the empire.” He whispered, gaze fixated on her belly. “So long you’re both happy…I’d give everything else up.”

Her heart swelled for a brief moment as Belle allowed herself to succumb back into the comforts of his words. His beautiful lies. “Do you promise?” Shaky hand moved to brush through Jungkook’s hair.

His gaze flickered up to meet her glossy one, giving her a soft smile. “I promise.” Jungkook looked back down at her belly caressing her skin through the clothing. “I’ll always keep you happy.”

Belle bit down her bottom lip to suppress the sob being forced out of her, closing her eyes shut tightly to stop the tears but they merely created constellations on the womans’ lashes. Letting out a small sigh she relaxed into his touch, struggling to swallow down the lump in her throat.

Quickly for one of the final times Belle forced herself to stretch a smile across her lips.

I’m not happy.

-

Cheeks finally cooled down as Yoongi leaned back on the chair of his temporary bedroom, dark as the thick curtains perfectly shielded him from the sunlight. Fingers scratched at the fabric of the armrest not thinking of anything in particular but merely drowning in an empty zone away from reality just for a few moments. He grew accustomed to this feeling after seeing one too many dead bodies of children.

Two knocks rapped on the door before it opened to reveal the senior maid, Nana. “Hello, Master Osamu.” She smiled closing the door behind her and walking further inside to do her usual cleaning starting with fixing his bed up.

Yoongi made it himself but unfortunately not the way that it was usually designed to fit the aesthetic of the house since most of the fancy cushions were on the floor. “Sorry I’ll—” He tried to get up from the chair.

“No no it’s okay. This is my job after all.” Nana chuckled picked up all the cushions and threw them onto the bed to make it easier for her to organize them.

The younger male smiled and relaxed back onto the seat with a light sigh.

“You did well. Helping Mistress Belle like that.” She muttered placing all the bigger pillows close to the headboard then the medium ones just afterwards.

Yoongi chuckled nervously observing her actions and how effortlessly she put everything in place when it took his entire soul to neaten the blanket. “What’re friends for?” He pressed his lips together in a thin line.

Nana smirked, fluffing the larger pillows. “Just friends?”

Eyes widened at the sudden change of tone from the older female making him stammer a little as he spoke.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, boy.” She continued speaking casually while wiping off the collected on the side lamp. “This isn’t just an undercover mission anymore and you know it.”

Yoongi could have sworn his core shivered hearing those words so easily fall from Nana’s lips without a damn care in the world. Glancing over at the door of his bedroom, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How did you—”

“I raised Jungkook, you think I wouldn’t be able to see a rat under my nose?” Nana continued to keep her gaze anywhere but the younger male pretending like they were either having a regular conversation or none at all since Yoongis’ tongue seemed to lose its purpose. “Don’t get so scared. I don’t rat police officers out, you’re doing the right thing.” She neatened up Yoongis’ things on the nightstand. “Every king needs to be taught that they can crumble just as easily as a servant.”

Once everything stood in order, Nana stood in front of the male with a bright smile. “And every servant knows when to help the right people. I clean Jungkooks’ office too.” She gave him a bow and turned on her heel to leave the room.

Needless to say Yoongi was heavily reminded of how Namjoon and him were not the only ones who wanted an end to Jungkooks’ reign.

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[cafeinthemoon]

The Founders’ hairs and how take care of them 💕

(I’ve said I was going to be more active during weekend but here I am showing up only now shame on me)

So this blog has now +200 followers! Yay! To the ones who follow me since the start: thank you for being here with me!! And to the ones who just arrived: welcome to my blog! It’s good to have you here!!

So, to celebrate this conquer I decided to post this list of headcanons about the Founders’ hairs and how to take care of them lol This idea has been in the back of my mind for a long time but I didn't have the time nor the courage to write it. I feel like we don't talk about this as much as we should, so here it is 💜

Fandom: Naruto | Founders

Symbols: 💗 | ◻ | ▶

Hashirama 🌳

God just look at this hair 💜💜💜

You can’t just say you wouldn’t like to take care of it

And you’re lucky, bc Hashi would love to have someone to do this task for him, so if you’d volunteer the answer would be YES

Now, assuming that you’re his s/o: it’s not that he's unable to take care of his own hair, but he appreciates this gesture of yours

When you two have some time to chill at home, he likes to sit in front of you while you are on a chair or something so you can brush his hair

Hashirama has long, thin hair, so that it gets easily oily and dirty. It can be more difficult during summer or when he needs to leave the village to travel through arid places (and ofc after battles), because he can’t carry all the necesssary products with him (and he would never get the time he needs to use them anyway) 😢

 Because his hair is thin, it needs to be washed often, or it will get too sweaty and dirty and no one wants that. As I said before, arid environments are a problem, bc the dust can cling to the strands and it all can get messy

Lucky him that you are at home when he comes back ❤

Start washing his scalp. Maybe you’d need to do this two or three times, depending on the state of things. Do not scrub it or it will get sore (plus it will increase the hair loss)

Be careful while washing the length and the ends: thin hair can easily break when we apply too much strength against it

You can use a towel to remove the excess of water, but it’s better to let it dry naturally. It will not get too long, specially on hot days

His hair is straight, so there’s no need to use heat to style it. Just combing it is enough

If you want to use some product to protect it from heat, dust and to keep it hydrated, that’s great! But be careful: do not use much product or the oiliness will get worse. And of course, never apply cream, oils or anything in the roots 😉

About the cut: Hashirama has nothing against short hair, but the vision of scissors getting too close to his hair is terrifying to him. So if he ever lets you hold a scissor near him, he will only let you trim the ends (and he will definitely hold a mirror to see what you’re doing)

Tobirama 🌊

You wanna try and take care of his hair? Good luck bro lmao

I personally think that he never does anything with his hair besides washing it and passing his fingers through it before putting his happuri

And the reason for that is simple: Tobirama has thick, bristly hair and he doesn’t know what to do about it

Plus he doesn’t have much time to think of what to do

So when you suggested that you could take care of his hair, his first reaction was 😵 but then he thought about it and ended up saying yes

And ofc you were more than happy lol

First place: his hair is thick. Not textured, but thick. So you have to be patient

Sometimes it will be necessary to wash it twice to see the shampoo making some bubbles. But once you achieve it, just focus on doing a scalp massage

Tobi will love it. You know, he’s very stressed bean, so a massage will be welcome 💜

But be careful to not scrub his scalp not matter how much he begs you to do it

About fragrances, creams, etc.: he’s not against something that smells good and can make his hair softer, but do not exaggerate. He will not appreciate strong fragrances

Because his hair is thick, it will not get dry so quickly. Here you have two options: using heat or asking him to use his control over water to make it evaporate

The same principles of patience and gentleness apply to the brushing session: start with the ends and then go for the length. Never, NEVER start with the roots

Here’s an observation: in the first day, Tobirama’s hair will be more bristly than normal because the washing process removes part of the natural oils. But don’t worry, because everything will be back to normal in the day after

Madara 🔥

So, Madara’s hair. MADARA’S HAIR. Omg.

Taking care of his hair is something that happened just like anything else in your relationship: it started as an innocent favor, but now it turned into a serious ritual

You always knew that Madara loves his hair. It’s literally an extension of him. It represents much of the person he is, so he is very proud of it. It is the closest thing from vanity you can find in him

One day, still in your first year together, he came home and you noticed he had some small leaves and tugs clinging on his hair

It was a bit funny that given the amount of hair Madara has, it was something you should expect to see often, but you never thought of it until then 😅

Somehow you sensed that pointing out the current state of his hair would hurt his pride, so you acted careful: you approached him, hugging him from behind, and started stroking his front strands. You pretended you just found a leaf there and offered to take it and all the rest out. At first, Madara found it weird bc he always did it by himself, but he accepted it anyway. It was how it all started

It's like a domestic task that you take it more seriously than the others

You start taking the twigs, leaves and grass out, which takes quite some time. Bc of the knots, you can’t do it fast otherwise everything would become a torture session for you bb

After taking them out, you separate his hair in smaller sections to unravel some of the easier knots. You have to start from the ends to prevent the break of the strands. Only then you can actually wash it

Bc Madara doesn't like the deep fragrances they put in traditional hair products, you had to develop a homemade formula with some herbs you had in your backyard. You were afraid that you’d never be able to make enough product for the lots of hair on that Uchiha head, but fortunately you have a wide garden ��

It's probably the calmest moment of his day, when he just stands there sitting in front of you while your delicate hands do the work

Madara has thick, textured hair. And yeah, bc of its thickness, it is heavy (only someone as strong as him would be able to maintain it).You need to be careful on how you handle it even when it's wet

Btw it takes too long for it to get dry naturally, so some heat is allowed

I said some heat not a Katon technique for God sake

It’s better not having it 100% dry to brush it, so when it’s half wet you can separate it in thick sections and comb the edges of each of them slowly and patiently. Then you can divide it in smaller sections to brush their length

Bc it’s thick and long, it doesn’t get a lot for his hair to go back to its normal aspect once it’s washed and clean, so this is basically everything you need to do to take care of it. It might seem easy but this is just a summary: the truth is that you must be prepared to spend hours on this task

(But I don’t think you’d complain right)

[primatechnosynthpop]

Wow! Against all odds, I finally got around to actually writing the follow-up to I'm Gonna Be The Anti-Hero that's existed exclusively in my head for months! Well uh here it is :3

---

The secret underground room beneath Plymouth rock was dark and silent as always, save for the faint dripping of water through a crack in the ceiling. It figured that, after living there for countless centuries, the structural integrity would finally begin to erode. That dripping sound, although highly irritating when it first started a month or so ago, had now settled into background noise which John Smith paid no attention to. He was a pilgrim, not a witch; it wasn't like the water could hurt him.

Then again, he realized a few moments too late one rainy spring day, perhaps he should have reevaluated that statement. He was minding his own business sitting in his chair and reminiscing about the very old days (that was the only thing he could really do anymore, slowly decaying as his body was) when the soft and steady dripping suddenly escalated at an exponential rate into what sounded like a small waterfall. He turned his head to see a semi-transparent humanoid figure taking shape out of the water pooling in the corner--strangely tinted red, as though the water were mixed with blood. As the old pilgrim watched, jaw agape, the figure strode purposefully toward him, taking on a more solid form as it did so.

"What are you doing here, intruder?" John Smith demanded, one hand tightening around the hilt of his sword while his other hand reached behind his back to fumble for his musket.

"This secret underground room isn't government sanctioned," the stranger hissed. (Although... was he a stranger? John Smith somehow felt that he'd seen this youngster once before, but he couldn't quite place where or when.) "And you have no official identification registering you as a legal citizen. Not to mention, you haven't been paying taxes... disgraceful."

Before John Smith had the chance to concoct a retort or draw either of his weapons, the masked man's hands were around his throat and crushing his windpipe with a force that could only be driven by an inhuman amount of bloodlust. And within seconds, the life of a pilgrim that had been extended for centuries past its expiration date was finally put to an end.

*

"I can't believe they want us to make a clown movie at a time like this."

"I can believe it," Neil replied without looking up from the shopping list in his hand. "The studio wants a lot from us, remember? They're not going to care how sad we are. Anyway, it's been four months--" The emotions bubbling up within him refused to let his voice stay level, so he gritted his teeth and hissed out the rest of his sentence rather than let himself start crying in the middle of the dollar store. "We should be over it by now."

"Neil..." Kevin began in the way he'd often addressed Neil over the past few months--brow furrowed, voice edged with an obvious and vaguely patronizing concern--only to trail off and shake his head with a sigh. Apparently he'd finally given up on trying to make Neil feel better, which was just fine by him, because things are never gonna go back to the way they were before and it's my fault and I don't deserve to feel good about it.

"Anyway, we've got what we came for," Neil muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Kevin's shopping basket without looking him in the eyes. "Let's go."

At the checkout counter, the cashier frowned and shook her head when Neil offered her a five-dollar bill. "Sorry," she told them, "But all this is going to cost $29.99."

"What? But we don't have that kind of money!" Neil lamented. "And we got this stuff from the clearance section... plus this is the dollar store, so shouldn't everything just cost a dollar?"

For a visual aid as he spoke, he grabbed one of the items they were ringing up--a bargain pack of multicoloured clown wigs--and shook it in the cashier's face. Apparently unmoved by his bargaining, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Maybe you should have checked the price tags first, sir."

"Huh? But, but..." Neil trailed off when he looked down at the price tag on the item in his hands. The bright orange tag had the original price, $7.50, crossed out and replaced with $2.35... but then below that, scribbled in tiny and barely legible font, it read "just kidding, it's actually eleven dollars now." "Aw, man," he groaned, tossing the pack down on the conveyor belt and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Just our luck."

Kevin had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he drove them home empty-handed. When he pulled up outside the clubhouse a few minutes later and they climbed out of the truck, he suddenly laid a hand on Neil's shoulder.

"Say, Neil, let's not get discouraged," he said. "I've got another idea for how we could get our hands on some props."

"Really?" Neil asked, perking up despite himself. "How?"

"Well, I think--" Kevin broke off as unexpectedly as he'd started, encouraging smile briefly dipping into a grimace. "...You know what, I'll take care of it myself. You can hold down the fort here, okay? I won't be long."

Neil's brow furrowed. "Okay, but what are you...?"

Without explaining himself any further, Kevin clapped him firmly on the back, hopped back into his truck, and drove off. Neil watched him recede down the road with bewilderment. Being all secretive like that wasn't like Kevin... Unless he's trying to protect me from something, he realized with a twinge of bitterness. That would be just like him, the way things had been recently. Ever since the past winter, and what had happened with Ryan, Kevin's latent big-brother-ish tendencies had escalated; now he watched over Neil like a hawk and freaked out every time he so much as stubbed his toe. Under different circumstances Neil would have relished being fussed over, but now it was more annoying than anything else. The thing was, he didn't deserve it. If anything... his fingers strayed up to absentmindedly fidget with the four-leaf clover pinned to his shirt. I deserve to have bad luck. I deserve to suffer, after what I did to Ryan.

Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to say no to having the clubhouse to himself for a while. With a sigh, he disentangled his fingers from the clover's leaves, ran a hand through his overgrown bangs, and turned to head inside. Maybe he could play cards or something to pass the time.

*

A thick layer of dust had settled over everything in Ryan's house. That made sense, of course. It had been four months--no, five, since Ryan hadn't come home once while he was being a vigilante--since anyone had set foot there. Even so, Kevin was unprepared for the full-scale assault on his lungs when he opened the door, and promptly broke into a coughing fit.

"Man, good thing Neil stayed home," he thought aloud as he batted thick, swirling clouds of dust and spiderwebs out of his face. "The way things have been going for him lately..."

He'd probably choke to death on all this dust, he thought but didn't say aloud, and then felt bad for thinking it in the first place. Kevin didn't understand what had happened to Neil in the course of the past few days, but ever since picking up that clover, he seemed to be having a run of uncharacteristically bad luck. Whether it was random chance or something more suspicious was afoot, it sure wasn't doing much for his already thoroughly frayed nerves.

"Alright, calm down, James," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and ideally dispel the rest of the dust. "Focus. Concentrate. What are you here for? Props for your webisode. Right."

Keeping that objective in mind, he made his way past the front entrance and into the living room. There, a few objects were strewn around that caught his eye: a mannequin bust wearing a colourful wig; an eccentrically patterned jacket draped over a chair; a brush dipped into a rusted metal container filled with what he hoped was red paint. After looking around a little more he found a large cardboard box filled with mutilated stuffed animals, which he mostly emptied out and started filling with the useful items he came across.

All the while, a persistent feeling of unease stirred in his gut, becoming increasingly hard to ignore with each belonging of Ryan's he packed away. This is wrong. I shouldn't steal from him. Kevin paused and looked down at the box in his arms with a frown. One of the items sticking out the top, a blank-faced doll head, seemed to stare accusingly back at him. For a moment he saw it not as a plastic figure, but as a human form encased in ice and then broken apart. He blinked and the illusion quickly vanished, but an unsettling feeling remained in its wake. Neil was right; it had been months already. So why did going through Ryan's things make him feel so dirty? Ryan didn't need any of this stuff anymore. He was gone. Wasn't he?

With a weary sigh that, had anyone been around to ask, he would have accredited to the physical exertion of carrying heavy stuff around, Kevin set the box down and stepped back to survey the room he was in now. If he remembered right, this kind of room was called a study--there was an armchair with a few suspicious stains lurking beneath the dust, a desk strewn with papers all scrawled full of nonsense like the ravings of a mad scientist, and an ornate bookshelf. He wandered over to the latter furniture piece and ran his hands along the spines of the books, letting their leathery texture ground him in the present. He noticed several unusual bibles and other ancient texts, and a stash of calendars, some of which he was pretty sure had originally belonged to him or Neil; the up-to-date calendars and one of the more normal-looking bibles went into the box, while he decided everything else was better left where it was.

There was one other set of books he recognized: a teen fantasy series that Neil had often gushed about. Thinking back to the previous fall and all the events he normally tried not to think about, he experimentally lifted one of the fantasy books off the shelf. At once, just as he remembered from when Neil showed him, the bookshelf rumbled to the side and revealed a narrow staircase descending into the basement.

If anyone asked him, Kevin couldn't really say what compelled him to go down those stairs. The secret chamber was as empty as he remembered, with nothing down there that could possibly be of use for the webisode. And without a lantern, he could barely even see the only things that were there to speak of: the paintings of Ryan's ancestors.

"Ryan..." The name manifested on Kevin's lips unexpectedly as he stared, squinting through the dust and darkness, at the row of portraits grinning lopsidedly back at him. He knew the paintings couldn't hear him--hell, they weren't even paintings of Ryan himself, just his relatives. But their faces were practically identical to him, that face he hadn't seen in person for nearly half a year, and that alone was enough to clog up his throat with unbearable emotions.

The thought of It's a good thing Neil isn't here for this surfaced again, and this time Kevin had to agree with himself. Losing a close friend was... well, there was no way not to take it hard. But Neil seemed to have taken it particularly hard, even blaming himself, to the point where any mention of Ryan would immediately send him straight back into a depressive spiral no matter how happy he'd been a moment earlier. That was why Kevin had kept this idea a secret from his friend in the first place--that, and he wasn't sure if it was going to pan out and didn't want to get Neil's hopes up. He figured that if Neil asked where he got all the stuff he'd found, he'd just say it was from a garage sale.

Now, looking into the achingly familiar manic blue eyes of those portraits mounted on the wall, Kevin thought of those news reports about the mysterious killings that had been going on around town. If that really was Ryan, and he was somehow still alive...

"Why?" he whispered. Without really thinking, he reached out and pressed his hand against the painting as if to cup its cheek. "Why haven't you come home, Ryan? Where are you?"

*

The target was at home, alone in her bedroom playing video games. Casual, unbothered by any harm her actions may have caused. Shameful. In an icy swirl of perhaps not-so-righteous fury, the vigilante took form in the corner of her room and crept up behind her. With an average build and no weapons at the ready, she would be no trouble to dispose of.

"Playing dead in order to toy with an innocent man's feelings," he growled. "Some people would call it ghosting. I call it a crime punishable by death."

"Jesus christ, what the fuck?!" Wendy yelped as she spun to face the vigilante. "How'd you get in here?"

"You shouldn't worry about that," he told her, gloved hands already flexing in anticipation of tightening around her neck. Or perhaps this time he'd thrust his hand straight through her chest and rip out her heart--an appropriate punishment for her crimes. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it out once I send you to hell."

"Okay, seriously? What is happening here?" Eyes narrowed, Wendy put her game on pause and got to her feet to stare the vigilante down. "You said something about me playing dead..." Her eyes suddenly widened with recognition, and the vigilante waited for the fear to set in along with it, but instead she shook her head and laughed. A pitying laugh. "Wait, you're not friends with that, uh, that filmmaker guy, are you? Geez, I seriously must have dodged a bullet there."

"Filmmaker..." the vigilante murmured as the word echoed in his mind. Yes, that's right. The man she stood up was a filmmaker... of a sort. (How did he know that? How did he even know who this woman was? Those questions weren't worth dwelling on, he decided.) "You may have thought you dodged a bullet back then, but I'm here to see that the bullet circles back around and destroys you like you deserve."

Wendy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, any trace of fear on her face outmatched by her sad, pitying smile. "Sure, keep the edgy sayings coming, Mr. Hot Topic. And what's with the getup, anyway?" she added with a nod to the vigilante's predominantly dark outfit. "Must be kinda warm."

Warm? The vigilante snorted derisively. No, of course he wasn't too warm. His blood, as it always had for as far back as he could clearly remember, ran cold like that of a snake. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm. And he certainly couldn't remember a time when he'd worn anything other than his current ensemble. Rather than waste time telling this insufferable woman as much, though, he simply took a few purposeful strides to close the distance between them, hands extended and more than ready to kill.

"Ugh, get away from me, creep!"

In a startlingly swift motion, Wendy's leg shot out and connected with the vigilante's ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He hissed in irration, though not in pain--when his sensations were already perpetually numb, it would take a lot more than that to hurt him--and got to his feet, dusting himself off with a scowl. In the few seconds this took, Wendy grabbed a baseball bat from the corner of the room. Now she stood brandishing it in perfect athletic form with a battle-ready glint in her eye.

"Not another step, you hear me?" When the vigilante didn't dignify her with a response, she gritted her teeth and gave the bat a twirl--attempting to show off, it seemed, but her hands shook slightly and she nearly dropped the bat, only barely managing to regain her grip on it. "My mom is in the other room right now, and... well, she hasn't done anything wrong, so you don't want to punish her, right? And if anything happens to me..."

He stiffened at Wendy's mention of her mother. An innocent citizen? That was the type of person a vigilante was meant to protect at all costs; otherwise vigilante justice was no better than the police. But no one is innocent in this city. Even so, he understood the implicit threat--not that Wendy's mother would bring him down herself, but that either woman could very well call the police. And the last thing he wanted was to get law enforcement involved.

"...Fine," he snarled at last, turning on his heel with a twirl of his vigilante cape. "You can live a while longer. But I'll be back, and then you'll regret your sins."

He heard her gasp but didn't bother sparing her another glance as he let his form dissolve into a splash of red-tinted ice, sinking through her floorboards and off to thwart another criminal.

*

Slowly and carefully as a technician deactivating a bomb, Neil set the three of spades down across the top of the three other cards he'd lined up on the table. The humble beginnings of a tower stood for a moment, and he held his breath eagerly as he reached for another card to place on top, only for it to suddenly shudder and collapse like an anime girl who'd stood in the rain for too long.

"Dang it!" Neil threw his hands in the air in exasperation. When he did, a droplet of his own blood landed on his glasses, and he realized with a start that his hand was bleeding--just a paper cut, but still, he'd better wash up.

As he ran his hand under cold water, transfixed by the sight of the blood swirling down the drain, a sudden cracking noise rang out just above him. His head snapped up to stare at the spontaneously cracked bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back, stricken and gaunt, as shards of shattered glass rained down into the sink, where they mixed with the water and the blood. Neil shivered, his breath quickening.

Icy water... ice, blood, broken mirrors. All mixed together. Shattered. Blood, guts, ice, mixed together, down the drain. My fault my fault my fault my fault--

"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his scalp as hard as he could. "No! I didn't do it, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Deep breaths, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. It sounded like Kevin's voice, worried to the point of being slightly patronizing. Neil grimaced, annoyed at his own brain for manifesting its self-preservation in such a way, but he complied nonetheless. Keeping his eyes wrenched shut, he took several deep breaths in and out until his heartbeat slowed to normal--he hadn't even noticed it speeding up--and his hands didn't shake when he lowered them away from his head.

"Hey, you know what'd really make me feel better?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, putting on a broad smile and wiping his hands off on a towel. "A nice hot bath! Yep, that'll counteract my blood running cold, alright..."

He ran his hands up and down his arms as he spoke, although he didn't know who he was trying to fool; the chill that had settled into his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure who this whole performance of forced cheerfulness was meant for... the studio, maybe. He wouldn't put it past them to hide cameras everywhere. Either way, even if it wouldn't fix his psychological issues, a bath really would be pretty nice. He put the plug in and started running the tub, with the water temperature set just hot enough that it would scald him a little at first.

He wasn't sure exactly what happened when he sat down on the edge of the tub to take his socks off, whether he slipped on something or leaned too far back or what, but suddenly he lost balance. And by the time he realized he was falling backward, he only had a split-second to curse his rotten luck before his head connected with the wall and he blacked out.

*

In the end, Kevin managed to get a pretty good haul from Ryan's house. In addition to the stuff he and Neil could use for their webisode, he'd retrieved the calendars and a couple other things it looked like Ryan had stolen from them, as well as their old communicator wristwatches. (He wasn't sure if the watches fell into the camp of things Ryan had stolen, or if they'd just brought them over to his place for a sleepover once and forgotten them there. Either way, Kevin figured it could come in handy to start using them again.)

"Hey, Neil," he called as he stepped into the clubhouse with the box in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm back."

There was no reply. Frowning, Kevin set the box down with a slight grunt of effort and wandered through the living room and down the hall. There were a few playing cards scattered on the table, suggesting that Neil had been trying to make a house of cards but given up halfway. Kevin couldn't really blame him for that; assembling cards in such a way that they'd actually stay upright was yet another thing that had been more in Ryan's ballpark than in either of theirs. Still, that didn't explain where Neil was now...

"Neil? You there, bud?" Still being met with no answer, Kevin came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was ajar with water pooling out from inside. "Oh, man, that's not a good sign..."

He gave a tentative knock, and when there was still no response, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes when he did so immediately made his breath hitch and his blood run cold. The broken mirror over the vanity reflected his slack-jawed expression as he stared at the overflowing bathtub, the pair of still-clothed legs dangling over the rim, and the smudge of blood on the wall leading down to the head of the man those legs belonged to, slumped inside the tub with his head submerged in the water.

"Neil!!"

Kevin sprinted across the room to lift Neil out of the tub. It then took him a few seconds longer to turn off the faucet and pull the plug, as by that point the shock had turned to dread and his hands were shaking. Once the water was slowly starting to drain, he fell to his knees and pulled Neil tight to his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his soaked-through t-shirt while the other fumbled across the back of his head searching for the source of the blood. It didn't take long for him to find the slightly matted patch of damp hair indicating where Neil had banged his head against the wall. Kevin swallowed hard as dread leapt up to claw at his throat. The only question is... how long was he submerged?

"Neil," he whispered, and was almost embarrassed to hear how hoarsely his own voice came out. "Wake up. Please."

No response. Kevin reluctantly pulled back to hold Neil at an arm's length, and shuddered at how limply his friend's body flopped forward. He noticed, with a white-hot jolt of irrational anger, that the four-leaf clover was still in place. Fat lot of good that thing's done for him. He grabbed the clover and crumpled it in his fist, all the while tears pressed against the back of his eyes; he struggled not to let them fall. Damn it... first Ryan, now Neil... What kind of protector was he? What kind of friend?

He slammed his fist, the useless clover still clenched within, against the drenched floor tiles. At that moment, the lightbulb above his head exploded and sent sparking wires raining down around him. As soon as electricity met water, it sent a nasty shock through Kevin's veins; he screamed out of equal parts surprise and pain and scrambled up onto the countertop, which was barely wide enough to support him.

On the floor below, Neil's body convulsed. Then his eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasp that turned into a scream halfway through. Although touching his friend's hand sent the current through his own body for a moment, Kevin was quick to grab him anyway, and he managed to pull Neil safely out of the electrified water and into a fierce embrace. Neil kept shrieking, and he squirmed frantically around, not seeming to recognize his surroundings at first.

"It's alright, Neil," Kevin assured him despite how hard his own heart was pounding. "I've got you."

"Oh..." Neil's body slackened, and he pulled back to blink slowly at Kevin, realization dawning in his eyes. His cheeks coloured with embarrassment and he ducked his head. "Uh, thanks."

Neither of them said anything else, for lack of ability or perhaps willingness to put it into words. After a moment, Kevin realized he was still holding the clover, and he handed it back to Neil, who took it with a dip of his head and a murmur of acknowledgement, and pinned it to his soaking wet t-shirt.

Somehow out of everything in the room, themselves included, that little scrap of plant matter was still intact. And although he wasn't superstitious, that simple fact was what would stick in Kevin's mind for the rest of the day, turning it over until he could only conclude: Yep, there's definitely something weird going on with that thing.

*

Despite the many months he'd prowled the city, this was the vigilante's first time in the hideout of a proper gang. It looked about the way he expected: dimly lit, no windows, weapons hung up on the wall and cigarette butts littering the floor. The gang members, dressed primarily in leather jackets with a few in denim, lounged in chairs leaning too far back, or on top of tables, or on their motorcycles parked right in the middle of the room. Most of them didn't even notice the vigilante as he approached. They were too caught up chattering and cackling amongst themselves like a nest of overgrown crows. The one gang member who did seem to notice the vigilante from the get-go simply looked up at him with raised eyebrows and addressed him once he got close enough to strike.

"Hey, haven't seen you around before. Looking to join the club?"

"Hardly," he snarled. "This whole place is crawling with criminals."

The whole room broke into laughter at that. The vigilante gritted his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. These people were different from the criminals he'd taken down before; between their numbers and all the weapons they had easy access to, they might just pose a serious threat if he wasn't careful.

"You're the ones, aren't you?" he went on once the laughter had died down and the gang members were all watching him with a mix of bemusement and curiosity. No trace of fear amongst them yet, but that would change... "Throwing bricks at innocent people, even seeking to damage their property. Absolutely detestable."

"Woah, hang on," another of the gang members cut in sharply, reaching for a weapon as they stood. "First off, the whole brick throwing thing was months ago. Second of all, we never did that to innocent people, you know!"

"Yeah!" yet another gang member cut in, pumping her fist in the air. "Only to those losers who blew up our boss!"

...Boss?

The vigilante slowly turned, a deeper chill than normal running down his spine, as a strangely familiar smug cackle echoed from behind him. He came face-to-face with a man in a tank top and baseball cap, sneering at him with his arms crossed. Max. Gulping, the vigilante took a step backward. He's their boss?

(How did he know that name? How had he known Wendy's name either, for that matter? Why, out of all the criminals in the city, did a select few ignite disproportionate resentment within him? He'd dealt with some of these people before, he knew, but when he tried to remember when and how it all just turned to slush in his brain.)

"Yep, those losers got what was coming to 'em," Max said. "Except not really, 'cause they didn't suffer enough. But it's okay, we'll get 'em extra hard next time."

"No..." For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the vigilante's voice shook with equal parts fury and sudden fear. "Don't you dare hurt them."

"Huh?" Max tilted his head, already slightly squinted eyes narrowing further. "Heyyy, wait a minute, aren't you one of--?"

Before he could finish that thought, the vigilante was upon him with a karate chop to the windpipe. It was a more reckless attack than he'd planned, and even as Max stumbled backward coughing, he could hear the rest of the gang grabbing their weapons and running up behind him. But it was fine; the vigilante could take them all on and then some. He could kill any number of people if it was for the sake of defending his friends.

(Friends? Did he have friends? Somehow it felt that he must have, once. But that was strange, because the only thing he could clearly remember himself ever being was a cold-blooded vigilante.)

*

"Don't you see? Society's the one to blame! It's society's fault that he had no choice but to become this way!"

As Kevin delivered this speech, waving his arms dramatically toward the focus of the scene, Neil spun the video camera around to point it toward himself. Hopefully the studio would think of the disorienting cinematography for this webisode as a bold artistic choice rather than thinking of it as amateurish and embarrassing. He then leapt back, breaking into maniacal laughter with his prop gun raised in the air. Under ideal circumstances, this role might have been better suited to Ryan, but... well, they couldn't stay hung up on him forever; they had a job to do.

"Eh-heh-heh! Thanks to society, I have the urge to kill!" Neil twirled around to show off his clown costume, while just out of frame, Kevin hastily put on a wig and fake mustache. "And now... I'll kill this innocent man, who's different than the guy who was talking a minute ago!"

(It was fascinating--fascinating and dumb--how a broken mirror and a bit of blood could set him off, but something as heavy as a gun in his hand only brought him the faintest twinge of discomfort, easily ignored for the sake of making a webisode. After all, as Kevin had assured him many times over the past few months, it was the gun and its villainous weilder who were to blame for what had happened to Ryan. On an intellectual level Neil knew that was true--and besides, if he hadn't deflected that bullet, all three of them would have died. But knowing that did nothing to redirect when and why the darkness in his brain manifested.)

Now, much to Neil's surprise as he took aim with his prop gun, Kevin shouted "Cut!" and walked across the abandoned lot they were filming in to turn the camera off.

Neil lowered the gun, confused, as his costar removed his costume with that now all-too-familiar look of concern etched across his face. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know... somehow I've just got a bad feeling about this," Kevin muttered. "Maybe try firing into the air a couple times first."

Neil complied, and was met with the expected result from the prop: a couple of clicks indicating an empty chamber. "You worry too much these days, Kev," he said as he fired one more blank into the sky and then lowered the prop again. "It's not a real gun; it can't--"

As he spoke, his finger accidentally pressed the trigger again, and he broke off with a yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his right foot. He dropped the apparently very real gun with a clatter and clutched at his injured appendage, losing his balance in the process. Kevin swore under his breath and rushed forward to catch him. Before his friend could reach him, Neil's other foot came down on a wide crack in the pavement. A chill ran through him, momentarily distracting him from the throbbing pain, but it passed as quickly as it arose without seeming to trigger any effects.

"By god, what's happening to you?" Kevin exclaimed as he grabbed Neil by the shoulders and held him upright. "You've been so unlucky lately, it... it almost seems like a curse."

"A curse?" Neil stiffened, but quickly forced himself to shrug and morphed his grimace into a dismissive eye-roll. "Pfft, what are you talking about? There's no curse! I've just been, y'know, having an off-day..."

"Neil." There was that concerned look again, that almost parental tone of voice, as Kevin stared him down and tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders. "A couple hours ago you almost died, and now... you can tell something weird is going on, right? And, look--" He sighed, gaze darkening. "I don't exactly know how to fix it, but whatever's happening, I can't just sit back and watch you succumb to it. I can't lose you, too, Neil... not after..."

He trailed off with a faint warble in his voice, lowering his head. Neil gulped, a heavy weight surfacing in his chest. It was true; though he hated to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny that he was cursed. And yet, even as his foot throbbed around the spot where the bullet was lodged and his shoe was slowly stained from within by his own blood, it was hard to convince himself that he should accept help. On some level, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't this a fitting comeuppance for getting one of his friends killed?

Yet here was his other friend, clutching at him ever tighter to the point where his grip on Neil's shoulders was nearly as painful as hitting his head or getting mildly electrocuted or shooting himself in the foot. I'm not the only one who lost Ryan, he reminded himself--another thing he knew perfectly well on an intellectual level, but easy to forget in practice. Kevin is hurting too. I shouldn't make him hurt any more.

"Fine, I admit it," he sighed, letting his tensed-up shoulders slump. "I'm unlucky, okay? And if you think it's possible--" He tore the clover off his shirt and glared down at it-- "then we're going to beat this thing."

*

For as tough as the gang presented themselves, it must have been most of these people's first time in an actual fight. The vigilante swerved to avoid weak punches, clumsy kicks, poor attempts at stabbing. It all blended together after a while, and he stopped thinking of the gang members as individuals; they were just an indistinguishable swarm of insects whose attacks were easily dodged. Unimportant, save for their leader.

The vigilante had Max pinned to the floor now, holding his thrashing form in place with one arm while he brought his other fist down on the ruffian's face, over and over, as hard as he could. Not every blow connected cleanly, and Max had managed to bite him several times already, but that was irrelevant. Criminals must be brought to justice. That was why the vigilante hated these people, wasn't it? Because they were criminals. Yes, what other reason could he have, when this was all he'd ever been?

And then, just as he managed to land a blow to Max's jaw that left him defiantly spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, the vigilante's spine snapped.

It took a moment for him to register what had happened. He just heard a loud crack, and a sharp pain shot through him, and suddenly he couldn't hold his legs in place and collapsed. Max wasted no time taking advantage; he delivered a kick to the vigilante's gut that sent him flying back across the room, where he hit a wall and slumped to the ground, gasping in breathless agony. At once the other gang members closed in on him. Grimacing, the vigilante drew himself up onto his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and, with a far greater strain of effort than expected, dragged himself upright. By the time he'd managed to get to his feet, dozens of knives were inches away from him.

Then, to his surprise, Max pushed through to the front of the crowd and held his arms out to hold back his underlings. "Nuh-uh, this one's mine," he told them, sneering as though oblivious to the blood dribbling from between his lips. "I said I'd get him twice tomorrow, and I meant it."

The vigilante flinched as Max took a swipe at him. But rather than a fist connecting with his face, he was met only with the shock of exposure as the bully grabbed his mask and triumphantly yanked it off his face. He was left dumbfounded, blinking, as his vision readjusted to the light.

Wait a minute, I remember--

And then came the punch, square in the nose. Ryan yelped, pressing his gloved hand over his nose to stop the bleeding. When he dodged another punch, his body failed to cooperate and he crashed to the ground again, back aching furiously and heart pounding against his ribcage.

How and why his back had broken, he couldn't say, but one thing was clear: he was horrendously outmatched. Max was saying something now, gloating as he advanced on Ryan with a dagger in his hands, but Ryan couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in his head. Why on earth had he gotten into a fight like this in the first place? What was he doing? He had to get out of there!

With that thought, yet another thing happened that Ryan didn't entirely understand. (Ryan didn't understand, but the vigilante did. It was one of the few things the vigilante knew: dissolve, reform, enact ruthless vengeance, dissolve again.) His body shuddered, and suddenly he found his solid flesh and bone giving way to a slurry of blood and ice that slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared. Then he was formless, freefalling through the dark, or at least that was what it felt like. When he took shape again it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. Yet when he raised his slowly resolidifying head and looked around, he found himself in the basement of his own home, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors that had started it all.

No. Not started it all. "I had a life before this," he whispered, voice raw with the shock of memory and too many months spent speaking in an inhuman growl. "My name is Ryan, I have a life and a job and friends, I..."

Yes, that's right. Friends. Where were they? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Each recent memory that took form in his mind was accompanied by a crashing wave of guilt and regret, and soon his body shook and tears pricked at his wrenched-shut eyes. That's right... I became a vigilante, and I teamed up with such a horrible person, let him manipulate me, all because I was too afraid to go back and apologize. And then...

The last thing he remembered, just after the flash of light and shock of paralyzing cold, was the sound of a gunshot, something shattering, and Neil screaming.

"Oh, dear god," Ryan whispered. He raised his head, opening his eyes and lowering his hands from his newly tear-stained face, and sat back on his heels as though worshipping the paintings before him. "What have I become?"

*

The ropes were just slightly too tight around Neil's limbs to be comfortable; he couldn't resist squirming a little as Kevin laid out the open bible on the end table next to his proton pack and began reading from it.

"Okay, um, let's see... ex-or-ciz-amus te, omnis immunde spiritus..." He squinted at the yellowed, faded pages, biting his lip. "Omni satanica pot-es-tas, omnis incurs--incursio infernalis adversarii... uh..."

"You're doing great," Neil called from his position tied to the bed frame; Kevin gave him a weary smile and thumbs up.

As Kevin continued reciting the verse, occasionally stumbling over a particularly tricky Latin word, the room's temperature eventually dropped a few degrees. Neil shivered, but his heartbeat picked up in excitement. He could feel something stirring in his blood like ripples on a lake, and when the furniture in the room began to quiver, so too did his body in eager anticipation.

"...Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux..." A chill wind swept through the room; Kevin gritted his teeth, one hand pressing down on the bible to hold its pages in place while he grabbed his proton pack with the other. "Vade retro Satana! Nun-quam-suade mihi vana!"

The furniture rumbled louder. Neil's eyes widened as an entire bookcase lifted off the ground. "Kevin, watch out!"

"Hang on, Neil, I'm almost done. Uh, where was I... sunt mala quae libas..."

"No, Kevin, the--"

"Just one more line, okay? Ipse ven--"

"KEVIN!"

That last terrified yell was what it took for Kevin to finally turn, just in time to see the six-foot block of polished oak fly directly into him. Neil shrieked and thrashed against his bindings with all his might, but even if he weren't tied up, there was nothing he could have done. The bookcase came crashing down, its contents spilling out onto the floor around it in a flurry of paper. And when the dust settled, Kevin was pinned beneath it, unmoving.

"N... no..." Neil whimpered. Dread tightened like a noose around his throat as the horrible thought seeped into his mind: This is because of me. Now I've gotten them both killed.

"Oh, yes, what a tragedy... just your luck, isn't it?"

Neil's blood ran cold. He raised his head to see the translucent, smoke-shrouded figure of a giant clover looming over him. Its four leaves, dark green tipped with crimson and speckled with barnacles, opened down the middle to reveal a row of needle-sharp fangs. For a second, "Where did you come from?" was on the tip of Neil's tongue. But it was just as well that he was too terrified to speak, because no sooner than the question appeared in his mind, he realized the obvious answer. Oh, right. This is the demon that cursed me.

"Don't worry, your friend is alive... for now," the demon jeered. "But that could change. It's so easy for accidents to happen, you know?"

As if to demonstrate, the demon's leaves fluttered and suddenly a fire sprang up dangerously close to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When Neil screamed in protest, the demon laughed, and part of the ceiling gave in, sending down a controlled shower of debris to put out the fire before anything flammable could catch.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Neil exclaimed with a shake of his head; he'd be almost exasperated if he weren't so terrified. "You're really powerful and want to hurt people, geez, not exactly a challenging concept. So, what do I have to do?"

That question seemed to give the demon pause. "...Do?"

"You know, to appease you or whatever. If you're threatening me with Kevin's life, then there must be something you want from me, right?" An idea occurred to Neil just then, and his already hammering heart beat even harder, to the point where he hoped the demon couldn't hear it and tell how freaked out he was. "Hey, it must suck having to be a clover. What if a lawnmower or forest fire had gotten to you before I did? And if you like hurting people so much..." He paused, smirking as the demon leaned toward him with obvious interest. "Wouldn't it be easier just to possess my whole body instead of wasting time messing with my luck?"

"That's..." The demon hesitated, its leaves curling up in what looked like excitement. "Ah. Ah-ha-ha! You're a clever little mortal, aren't you?"

"But don't get it twisted," he put in, glaring defiantly up at the demon despite hardly being in a position to threaten anyone. "You have to promise not to hurt anyone else. Especially not Kevin."

"It's a deal!"

Before Neil could stop and reconsider whether this was really a good idea, the demon dove toward him, row of fangs wide open as though it were going to bite his head off. He flinched a split-second before something cold and stinging like nettles clamped around him.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was tinted dark green as if viewed through a dingy screen, his head felt hazy... and he couldn't move, at least not of his own volition. Even opening his eyes just then wasn't his decision. He heard himself cackle, felt his arms and legs flex far harder than he'd known he was physically capable of flexing, breaking the ropes that bound him to the bed frame and setting his body free to do whatever the demon wanted.

"Hah..." the demon muttered in his voice as it made him walk over to where Kevin lay, still trapped and unconscious. The demon knelt down and poked experimentally at Kevin's shoulder and forearm. "This one has more muscle. It might have been a better choice for possession, if it wasn't so damaged already..."

For one petrifying moment, the demon grabbed Kevin's head and stared intently at him, stretching Neil's face into a grin so wide it made his whole face ache, and Neil's mind raced with horrible thoughts of things the demon might make his own hands inflict upon his poor helpless friend. But the demon simply laughed and dropped Kevin, who let out a low groan as his head lolled to the side--an indication that at least he really was still alive. But all of a sudden Neil had trouble believing that small mercy was really worth it.

"Ah, well, this body will do," the demon decided. "Let's take it out on the town and see how long it lasts!"

*

This time when the vigilante materialized in Wendy's room, she did little more than roll her eyes and move to grab her baseball bat. However, rather than try to attack her or even growl out any threats, the vigilante took two shaky steps and then collapsed, catching himself against her dresser. Wendy's eyes widened as she took a closer look at his face. His mask was off now, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes glistening with obvious distress, cheeks flushed with exertion, and a streak of half-dried blood running from his bruised nose. And when he spoke, it wasn't in the gravelly tone she'd heard from him before, but in a quiet higher-pitched voice--almost a whimper.

"Please... tell me..."

Wendy hung back, caught between a sharp tug of sympathy in her heart and a very rational wariness based on their previous encounter. The vigilante tried to walk again, and again nearly fell; his face wrenched up and he let out a pained hiss. At that, sympathy won out over rationality. Wendy edged toward him with her baseball bat in hand, and when she was close enough, held it out to him.

"Hey, uh... here. It's not exactly medically sanctioned, but maybe you could use this like a cane?"

"Oh... good idea, thank you!" He broke into a grin, and Wendy shivered; somehow he was far scarier when his eyes were bright and cheerful. "Terribly sorry for how I treated you last time, by the way. I really wasn't myself."

"Uh-huh?" While the vigilante tested out the makeshift cane, Wendy sat down on her bed, arms crossed. "And who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Ryan... or at least I think I still am." His smile faltered, and he looked away, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It was starting to come unpinned, and his hat was askew; evidently he'd been through a lot in the few hours it had been since their first encounter. "It's been... strange, lately. I don't think I'm entirely human anymore, if I ever was. But I came back here because there's something I want to understand."

"You want to know why I ghosted your friend?" It was just a guess, but Ryan nodded; Wendy smiled privately to herself for having figured it out. "Alright, I can tell you..."

She uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her bed, thinking back to the disastrous date she'd gone on several months prior. It was a story she'd recited many times to friends, relatives, other first dates as sort of a half-joking warning ("So, as long as you don't blow it as much as that guy did, we should be good...") and the more she told it, the more warped and exaggerated it became within her memory. But when she really thought back on it now, it hadn't been so disastrous at all--pretty damn awkward, sure, but not even close to the worst date she'd been on.

"Kevin actually seemed really sweet," she recalled, smiling despite herself at the memory of his big dorky grin. "I would have gone on a second date with him. But then, first thing the next morning, I read in the news that some guy got arrested right outside the restaurant while we were on our date. And the criminal's name? Neil. Same name as the 'friend' Kevin had said was helping him out." She shrugged, lips twisting into a frown. "I just got kinda freaked out, you know? Like, 'oh geez, did I go on a date with a drug dealer or serial killer or something?' Of course it probably wasn't anything that serious, and pretending to be dead was probably an overreaction, but... well, what's done is done."

Wendy was so caught up in her own memories as she explained all this that she wasn't really observing Ryan's reactions. Once she concluded her story, she glanced over to find him sitting on the floor with his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him, the baseball bat in his lap; he was staring at the floor, expression unreadable. He stayed like that for a long moment, not seeming to notice that Wendy had stopped talking, until she cleared her throat. Then he jumped to attention, eyes flashing like those of a woodland cryptid in headlights.

"Ah! Yes, of course... well, I still don't entirely understand, but I think I resent you less now." Ryan tilted his head and shot her another shiver-inducing grin. (Whether it was supposed to be threatening or not, she had no idea.) "And you're right; I almost forgot--we're all criminals too, Neil and probably even Kevin and especially myself! So how can I be a vigilante?" He answered his own rhetorical question with a shake of his head, manic grin softening into a melancholy smile. "It's ridiculous. I've been so foolish."

With that, his body began to ripple, losing a little of its solidity. But before he could break apart and dissolve through the floorboards like last time, a chirpy little beep-beep-beedle-beep noise rang out. Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at an accessory around his wrist... Wait, is that one of those communicator watches like the one Kevin had?

If it was, Ryan wasn't quick to answer it. He simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the beeping device in silence. Although she knew even less about Ryan than she knew about his apparently only slightly more normal friends, and she didn't normally care to get too involved in the personal affairs of strangers, he was still in the middle of Wendy's bedroom. And the longer that little jingle repeated, the more annoying it got. So she cleared her throat again and asked, in as polite a tone as she could manage given the circumstances,

"So, are you gonna answer that, or what?"

*

It was a stupid, pointless idea. Not an idea at all, really. Just the last scraps of... not even hope, that was pretty much deplenished at the moment, but effort. The effort not to let everything fall apart even further than it already had.

Kevin had woken with a throbbing pain throughout pretty much his whole body. Judging by the crushing weight pressing down on his torso, he was lucky to have woken up at all. The only parts of him not pinned down were his head and right arm, and even those hurt to move, though at least the spinning in his head put some degree of separation between himself and his broken body. Forget about trying to wriggle free when it hurt just to breathe.

So there he was, stuck, the shelf slowly crushing the air out of him, and Neil was gone. Where to, he didn't know. When he craned his neck he could see the empty bed frame, and the ropes broken and discarded at the foot of it. The bible he'd gotten from Ryan's house was facedown beside the tipped-over end table, next to a crushed and twisted lump of metal and plastic that he was horrified to recognize as his beloved proton pack. So wherever Neil was now, he must have still been cursed... or worse. And there was nothing Kevin could do about it.

Unless. Grimacing at the way his joints twinged, he raised his unpinned arm above his head. There on his wrist, perfectly intact despite everything he'd been through, was his communicator wristwatch. In all the hubbub of that day, he'd never gotten around to mentioning them to Neil, so his friend wouldn't be wearing his. But what if...?

It was stupid. It was pointless. There was no way in hell. But it was the only thing he could do. In a display so lacking in dignity that he was grateful nobody was around to see it, Kevin used his teeth and tongue for lack of a free hand to dial in the frequency and send off a signal. The watch's screen flashed in affirmation; he let his head flop against the floor with a weary sigh. Now all he could do was wait.

When he was at Ryan's house going through his things, and he found those communicator wristwatches, he'd only found two of them. And although that could have meant a dozen different things, there was just one wild, far-fetched possibility that any last semblance of hope now rested upon: that the third watch was missing because Ryan was alive, and he was still wearing his.

He didn't expect to get a response. By the time he did, he was struggling to stay awake--funny thing, trying to breathe with fifty pounds of wood pressed directly on your chest really takes it out of you. But he snapped to attention, or the closest he could get when his head was swimming and his body was beginning to go numb from lack of circulation, the moment he heard that voice crackling through the speaker.

"H-hello? Kevin?"

The relief that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming, especially on top of everything else, that he could only laugh--only for it to quickly turn into hacking as his ribs offered a sharp jab of protest. He raised his sleeve to wipe away a streak of blood that dribbled from his lips before speaking into the watch.

"Ryan. Where are you?" He regretted wasting time with that question the moment he asked it; he could tell from the way his organs felt like they were curling in on themselves as he spoke that he didn't have the energy for a full conversation. So before Ryan could stammer out a proper response, Kevin continued: "Neil is in trouble. You've gotta help him."

"What?" The shrill uptick of anxiety in Ryan's voice was palpable, and even just hearing that voice in and of itself stirred up a whole miasma of feelings that there was no time to properly react to. "What's going on? Are you okay? You sound--"

"I'm fine," Kevin lied through gritted teeth. "And... I don't know exactly where Neil is, but I know he's in trouble." A choking mix of emotions and his own blood swelled in his throat as his slowly blurring gaze wandered to the facedown bible. "I've tried to do some stuff today that I couldn't do without you. I-- we need you, Ryan. So, please... help."

With that final plea, something broke within him like a dam that he hadn't even realized was cracking. His arm flopped to the ground, wrist landing near his ear, where the communicator watch kept emitting Ryan's voice as it slowly rose in pitch until he was almost shouting. But even as his friend called frantically out to him, Kevin found it harder to make out the words. He groaned, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. The last sensation he was aware of as darkness closed around him was that there was something wet on his face.

*

"Kevin, are you still there? Hello? Kevin!"

He wasn't responding. Why wouldn't he be responding, if the situation was so urgent? Maybe because he couldn't respond. Because he was--

"What are you going to do?" Wendy's voice cut into the swirl of panic Ryan was rapidly descending into. She hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the watch with wide, anxious eyes. The watch's screen had gone dark. No signal. Yes, indeed, what to do?

"What else? I have to save Neil."

If Kevin didn't know where Neil was, then there was no way that Ryan should have been able to instantly find him. But when he closed his eyes and let his vigilante instincts take over, he found that he didn't have to know where someone was. Whatever dark magic was infused in him now, letting him exist in this not-quite-human state even after what should by all accounts have been his death, it was hardwired for vengeance. And saving Neil meant exacting vigilante justice on whoever or whatever was harming him. With that in mind, the vigilante dissolved in a flurry of blood-tinted ice and reformed seconds later in the place it somehow knew it needed to be.

The first thing Ryan noticed when he appeared on the rooftop was the storm brewing overhead. He raised his eyebrows at that; earlier that day there hadn't been a cloud in the sky--and for that matter, when he looked around, it appeared that most of the sky was still perfectly clear, with the storm clouds being localized around this building. The second thing he noticed, upon peering over the edge of the roof, was that he wasn't on just any rooftop, but a skyscraper that towered above every other building in the vicinity. Lastly, he noticed a flagpole at the far corner of the rooftop, several feet away from him. And that was when his gaze fell upon Neil.

Neil was laughing as he swayed back and forth, clad in a brightly patterned jacket that wasn't his usual style at all, his arms and legs wrapped tight around the tall metal pole. Above him, the dark clouds lit up in a flash, followed almost instantly by a rumble of thunder. Although these particular stormclouds didn't come with rain, Ryan shivered. An incredulous exclamation was on the tip of his tongue (What on earth are you doing, stop it, you'll be killed!) when Neil locked eyes with Ryan, and he realized with a jolt of horror that this wasn't Neil at all--his body, yes, but someone or something else was controlling it. His mouth was stretched into a grin far wider than what a human face could normally achieve, and rather than their usual brown, his eyes glowed a sickly shade of green.

"Why, if it isn't my dear friend Ryan!" Neil--or whatever was piloting him--called, raising one arm off the pole in an exaggerated wave. "Oh boy, the guy I got this body from is sure surprised to see you alive! And as much as I'd love to send you plummeting off the edge of this building, I did promise not to hurt anyone else, so..." He waved his hand in a circle, unnaturally glowing eyes crinkling with amusement. "How about instead I pull you in a little closer so you can get a nice good look when your friend's body fries?"

With that, a sudden gust of wind blew into Ryan from behind, sending him stumbling forward. When he attempted to regain his footing, his broken spine betrayed him once again and he flopped to the ground with an undignified oof just a few feet away from the base of the flagpole. Grimacing, he pushed himself up and crawled the remaining short distance to grab Neil's ankle. As he did so, he noticed there was a bloodstained hole in his friend's shoe, and that his pant leg was slightly damp and already bore a few singe marks. Between that and whatever had happened to Kevin... he shuddered at the thought of what his friends had gone through in his absence.

"Nice try, vigilante," the thing in Neil's body jeered. "But I've gotta say, you don't pose much of a threat since I broke your spine."

He stomped his other foot down on Ryan's hand; Ryan yelped and instinctively released his grip. And at the very instant he let go, in such perfectly unlucky timing that only a supernatural entity could orchestrate, the stormclouds above them opened up with a searing, crackling, blindingly bright lighting strike.

Neil tilted his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs as countless volts of electricity tore through him. That horrendous laughter drowned out Ryan's screams of protest, not that there was anything he could do anyway in his current state, when he couldn't so much as get to his feet. All he could do was lay there and gape in horror as Neil's body shuddered and his flesh began to sizzle and burn.

Though it felt like an eternity of torture, the lightning strike couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds. When it ended, Neil dropped like a ragdoll into Ryan's arms. Ryan, too stricken to even check for a pulse, simply stared blankly into his friend's glazed-over eyes. Then Neil blinked, and his eyes were glowing green again, and he laughed, the sound rougher now that it was being produced by a charred set of lungs.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! I wasn't expecting this body to survive that! Can you believe Neil is still kicking in here?" He tapped a finger against his head, then sat up with a playful kick of his legs. "...Or is he? It would be just like a demon to lie, wouldn't it?" He grabbed Ryan's chin with his burnt and blackened fingernails and forcefully tilted his head up so their gazes met. "You can't tell, can you, vigilante? So, how hard are you willing to throw your broken body around to try and save someone who might already be toast? Maybe you should just give up and go on with your day, hmm?"

While the demon taunted him, Ryan's mind raced to concoct a plan. Some miraculous last-minute solution that would fix everything... Neil would be able to think of one. Perhaps he already had. But that wouldn't do them any good when Neil was trapped and helpless within his own mind. If this really was a demon, and a powerful one at that, the only thing that might work was an impromptu exorcism.

"Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux! Vade retro Satana!" Reciting the passage from memory as rapidly as he could without tripping over his tongue, Ryan grabbed Neil by the wrists and held him tight while he hissed and tried to jerk away. "Nunquamsuade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!"

An ungodly noise somewhere between a shriek and a roar erupted from Neil as he tossed his head back and convulsed. It was far too visually similar for comfort to his electrocution less than a minute prior, and Ryan wondered if the demon was doing it that way on purpose in an attempt to scare him into stopping. If so, it wouldn't work. Even if this process was as painful for Neil as it was for the demon possessing him, it had to be done.

Sure enough, as the final line of the chant echoed across the rooftop, Neil shuddered and slumped to the ground next to Ryan. When their gazes met this time, the demonic glow was gone, but Neil was breathing fast and shallow and his eyes were wide with lingering terror.

"Ryan," he whispered. "You're... alive."

"I think so," he replied with a tentative smile. "It's all a little confusing. But we're going to be okay now, Neil."

However, no sooner had those words left his mouth than Neil stiffened up again, eyes momentarily flashing green. "No," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to dispel the demon's grasp. "Not yet. Still gotta... get rid of it..." He grabbed Ryan's hands and held them desperately tight, like a scared child clinging to their parent or older sibling. His eyes flashed once more, and this time when the glow faded, his face bore a strained smile. "I've got an idea. Ryan, don't freak out."

And with that, before Ryan could process what was happening and reach out to stop him, Neil sprung to his feet and took a running leap off the edge of the building.

*

For a while now, Neil had been having unusually vivid dreams. They weren't always nightmares, but they often were. Dreams about different worlds, different realities, different lives. Ones where him and Kevin and Ryan weren't all friends. Or worse, ones where they still were, but that wasn't enough to save them. One of those recent dreams, which began as an exciting fantasy only to devolve into a nightmare, was about some kind of flying vehicle. Ever since having that dream, Neil had made two vows to himself. Firstly, that as soon as he gathered the funds to afford it, he'd go back to school and complete his aeronautical engineering degree. Secondly, to always carry a parachute, just in case.

But the demon possessing him had no way of knowing that, now did it? And it wouldn't want to still be trapped inside a host body that was splattered all over the pavement. That was what Neil was banking on, at least. Otherwise he might really be in trouble.

As he fell, a stinging sensation rippled through his body. He shuddered, yet there was a smile on his face--no longer a grin stretched unnaturally wide, but an expression of his own volition--and his heart pounded not with terror but with exhilaration and boundless relief. Sure enough, the demon leapt forth from him and departed in a swirl of green smoke. And with it gone, he wasted no time in engaging the parachute--just in time to slow his acceleration enough that the fall wouldn't kill him.

Admittedly, he didn't exactly come down gracefully. He landed in a tangle of limbs and fabric that he had to shrug off the borrowed jacket, parachute and all, in order to escape, and the landing was just rough enough to deliver a painful reminder of the electrical burns covering the better part of his body. Still, Neil couldn't stop grinning as he gingerly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He was alive and no longer possessed; that was a win in his book.

When he craned his neck to look up at the roof, he thought he saw Ryan still sitting there. Neil grimaced as he recalled what the demon had said about breaking Ryan's back; hopefully that injury was undone with the demon being vanquished, but since Neil's injuries were still there, maybe that wasn't so. Either way, he couldn't just leave his friend up there alone.

As quickly as he could run with a bullet wound in his foot, he entered the building and took the closest elevator to the rooftop. But by the time the elevator chimed and its doors slid open, the rooftop was abandoned, with no sign of Ryan save for an abandoned hat, cape, and gloves, and a slowly fading dark red stain.

*

If Kevin hadn't already been surprised to wake up alive the first time, he sure as hell was now. The only reason he knew he was alive at all was the deep, persistent ache that wracked practically his entire body. That, and the warmth of the hand laid atop his own.

Forcing his eyes open with a pained groan, he turned his head to see the man sitting at his bedside. Ryan squeezed his hand and flashed him a sad smile when their eyes met. His vigilante costume was gone, traded for a simple dress shirt and tie, and his hair fell unpinned around his visibly tired face; the chair he sat in, upon closer inspection, was an old-fashioned wheelchair.

With some effort, Kevin pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he found that he was laying on the couch in the living room with his chest bandaged. How Ryan had managed to pull him out from beneath the bookcase, he had no idea, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it.

"Ryan, you... you're hurt?" It was a stupid question--why else would he be in a wheelchair? "Did the demon...?"

"It's gone now," Ryan responded. "But..." His gaze lowered, and he dropped his hands into his lap to fidget with the blanket draped over his legs. "It was a costly victory, I'm afraid. In order to defeat the demon, Neil--"

His tearful speech was interrupted by the distant bang of the front door being thrown open.

"Geez, you could've told me you were going straight home!" Neil's indignant voice rang out down the hall. "I wandered all over town looking for you."

Ryan's head snapped up, and he and Kevin turned in unison to see their friend running toward them with a slightly crooked gait. With a cry of joyous disbelief, Ryan opened his arms, and Neil tackled him in an embrace that nearly sent him toppling over; Kevin had to lean forward to grab the back of Ryan's chair to keep him upright as he and Neil clung to each other.

"Neil, you're alive! I-I thought..."

"It's okay, Ryan," said Neil. Then, pulling back and glancing at Kevin with a melancholy smile: "I think we're all going to be okay."

*

"So, what do you think?"

As the ending credits rolled on their latest webisode, Neil and Kevin turned to face Ryan with matching expectant grins.

"Well..." Ryan drummed his fingers against the keys of the laptop and tried to think of something positive to say. "The costumes you used were a lot more fashionable than usual--wait, hold on. Weren't those my clothes?"

They were in Kevin's truck parked outside the studio's headquarters, with Neil in the passenger seat and Ryan in the back. It had taken a little over a week for them to recover to the point where they could comfortably climb inside a vehicle, let alone Kevin being able to actually drive, and the studio had already sent them several notes warning them that their pay would be docked for submitting their webisode behind schedule.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To be fair, if he hadn't broken into your house and stolen a bunch of stuff from you, he couldn't have called you on your communicator watch," Neil interjected cheerfully. "Or tried to do an exorcism... but I guess that didn't really work out for him anyway."

"Hey, c'mon, it wasn't stealing!" Kevin gave Neil a gentle shove, prompting him to briefly wince but laugh anyway. "If we'd known you were still alive, we wouldn't have taken your stuff, Ryan, honest."

"Ah, I'll have to remember that for next time," Ryan quipped. He closed the laptop and handed it back to Neil, who tucked it away inside an oversized shoulder bag. "Well, that may not have been the best webisode we've made, but I can tell you two did your best."

"Yeah, it'll be way better once we get back to making them as a trio," Neil said.

It was still amazing to Ryan that his friends were so quick to accept him back after all he'd done. If anything, it made him feel worse about his prolonged absence, because he knew now that he could have come back at any point and they would have been glad to have him. It was easy to fall into regret when thinking of all that had gone wrong, and all that could easily have gone even worse. But the fact was, they were together again now--altered by what they'd gone through, and not entirely for the better, but still themselves.

And despite it all, the preceding events and the possibility that another horrible thing could happen to them in the future, he found himself agreeing with Neil's hopeful statement.

"Indeed..." Ryan reached out and took Neil and Kevin's hands in his own. They smiled back at him with the same residual traces of relief in their eyes that Ryan had felt every so often over the past week--relief that they were still there to smile at each other. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you again."

¤--END--¤

[cyhyr]

Whumpmas in July: Warmth

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~3940

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: frottage, therapy, safewords, cockwarming, oral sex, past abuse, love confessions

A/N: So, y'all know about my wonderful problem with terrible interpretations of prompts... Oops? Anyway, we'll return to our regularly scheduled whump-fest in the next fic. I think.

Follows "Look At Me"

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

~

They’re on a mission together when the idea comes to him. And he knows Kakashi isn’t going to approve, nor will he be interested in trying it; but a man can dream and it’s just the two of them on the road for five days and Iruka can admit that there’s probably something messed up with his head that he wants this but he can’t help it.

He remembers often, giving Kakashi that blowjob, and how it made him feel. He enjoyed having Kakashi in his mouth for the time he managed it, before he went and fucked it up by giving Kakashi his hair. They lay near each other at night in the forest and huddle together and oftentimes Iruka feels the outline of Kakashi’s dick against his ass and it’s… it’s a lot.

In a good way.

Fuck, but he wants Kakashi.

He just… doesn’t know how to go about having him without also triggering himself. It wasn’t until he started seeing a therapist, his first session two weeks ago, that he realized how much Mizuki ruined sex for him. He already knew he was damaged goods, but he hadn’t realized how much.

But this idea he’s got…

Maybe.

~

They’re two days from Konoha, huddled together in a shallow cave while a storm rages just outside. They could have kept going—a little rain and wind never hurt anyone—but Kakashi seemed to jump on the chance to settle down for the night early, and led them here. Iruka set up intricate traps and barrier seals around the mouth of the cave, assuring both himself and Kakashi that only the truly desperate will get into their hiding spot, let alone know they’re here. They dry out hair and clothes (Kakashi’s control with katon is brilliant, like the rest of him) and are simply enjoying sitting next to each other in front of a small fire.

Their vests and pouches remain within easy reach—they are still on a mission.

Iruka leans against Kakashi’s shoulder, contently dozing in and out. Kakashi has an Icha Icha book open in his palm, but hasn’t turned the page in over fifteen minutes. Their silence is odd in that it’s comfortable, but only if Iruka doesn’t think about how long they’ve each been quiet.

Kakashi breaks. “Iruka?”

“Hmm?”

“You… you would tell me… if I was doing something wrong. Right?”

Iruka’s eyes snap open and his happy doze fades fast. He lifts his head and shifts to face Kakashi. “Yes, of course, but what is this about? What’s—?” He stops and glances away, “Have I done something wrong?”

Kakashi hums. “You’ve just been a little distant for most of this mission. Since we passed through that hamlet on our first evening. I just—I don’t—”

“Kakashi, no,” Iruka reaches out for his hands, but at the last inch stops. He knows what this is about now; of course Kakashi picked up on his odd mood, his being-lost-in-thought. “Can I hold your hands?”

Kakashi nods, his blush barely noticeable in the firelight.

“Kakashi,” Iruka starts again with his partner’s hands in his own, “I’m sorry for seeming distant. I had an idea and it’s been plaguing me, but I wanted to wait until we got home to talk about it. I also—um—kind of want to discuss it with my therapist first.”

Kakashi brings their hands up to his masked lips and kisses Iruka’s fingers. “You will tell me, though?”

Iruka nods. “I want to, very much so. But I also need to. To talk it out with Rikona-sensei.”

Kakashi accepts the answer and tugs Iruka closer, which he does willingly. Iruka takes initiative and leans into the space behind Kakashi’s ear and mutters, “Can I...?”

Hands pull him to straddle Kakashi’s lap while a groaned “Yes” rumbles against his chest. Iruka slips Kakashi’s mask down just enough to get to that sensitive spot and nips at it. Kakashi, at the same time, gently gropes and kneads his ass.

“I. Want. Uhh, there—Iruka, more. Still can’t believe you’re able to hide this ass in—ohh, fuck—standard uniform pants. Oh gods. Iruka.”

Iruka smiles against Kakashi’s neck as he reveals bare skin. He won’t pull down the mask entirely—that’s a limit Kakashi set and, gods, Kakashi’s so good at remembering his triggers that Iruka can do him the favor of remembering one limit. Kakashi is hard, and Iruka grinds down on his erection to get him to swear and squirm some more.

So long as Iruka stays on top, stays in control, these kinds of encounters don’t bother him. Mizuki never treated him like this, not exactly. The differences are enough.

He rolls his hips against Kakashi, a little faster, holding onto Kakashi’s shoulders for balance. “Kakashi,” he moans breathily, “wanna see you come.”

Kakashi pants. One hand leaves his ass and pulls down his mask, and then they’re kissing, mouths devouring each other and teeth clicking together. Iruka feels his own stirrings of arousal, finally, and groans deeper in his chest.

“Close,” Kakashi warns, breaking the kiss after a few minutes.

“Good. Why’s your hand not back on my ass?”

“I don’t. I mean.”

Iruka smirks and takes Kakashi’s hand, bringing it up to his face. Iruka normally likes Kakashi’s gloves. The texture, the smell, the implication of power… but tonight, he’s glad the gloves are off, over with their vests and pouches.

He slips Kakashi’s first finger into his mouth and hums.

“Oh, shit.”

He continues to hold Kakashi’s finger against his tongue until he’s finished and slumped forward, and then lets it slide free with a pop.

“Gods, Iruka,” Kakashi murmurs, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him as close as possible. “That was. Wow.”

Iruka giggles and replaces Kakashi’s mask, and then cards his fingers through silver hair. “Very articulate.”

Kakashi hums. He’s still glowing, and won’t want to be coherent for a few minutes.

“Can I return the favor?” he mutters against Iruka’s neck. Even during the afterglow, Kakashi thinks of him; it’s sweet.

Iruka says, “No thanks. I started to get there, but just wasn’t… y’know.”

Kakashi sighs. “Still wanna kill him.”

“I know. I appreciate the sentiment.”

He whines. “It’s not fair that I get all the orgasms in this relationship.”

Iruka laughs outright. “Even though I’m okay with giving them to you? And also not asking for reciprocation?”

Kakashi nuzzles him. “Wanna see you come, too,” he murmurs.

Someday.

~

“It’s good that you feel ready to take steps to move forward. But what steps are you prepared to take to prevent an episode?”

“Well, I thought a lot about it on the way home. Mizuki would always come to my place, so I thought first maybe a change in scenery will help—I’m gonna ask if we can do this at Kakashi’s place.”

“That’s a start. But many of your triggers are auditory.”

“And Kakashi’s never said anything to tip me into an episode since our, uh, second disaster. I trust him.”

“Trust is important. What else?”

“I’m also going to heavily condition my hair, and brush it out. So in case Kakashi snags it accidentally it won’t pull. I’m… I’m also going to request that he wash up beforehand. He and Mizuki smell… too similar, right now. I don’t want to risk it.”

“What about position?”

“That’s something I will need to discuss with Kakashi. I can’t—I can’t be on my knees for this, that’s just asking for an episode.”

“I agree. May I also suggest the two of you discuss hand signals for safe-words? You won’t be able to talk, after all.”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you have put so much thought into this.”

“I just need to prove to us I can move past this.”

“Hmm. Well, we’ve gone over time by ten minutes, but I think it’s worth it. I truly hope this works out for you, Iruka-sensei.”

~

Iruka is scrubbing the cabinet faces in his kitchen, waiting for Kakashi to get back from another mission. They’d gotten back, and the next day his partner had been sent out again—he had been angry at first, at the Counsel for requiring so much from Kakashi, and at himself for not understanding immediately that Kakashi requested the mission to give Iruka a little bit more time and space to work out that “odd” thought.

He’s worked it out. He talked it out with Rikona-sensei. He’s as prepared as he can be.

That’s why he’s cleaning.

Iruka can admit that he’s terrified this will go wrong. Against all of his thoughtful preparation, he could still dissociate. The more he goes under, the more likely it becomes that he just won’t resurface. Or he could resurface, but with new triggers—new ones relating to Kakashi instead of Mizuki.

Worst of all, Kakashi could just outright deny him and not even try. Iruka’s not sure how that situation would go, but it probably won’t be good.

At least. At least Kakashi’s due back today. He shouldn’t have to—

“Hello dear,” comes a voice from his kitchen window.

Iruka doesn’t hide the smile Kakashi’s voice drags out of him. He looks up from his spot on the floor and watches as his partner slinks through the window and over the sink and counter to join him on the floor.

“Sandals,” Iruka says. Kakashi takes his off and leaves to go put them in the genkan, and is back at his side quickly.

“You’re cleaning,” Kakashi comments. “Rough day with the ankle-biters?”

Iruka laughs. “No, nothing like that. I quite like this class, actually.”

“Then…?”

Iruka sets aside his sponge and sighs, standing up. “Right. Let me put this away, and then. Then we can talk.”

He leaves the room, taking as long as he dares knowing Kakashi is standing, arms crossed, in his kitchen. He dumps dirty water down the shower drain, sets the sponge in the bathroom sink to dry, and puts the bucket away in the bottom of the linen closet.

One more bracing breath, and then he leaves the bathroom.

“Okay.” He comes back into the kitchen; Kakashi hasn’t moved. “Would you like to sit?”

Kakashi holds a hand up. “First, please?” Iruka nods and gestures for him to speak. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No.” Iruka’s proud of how even his tone is. “You may want to consider it, after this, but I don’t… it’s not what I want.”

Kakashi takes the chair beside Iruka’s usual one, and pulls down his mask. “I highly doubt whatever you have to say is going to change my feelings for you.”

Iruka sits. Smiles. “That’s sweet, but hold your judgement until you’ve heard me out.”

Kakashi leans forward and reaches out for his hands. Iruka gives them to him, letting Kakashi entwine their fingers together on the tabletop.

“I have something I want to try,” Iruka starts. “And I’ve given it a lot of thought, how to go about it without worrying about triggering an episode.”

Kakashi sits up a little straighter. “What do you want?”

Iruka’s face heats up, and he looks away for a moment to collect himself. “I… okay, so. I—before I fucked up that last time, when I was blowing you—”

“We agreed that it was both of our faults,” Kakashi glowers. “If you want to take any of the blame, I get an equal amount for being the instigating party.”

“Right. Sorry—”

“Iruka.”

Iruka closes his eyes and bites his lip. Deep breath. “Thank you, Kakashi, for reminding me.”

Kakashi brings his hand up to kiss his fingers. “You’re welcome. I’d like to hear more, but not if you’re going to be self-deprecating.”

“I. Yes. Okay. I can… I’ll try.”

Kakashi replaces their hands on the table and waits.

“So, the blowjob. When I was. Before I dissociated.” Iruka flushes hard. “I really enjoyed that.”

“As did I. But you also said that your performing oral sex is off limits, because of your trauma. Has that changed?” Kakashi is trying not to look excited, but Iruka can see the spark in his eye.

“Not exactly. I’d like to try something, um. Blowjob-adjacent?”

Kakashi waits.

“I’d like you to consider. Letting me… um.” Oh just thinking about it is getting his heart racing; his breathing speeds up.

“Iruka, are you with me?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “I’m not—slipping. It’s. Fuck,” he takes one hand back from Kakashi and presses his palm to his forehead. He decides to spit it all out as fast as he can. “I want your cock in my mouth again, but I want to just. Hold it. Does that make—”

Kakashi’s chair screeches as he pushes back from the table. He comes around the corner of the table and kneels in front of Iruka, looking up at him reverently. “You would do that for me?” he whispers.

Iruka puts his free hand against Kakashi’s cheek. “You’re the one who’d be doing me a favor,” he smirks. “I want this, Kakashi.”

“Now?”

Iruka shakes his head. “I mean, yes, but not-not here. And I have some preparation steps for both of us, to help prevent the chance of an episode.”

“Anything.”

~

Two hours later, it’s late and dark, and Iruka stands outside of Kakashi’s apartment door. The jōnin barracks are sparse, as most shinobi who attain this rank either are part of a clan, make enough to purchase their own quarters, or find better housing with spouses or roommates. As it is, Kakashi is the only one living on his floor, and has been able to secure the apartments above and below him to stay empty as well.

Iruka knocks. He doesn’t have to wait long for Kakashi to open the door.

“Hello dear.”

Iruka smiles and leans in to accept Kakashi’s kiss to his forehead. He’s led inside, and once the door shuts, he reaches up and starts untying his hair.

Hands gently take his elbows and Kakashi crowds him from behind. “Leave it up for now?”

Iruka tightens the tie again, then turns around in the circle of Kakashi’s arms. “Have you thought about it?” he asks.

Kakashi hums. “Can I kiss you? I won’t get to for a while.”

Iruka leans in and tugs gently at his mask with one finger. “Gotta take this off first,” he says.

“Go ahead.”

Oh. Iruka cups Kakashi’s jaw with both hands and slowly eases the fabric down over his nose and mouth. His face bared to the room, Iruka traces his lips with a fingertip. “Can I—?”

“Please, Iruka.”

Lips meet and moans rumble in both of their throats. Iruka keeps his hands on Kakashi’s face, revelling in the bare skin he was allowed to—Oh his chest aches in such a wonderful way.

Kakashi runs one hand up his spine while the other stays around his waist. Iruka smirks into the kiss as Kakashi traces his hand back down, past his waist, his hips, and finally settling on the curve of his ass.

“Someday,” Iruka murmurs into his mouth, and groans at Kakashi’s harsh kneading.

“Best ass in Konoha,” Kakashi whispers. “In the world.”

Iruka laughs outright, tipping his head back. The laugh turns into another moan as Kakashi kisses his neck and jaw. He lets Kakashi lead as they start walking over to the bed.

Then they fall gently, slowly, onto the mattress. Iruka keeps his eyes open; there’s a different visual stimulus here, Kakashi’s studio being so different from his own bedroom. He’s urged to lay beside Kakashi, still in his comforting embrace.

They kiss forever, until Iruka feels comfortable exploring Kakashi’s body with his own hands, until he closes his eyes and rests his head back against the pillow and lets Kakashi kiss him all over, tapping and tugging at various pieces of clothing to ask if he can remove them.

They’re both down to their underwear when Iruka starts to feel the faint prickling of panic at the edge of his awareness. He pulls Kakashi back up to him and kisses him deeply, slipping his tongue into Kakashi’s mouth and feeling the scar across his eye.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Kakashi asks.

“Hmm. Almost wanna just keep making out with you all night,” Iruka says.

“We can do that,” Kakashi offers. “If you want to wait on—”

“Oh no. I’m getting that monster back on my tongue tonight.” Iruka kisses along Kakashi’s jaw, hunting for his weak spot. He probably can’t reach it from this position. Judging from the rumbling moan in his chest, Kakashi doesn’t mind his trying. Or his words.

“Shit, alright. Sit up a moment.”

Iruka collects himself up onto his knees and waits while Kakashi repositions himself to sit against the headboard, his legs apart. He crooks a finger in Iruka’s direction and yes he’s helpless but to settle between Kakashi’s legs and lean in to kiss him again. Iruka drags his mouth across Kakashi’s chest, licks at his stomach, and finally lays himself down and breathes in Kakashi—bitter, dark; he wonders briefly if Kakashi had followed his request to wash up before this, so the faint scent that reminded him once of Mizuki would be covered by soap smell.

Kakashi’s musk doesn’t flash a threat of Mizuki now.

He lays his head on Kakashi’s thigh and waits. Kakashi pets Iruka’s hair with one hand—very gently—and fondles himself with the other. Watching Kakashi go from semi-hard to fully erect in front of him is maddening; he feels his own dick respond, and the heat in his core starts to build. He licks his lips and shifts closer just a bit.

Kakashi stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait, just. Just a little bit more.”

Iruka whines.

Kakashi stops. “Iruka?”

“I’m fine. I’m great. Please, please keep touching yourself,” he whimpers. “Gods, keep touching yourself.”

“Fuck.”

Kakashi pulls his cock out, finally, and strokes himself. Iruka’s lips part involuntarily, beginning to pant. He shifts his hips against the sheets, but keeps his arms still around Kakashi’s hips and his head steady on his thigh. His mouth dries out quickly with his panting.

“Please, Kakashi, please. I-I want you so bad please—”

“What do you do if I check in with you and you’re okay?”

Iruka taps his hip once.

“And if you ever need to stop?”

He taps twice. “Or I can just pull away.”

“Right. And if you find yourself slipping?”

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-

Kakashi chuckles. “Alright, alright.” He holds his cock at the base and guides Iruka forward with his other hand at the back of his head. He doesn’t push, doesn’t hold him, doesn’t grab him; and Iruka goes for it happily, sliding his lips around the head and moaning along with Kakashi at the first touch of tongue to cock.

He sucks on the head for a moment, breathing deeply and focusing himself. When he feels ready, he slides down, bit by bit, hearing Kakashi’s harsh panting echoing in the room.

“Little more, that’s it. Fuck, beautiful—c’mon, c’mon, just—oh, gods.”

Kakashi’s cock hits the back of his throat. Iruka pulls back, just a second, breathes, and on his exhale sinks down the rest of the way.

“Shit-shit-shit, fuck, Iruka, so g—ah, shit, your mouth yes.”

He lays his head back on Kakashi’s thigh and lets his partner run his mouth above him. He’s got cock comfortably settled down his throat and yeah, they’ll have to change the sheets because Iruka’s already drooling around his mouthful something terrible—something wonderful—and by the time he’s ready to come back there’ll likely be a small puddle.

It doesn’t seem that Kakashi will mind.

He finally collects himself to quiet down, still hard in his throat though. It’s nice. Kakashi pets his hair again, and this time also pulls the tie free from his hair. He’s careful, so damn careful, and then Iruka’s hair is loose around his face and he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care because he’s got better things to focus on.

He’s in Kakashi’s bed, with Kakashi’s scent all around him, and Kakashi’s bittersweet cock on his tongue, and Kakashi’s words echoing around him, and he’s hard.

Oh, he’s hard.

If he shifts he’ll choke. He can’t take any relief for how turned on he is. That’s… that’s okay. He’s not doing this to get off. He’s doing it to prove he can.

And he is.

And he does.

Kakashi checks in with him every ten minutes. He stays present the whole time. It’s so. It’s perfect. The third time, Kakashi tells him it’s been half an hour, and Iruka hums and glances up at him questioningly.

“I’d. I’d really like to come, Iruka. But I also want to wait until you’re ready.”

He sighs through his nose and carefully pulls off of Kakashi’s cock. He sucks on the head for a minute, listening to Kakashi swear and pant some more as he swallows and lets his throat relax. When he pulls off the rest of the way, he noses at the hard, reddened length and says, voice wrecked, “Come, then. If you’d like.”

Kakashi wastes no time in grabbing his spit-slick dick and beginning to pump furiously. Iruka sits up on his knees to watch, pressing the heel of his own hand against his erection and breathing heavily to keep himself under control.

“You too, please,” Kakashi whimpers. “Can I see you? Can I—oh, can I blow you? I’ll be just as-as-fuck, Iruka, please, I want you too; wanna see you, too.”

“I know,” Iruka says. His shoulders are heaving with the force of keeping his breath steady. “But this was for you.”

“But—”

“Oh, my Kakashi,” Iruka murmurs. “Just. Let go. Let me see you. Let me know I d-did good.”

“Fuck, Iruka.”

“Come, love.”

He does. Oh, he comes, hard and loud and wet, streaking up his chest and dripping over his hand and gods does Iruka have the urge to kiss him through his afterglow. He inches forward on his knees and reaches past Kakashi’s shoulder to the washcloth they’d prepared before, sitting on the windowsill. Iruka gently wipes it across Kakashi’s chest and groin, and then takes his hand and swipes it with the cloth, too. He tosses the washcloth across the room to the sink, and leans forward to press his forehead against Kakashi’s.

“Can I—?”

“Please kiss me,” Kakashi whimpers at the same time.

He does. Kakashi’s arms embrace him loosely and he holds Kakashi’s face in one hand and braces his other palm against his chest. His heart is racing, pounding.

“You called me—”

“I do.” Iruka murmurs, pulling away so he can look into Kakashi's eye. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, tied with Naruto.”

“For different—”

“You know what I mean.” Iruka chuckles. “Yes, for different reasons.”

“Does this mean I can get you off now?”

Iruka shakes his head. “I just wanna enjoy your glow with you. You’re so precious like this.”

“I like it,” Kakashi mutters. “Being yours.”

“I like having you,” Iruka cards his fingers through Kakashi’s hair. “I… I love you.”

Kakashi says, “I love you, too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ve loved you for months, Iruka. I’m just. Scared.”

“Don’t be. You’ve got me.”

They breathe through the glow. They’ll have to change the sheet, and Iruka hasn't yet confirmed with Kakashi if it’s okay if he stays the night. But he’s happy, and he’s proven to himself that he’s on the mend, and Mizuki’s hold on him has loosened just that little bit more.

[cherryeol04]

Boyfriend (M)

Pairings : Changbin x Reader Genre: Smut, funny, romance, cute Word Count: 2.4K Warnings: This story contains smut. If you are not comfortable with it, please skip!

The one thing Y/N is grateful for, is the fact that on Tuesdays, she doesn't have classes. That meant she was free to sleep in as long as she wanted, do whatever she felt like and she didn't have to worry about getting up and going somewhere. Unless she wanted to go out shopping with a friend, then that was a different story. But for the most part Y/N spent her days off in her cozy little apartment, just enjoying herself. Sometimes she would do a little cleaning, after all she tended to have her boyfriend over often and he wasn't the best at cleaning up behind himself. But bless his heart, he tried. Changbin was a terror normally, walking around the place like he owned it. Y/N was actually surprised that there wasn't a bigger mess when she got up that morning. All of his music producing equipment had been packed up and sat neatly in the small corner of the bedroom that Y/N had deemed his area.

He had complained, saying he should have a bigger spot. But she had countered that he hadn't moved in with her and wasn't helping to pay the bills. Once he did that, he could have as big an area that he wanted. It effectively shut him up because despite the fact they had been dating for over seven months now, moving in was a step that neither one of them was ready to make. It was hard to spend time with each other usually. If Y/N wasn't busy with classes and assignments, then it was Changbin who was locked up in a studio at the university with his friends and co-workers Jisung and Chan - working on their latest track for classes or to upload on Soundcloud. Changbin usually wouldn't leave the studio until the early hours of the morning, to sleep for maybe an hour or two before getting back up and heading to class. It was difficult for them to see each other, but they tried. 

Though not living together, they did leave things over at each other's places, an excuse they used to be over at odd hours of the day. Like yesterday when Y/N really needed a pair of shoes that would match her cute sundress, she had to drive all the way over to Changbin's apartment to get them. It was worth it because she saw his inability to care for himself and ended up making him dinner for that night and lunch for the next day, all neatly stacked in containers and left in the fridge with a sweet note waiting for him on the counter. It was the small things that made this relationship worth it. Because even if she didn't see him as much as she wanted, finding the sweet notes or receiving the crazy sleep deprived texts always put a smile on her face and reminded her how much she loved him.

Of course, those things didn't negate the fact that she was still a woman and she had needs. Strong urges and desires that struck at the most inopportune time. Recently she had been fighting a bout of horniness that always hit her right in the middle of her afternoon class and by the time she got home, it had left, leaving her very frustrated and unsatisfied. She had a plan, however, to fix that. Since it was her day off, she might as well spend it getting off to the thoughts of her boyfriend. A few good orgasms, a hot shower and Netflix sounded like the perfect way to spend her afternoon.

After making sure the apartment was in better condition than it had been, she started her little robot vacuum and made her way back to her bedroom. Stripping out of her pajamas, she situated herself on her bed and reached over to her nightstand, opening the bottom drawer. She was greeted with the sight of the many different sex toys she owned. A few dildos, but most were vibrators of different size, strengths and looks to them. She had one that mimicked the look of a real dick, but the rest were mostly pink and purple, some with bulbous mushroom heads. For the most part they were smooth and rounded, perfect for an easy glide inside, though she could never deny how much she loved the feeling of a head spreading her hole wide. She took a moment to think, eyeing each toy before she grabbed one of the smaller vibrators, purple and made of silicon. It almost mimicked the look of rubber and she loved it's squishy texture.  

Grabbing the lube, she closed the draw and laid the items out next her as she made herself comfortable. Parting her legs lightly, she slowly ran her hands over her thighs, just feeling herself for a moment - enjoying the pleasure brought to her. Working herself up was what she wanted to do as she grazed her fingers over every inch of skin she could reach, thighs trembling as she occasionally teased her clit. She wanted to take it slow, build it up. After all, she had all day to herself. 

———

Changbin hadn’t planned to go over to Y/N’s place. But when he got the email stating his class was cancelled for the day, he decided that maybe he could get in some early work at the studio and then spend the evening with his girlfriend. In his mind, it was a great plan, except for the fact that he had left his equipment at Y/N’s place. It’s not that he minded going over there, it was just that he couldn’t remember if she had classes today or not and he really wanted it to be a surprise that he was coming over. 

He could just simply not work and spend time with her now, but he knew that Jisung and Chan were at the studio already working, and he really wanted to go and help. Maybe he could just sneak in and sneak out? Or if anything he could just say he needed his things for after class. With excuse in mind, Changbin made his way to his girlfriend’s apartment, only a short 5 minute drive from the school. 

He easily let himself in with the key he had and when he didn’t see Y/N in the living room or the kitchen when he passed by, he figured that she probably wasn’t home. Which was great news for him. Walking to the bedroom, he had just pushed open the door when a moan filtered through his ears and he froze in his tracks. His eyes landed on the bed, watching as his girlfriend played with herself. Her hand twisted, moving as she thrusted a toy in and out of herself, vibrations growing louder before fading with each thrust. The fingers of her other hand worked over her clit shamelessly, pulling louder moans and sighs of pleasure. 

“F-fuck, Changbin.”

Changbin’s dick twitched at the sound of his name and he bit down on his bottom lip to suppress a moan that wanted to escape. 

“Deeper. Harder.” Y/N’s hand did its best to fulfill her wishes but even Changbin noticed it just wasn’t delivering the power she wanted. 

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this such a lovely surprise.” Changbin called out, voice conveying a sense of confidence he didn’t think he could muster with the way his heart was pounding rapidly in his chest. The noise surprised Y/N and she jerked, all movements stopping as she stared at her boyfriend with a guilt express. 

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, voice slightly horse from the loud whining and moan she had been doing moments before. 

“Well I came to get my mixing equipment but instead I found a sexy little minx on the bed, all spread out and playing with herself.” He said, watching as she closed her legs around her arm, trying to hide herself from his hungry gaze. Not that he hadn’t seen her like this before. They’ve had sex plenty of times before. This was just the first time Changbin had caught her playing with herself. 

“I-I-“

“Want some help?” 

Y/N nodded her head slowly, carefully pulling out the vibrator from within her and turning it off. She was thinking that if Changbin was offering help, he would fuck her. She didn't expect him to walk over and take the toy from her grasp and turn it back on as he knelt on the edge of the bed. His eyes raked over her naked body, taking in each and every curve - admiring how hard and beautiful her nipples were. Chuckling to himself, he moved closer, sitting between her legs and making himself comfortable. Y/N shivered at the new position and once again tried to close her legs and hide herself from view, but Changbin's hands reached out quickly, pushing her thighs apart once more. 

"Don't do that." he said lightly, voice barely above a whisper, even though there was no reason to be quiet. He stared into her eyes, gaze soft as he tried to convey reassurance and acceptance to her. It seemed to work as she slowly relaxed and let her legs fall open, putting herself on full display for the other. Licking his lips, Changbin grinned as he leaned forward, fingers twisting the top of the vibrator to turn it on the lowest setting. Reaching down, he carefully brushed the tip of the toy against her clit, chuckling as she jerked at the sudden touch to the sensitive nub. 

"Oh fuck." she panted softly, her back arching slightly. Her hips jerked as her abdomen tightened and she tried to pull away from the touch, but the toy followed. "Changbin." she whimpered softly.  Changbin chuckled as he moved the toy, rubbing it against her while watching the way her body spasmed against his touch. 

"You're so beautiful baby, do you like this?" he asked. She nodded her head quickly, soft whimpers leaving her as he moved the toy down further to press against her opening. The tip slipped in and vibrated against her sensitive walls and she keened for more - for Changbin to go deeper and harder. He didn't though. Instead, he pulled the toy out and brought it back up and teased her clit once more. A loud cry left her quickly and she jerked and trembled under his touch, chest rising and falling with quick breaths. "I want you to cum for me." he whispered. "Can you do that?" Y/N nodded her head, ready to cum for the other. She had been teasing herself relentless for who knows how long and she had been getting close to the edge when Changbin walked in.

"Please." she begged almost pathetically, head falling back as she let the pleasure wash over her body - back and hips arching to get more of the pleasure from Changbin. The toy slipped down once more and slipped into her, a deep gasp leaving her as it was turned up in volume and the vibrations increased. Changbin pushed the toy in deeply and Y/N cried out, feeling the vibrations through her core as he shallowly thrusted the toy in and out. "Chang-" Her plea was cut off as Changbin's hot, wet tongue ran over her clit and she spasmed at it. "Oh fuck yes." she cried out and whimpered. Reaching down, she ran her fingers through his hair once before tangling them into the soft strands. Her hips jerked down, rocking down against his mouth and hand. He thrusted the toy in harder, angling it upwards as it stroked her walls - grazing against her g-spot every now and then to heighten the pleasure. His mouth worked over her clit, sucking and licking on it hungrily as his noisy slurps filled the room.

Y/N was tense under him, toes curling as the pleasure mounted inside her. She could feel it, the pressure getting ready to be released and she was so ready for it. "Changbin." she breathed out. "I'm going to cum." she gasped out. It was the only warning she could give as the pleasure reached its peak too quickly. She cried out as the tension released and her body jerked, hole clenching around the toy that was still moving inside her. "Oh fuck! Fuck!" she cried out, panting heavily as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. As she slowly calmed down, Changbin slowly turned down the vibrations of the toy, letting her get used to each level before turning it off slowly and slipping it out. Pulling back from her, he smirked, licking his lips clean of the sweet juices he had been lapping at. Tossing the toy onto the bed, he leaned over and ran a hand gently over her stomach, dragging it up and over each breast, teasing her nipples light with a smile. 

Whining, Y/N smacked at his hand lightly, but didn't push him away as he went back to rubbing his hand over her body. Leaning down, Changbin pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, followed by a few more kisses to her neck and one to her forehead. "You did so good baby," he whispered. "How do you feel?"

"Amazing." she whispered and looked up at him with a wide smile, eyes sparkling with the remnants of pleasure and love and adoration. "Thank you baby." she whispered. Changbin chuckled and gave her another kiss before sitting back on his heels.

"You're welcome." Shifting, he climbed off the bed and grabbed the covers, pulling them up and over her body, tucking her in. "Take a nap babe."

"What about you?" she asked, frowning as she looked down at the obvious boner he was sprouting, before looking back up at him.

"I'll be fine. I need to go and do some work." he told her and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple before pressing his face against the top of her head gently. "Get some sleep okay? I'll see you later tonight. We can play then." he assured her as he pulled back and stared down at her.

"Promise?" 

"Promise." 

She wasn't happy, but she accepted it and after pulling Changbin down for one more kiss, she let him go and curled up on her side. She watched as he moved and grabbed his things, blew her a kiss and left the room. She could hear his footsteps echo lightly as he walked down the hall and eventually the door opened and closed as he left. Alone once more, she let her eyes close, ready to nap with the knowing promise that she could return the favor to him later. And she honestly, couldn't wait.

Tags: @runningonkpop @clandestine-lixie @jisungsjheekies @luminouskalopsia​ @straysrachaa​ @mrbangchannie​ (to be added, go here)

[buzzcutlip]

The virus and quaranteening have made us do unthinkable things. Here I am, posting a very self-indulgent piece. I wrote it purely for my own entertainment, then I read @wyn-dixie ‘s posts, had a chat with her, and she’s actually helped me to not overthink fanfiction and to publish the story. It might brighten up someone’s day after all :) So here’s one for the lovely O! Please if you don’t like this sort of real person x reader stories, then don’t read it.

The Kiss Pedro P*scal x you

You tilt your head down to peer at Donkey; his coat tickles. You rub your nose sleepily. The late afternoon light is coming to the room through the cream-coloured curtains. The sofa is soft and the blanket is cocooning your body perfectly. You feel comfortable and groggy, ready to fall asleep again but fighting it.

When you look up, Pedro’s brown eyes are trained to your face. You don’t know what to do with that. He’s wearing a plan gray t-shirt with no logos and jersey shorts. And he'd gone out like that, you almost scoff. As usual, his overgrown hair is a mess. Pedro doesn’t deny to you anymore that he knows how to style it.

“He’s a good sleeping partner, isn’t he?” Pedro says, crouching down next to the sofa, getting into your immediate proximity. Before you have a chance to say something back, Donkey’s ears twitch and he lifts up his head.

Pedro lets out a quiet laugh, stroking his head that’s popping out from under the blanket. Donkey licks his hand lovingly, then jumps down to the floor in a second

Without the dog, the atmosphere changes to heavier right away.

“I bought some strawberries and apples,” Pedro says, glancing over his shoulder, probably to the kitchen area. You nod, not knowing what to reply. This is his apartment.

He shuffles on his feet awkwardly, and you can’t believe that a grown up man can get this self-conscious. You don’t know Pedro like this. Well, not really.

“I’m sorry for before.” The situation is ridiculous. Him, standing by the sofa, looking as a stranger at his own place. You, just having woken up from napping on his sofa. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too.” You keep the words carefully neutral. You are not lying. “I shouldn’t have left like that.” “You needed space.” “I should have said something.” “I whish you had,” you admit, looking down at the blanket, picking up at the loose strings coming off of it. You don’t want to cry, but you feel how heavy the moment is. You are not used to having these talks. Normally it’s all jokes and laughs. You are good friends. If sometimes you think of his hands on you in different ways than throwing you into the swimming pool or tickling you while watching a serious movie, then it’s your own problem. Pedro crouches down again, and you want to point out that Donkey is not here anymore, but this time he reaches for you, laying his hand softly on the crown of your head, his thumb resting on the top of your forehead. He strokes you gently, in the most intimate manner. Your breath hitches in your chest. You don’t do this either. You are affectionate but not like this; actions heavy with maybes and ifs. “I- ,”you breath out before cutting yourself off, not really knowing what you want to say. He’s still looking at you, and his lovely brown eyes are soft and searching. “Pedro,” you say, getting up on your elbow. There’s hair stuck to the side of your face, and before you have a chance to unstuck it from your cheek, he does it for you. Your eyes flutter shut of a moment, heart hammering. “What are you doing?” you whisper. This is not an accident, and you are not reading too much to Pedro’s actions. This is simply not how you behave around each other normally. With a bold move, you take his large hand into yours, squeezing his fingers that had been in your hair just seconds ago. You can hear Donkey drinking from his bowl in the kitchen, and faint noises from the street below. Otherwise it’s quiet; the time is still. To lighten up the situation, you reach and grip his stubbly chin lightly, huffing a nervous laugh. He parts his lips on a soft exhale, the air hitting your own face, and your eyes are forced to flick there. When you dare to glance up at Pedro, he’s looking at your own mouth. Face flushing instantly, you fight not to squirm with unease, completely lost for words. “Can I kiss you?” Pedro says, finally looking up from your lips and meeting your eyes. You bite your lip. Oh god. “Yes.” Pedro shuffles, kneeling up, while you fully sit up. The moves bring your faces much closer, and you can’t believe that you’ve lived up to this moment. One that you had been scared to ever dream about. But you have. More so since the night of the stupid “spin the bottle” game. Boldly, you lean in first, impatient to snap the tension that’s grown around you. You can smell his Loewe cologne and the familiar laundry detergent, as you place a very light kiss on his right cheek. It’s not so about the mouth on mouth action - it’s about the anticipation, the closeness, the way how the bond between you is breaking and being put together again in a slightly different way. Pedro lifts up your connected hands and kisses the top your knuckles, while you are watching him to do so. Then he laces your fingers together. That crease between his brows appears, as if linking your hands was some kind of a scientific equation; as if you were one. Your fingertips slide against each others, and you wonder if you will ever have the chance to map the veins and knuckles with your tongue. Pedro’s breating has grown deeper, you can tell from the way his chest expanses and deflates, brushing against your upper arm. You take in his broad shoulders and his long throat. It looks vulnerable this close up, the thin skin flushed and soft. The next kiss lands there, just to the left from his Adam’s apple. You linger there this time, putting off meeting his eyes again, having him look at you and see what’s showing on your face. You are not an actress with the ability to guard your expression. The skin of his neck is hot against your lips, and after two or three pecks, you open your mouth slightly to get more taste. Pedro inhales sharply, and you literally feel the sound that revibrates through his throat. He tilts his head and kisses your temple, your hairline. It’s sweet and innocent and perfect, being so close to Pedro is also intoxicating. Your touches grow bolder and you stroke his arms and lay a hand on his chest, his heart hammering under it. Pedro tucks your hair behind your ears, brushes his thumbs against your jaw and ear lobes. He stalls there, mouthing softly against the ear shell. Thousands of goosebumps break out everywhere on your body, the hairs on your arms erecting. You accidentally let out a helpless sound, and you can feel Pedro smile against your cheek in return. “Are we kissing yet?” he asks, voice innocent but laced with something darker. You hum, not daring to speak out loud. His mouth is so close. “I just-” you murmur, careful not to brush your lips against his cheek. It would be so easy. “I want to postpone the first kiss a bit,” you explain. “You know, there’s only one first kiss. And I’ve been waiting long enough. I want to stretch out the anticipation.” This was way too honest, you realise. On the other side - Pedro wants to kiss you too. There’s nothing to hide anymore, and you might as well take a full advantage of the situation. And stating the truth - that’s just very you. “Right,” Pedro nods. “I get it.” He is a good boy, not moving an inch, letting you take the lead and do as you please. You kiss the corner of his jaw and then closer to his chin, up his cheek on the point of his cheek bones. His stubble is rough against your lips but you don’t mind. Pedro lets out a content sigh and hangs his head low, letting you work. You tilt his face with a gentle hand to his jaw, turning it and repeating your motions. Kiss to the jaw, kiss to the cheek. One kiss to the corner of Pedro’s mouth and another one even closer. His hand is warm when he lays it to your bare forearm. That’s when you decide to press a single peck to his mouth. Then once more. A dry kiss. When you open your eyes and lean back, Pedro is looking at you. “Good?” you check with a little smile, and he smiles back. You both lean in this time, trading a few longer, close-mouthed kisses. You concentrate on the texture of Pedro’s lips under yours. They are a bit chapped and very very warm, burning against yours. Cupping his face, you run the tips of your fingers through his beard. Just the fact that you CAN is - liberating. His skin smells different from his clothes, that you are used to. More like him; like flesh and sweat and moisturizer. “Will you let me taste you?” It’s Pedro who speaks up now. His words catch you by a surprise. Used to his sweet moderation, this is unexpected, making your cheeks heat up. After a short nod, Pedro palms your cheek and brings your face close to his. This time you part your lips when your mouths meet, catching the corner of Pedro’s bottom lip between yours. It takes only a few seconds before you coordinate your moves. You touch your tongue to Pedro’s instinctivelly, as soon as you feel it against your top lip. The tiny point of a connection sends a powerful spark through your body. You can’t contain the sharp intake of breath as you kiss carefully, your free hand slipping in Pedro’s soft curls. Your other hand is still holding his, palms sweaty. The taste of him is intoxicating. Better than anything else. As the kiss deepens, you pull him on the sofa by his shoulders. Chuckling, Pedro goes willingly and you catch his eyes in the process. His neck is flushed, matching the colour of your cheeks, his lips already look swollen. Or you want them to be. You accommodate his narrow hips between your thighs, the woolen blanket creating an additional barrier between your groins. Pedro leans down and kisses under your jaw. “Sweet,” he murmurs.

[juliandev0rak]

confiance

Lysander takes a bath, sort of.

characters: Lysander Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens) and Beatrice Viano / Vianan

words: ~2200

warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, brief mentions of drowning / past torture

notes: you might want to read *shudders* Price of Truth by @leila-of-ravens first for context

Beatrice doesn’t trust easily. 

Growing up, she had learned that the people you trust only betray you or leave you behind. So she’d learned to guard her heart, to trust only herself. It was only after she moved to her aunt’s that Beatrice began to unravel the tangled threads of hurt tied so tightly around her heart.

Slowly, she’d been able to open herself up to others. She started with her Aunt Cora, who was the first person to prove herself truly trustworthy. Then she met Ella and Leila, who were so kind that she found herself trusting them quite without noticing. 

When Beatrice lost Aunt Cora to the plague, she lost a part of herself. And when Beatrice lost Leila, she almost lost herself entirely. It was only her trust in Ella and her trust in magic that allowed her to pull through to save their friend, and herself. 

Before she met Lysander, Beatrice had never been in love. She’d always thought that she would know she was in love when she could trust the person implicitly. Before she could love someone, she had to trust them not to judge her, she had to trust them to guard her secrets, and most importantly- she had to trust them to stay. 

Despite her better judgement, Beatrice had fallen in love with Lysander before she even really knew him. But she’d known, even then, that she could trust him. Over the years he had proven that trust, he’d become someone she can count on. He had stayed.

Lysander also doesn’t trust easily. Beatrice finds it hard to know what he’s thinking sometimes, even now when they know each other so well. She understands the feeling of not wanting to burden someone with your troubles, but she wants to help him carry the burden. That’s what love is, and she wants him to trust her too.

On an evening not long after Beatrice moved to Umbra, the two sit in their bed reading before bed as they so often do. Beatrice is thoroughly invested in her novel, a mystery set in a gothic castle full of ghosts and brooding characters. She likes to read fiction in her spare time, it’s nice to turn her brain off sometimes after a long day of reading academic texts. But she’s pulled out of the action of the book as Lysander clears his throat, drawing her attention to the fact that he’s stood up from bed.

He sets his own book down and gives her a little nod when she looks up. “I think I’ll go take a bath.” 

“Alright, I’ll be here.” Beatrice smiles briefly as Lysander walks into the bathroom adjoining their room. He carefully shuts the door behind him and she turns back to her novel.

The fire in the fireplace has dwindled down to almost nothing by the time Beatrice looks up from her book again and realizes how much time has passed. Now that she thinks of it, she hasn’t heard the sound of the bath water running. She hasn't heard anything from the bathroom at all. A bit worried, she gets out of bed and creeps over to the bathroom door.

“Lyse?” She calls, waiting a few moments for a response. When none comes she knocks on the door gently, just two raps on the wood. “Darling? Are you alright?” 

Another moment passes in silence. If he doesn’t answer this time, she’s opening the door. “May I come in?” 

Finally, she hears a muffled sound of assent and she enters, a bit unsure of what she’ll find inside. Beatrice steps in to find the bathtub empty, no sign of water or Lysander. She peers around in confusion until she spots a lump in the corner of the room, as far from the tub as can be. It’s Lysander, curled into a ball on the tile and still fully clothed. Beatrice crosses the room in an instant, kneeling down next to him. 

His shoulders are shaking, his breathing is heavy, and Beatrice easily recognizes the symptoms of panic. Though she hasn’t seen him like this before, she knows that he struggles with memories from the past at times. He’s been through more than any normal person would have been able to withstand. Lysander is still here, miraculously, but he isn’t unscathed. The evidence remains in scars both physical and mental. 

Beatrice leans down to catch his eyes and he looks up at her, his own eyes wide and fearful. “Lysander, may I touch you?” 

She doesn’t want to startle him, but she knows that sometimes a physical presence can be grounding. Lysander nods and she reaches towards him tentatively, helping him sit up a bit before she puts her arms around him. She pulls him to rest against her chest and his arms wrap almost automatically around her waist. Up close she can feel him trembling even more.

“Can you breathe with me? Just follow my lead.” Beatrice takes in a deep breath and holds it for a count of five before releasing it slowly. He heaves in gulps of air as if he can’t get enough oxygen. It takes a few moments but as she continues to breathe deeply, his breathing begins to slow to match hers.

“In,” She instructs, and he inhales, “and out.” He exhales, only a bit shakily. They stay like that for a few minutes, Beatrice holding him while his breathing syncs to hers and his heartbeat slows to a more even pace.

When Lysander looks up to meet her eyes again she’s pleased to see that he looks a bit calmer. “I apologize, it’s.. the water.” 

He doesn’t need to say anything else. She could never forget what he’s been through, the way he’d almost been drowned, the torture he’d gone through to save his sister’s life. It makes her want to break down, to cry and seek his comfort to reassure herself that he’s safe. But he needs her now, he’s trusting her to help him.

Beatrice closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. She can feel him in her arms, warm and present and very much alive. She feels the texture of his soft sweater under her fingertips, the way his breath comes out in even puffs against her neck. They’ll make it through this together.

“There's no need for an apology, Lyse. Would you like me to stay here to keep you company?” 

“Stay.” Lysander presses his face back into her shoulder and she rubs a soothing circle on his shoulder blade.

“Of course, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Beatrice keeps her arms around him, holding him close for both of their sakes. She’ll stay here all night if he needs her. A few minutes pass in silence before he pulls back a little, his dark eyes thankfully much more focused.

“I could wash your hair for you if you want. You don’t even have to get into the bath if you don’t want to,” Beatrice suggests, placing a hand on the side of his face to turn him to look at her. “Or we could try again tomorrow, if you’d prefer.” 

“Perhaps if you did it... it would be alright.” Lysander’s words seem uncertain but his voice is even. Beatrice reaches for his hair and watches the barely perceptible flinch he gives. She stills her hands and waits for him to nod before reaching to gently brush through his dark hair.

“If you just lean over the edge of the tub a bit I can use my magic to control the water, you won’t have to uh, submerge yourself at all.” Beatrice tries to smile reassuringly at him. Lysander thinks for a moment and then nods. He scoots backwards towards the bathtub and she follows.

He leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sitting on the tile floor with his legs out in front of him. “Like this?” 

“Perfect. I’m just going to turn on the tap, I’ll draw it from there.” Beatrice narrates what she’s doing to make sure he knows what to expect. She reaches over to turn on the hot water and tests to make sure it’s a good temperature. The rushing sound of the water makes him flinch again and she keeps a steadying hand on his shoulder, letting him know that she’s there. 

When the water is the right temperature she gathers the stream in her hands, guiding it towards him. Lysander doesn’t say anything, though she can sense his apprehension. He gives her a look that seems to say, “Be careful.” 

Beatrice is cautious and slow as she threads her fingers through his curls, using the barest hint of pressure. She brings the stream of warm water up to wet his hair and pauses to make sure he’s ok. Lysander’s eyes are closed and his fingers tap an uneven pattern where they rest against his leg. 

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” Beatrice reaches for the bottle of shampoo, his hair now sufficiently saturated with water. Lysander nods but keeps his eyes shut as she pours shampoo into her hands, using a bit of magic to make sure it’s the same warm temperature as the water. She’s careful not to pull on his hair as she lathers in the shampoo, especially when she reaches the back of his head. 

Warm steam fills the room, bringing with it the comforting scent of vanilla from the shampoo. Lysander relaxes as she washes the shampoo out, his posture slumping more comfortably against the edge of the tub. He actually leans into her hand as she works out a tangle, and she smiles even though he can’t see it. Using her magic allows her to control where the water flows, ensuring not even a drop falls on his face.

“All done.” Beatrice leans back and watches as his eyes open to meet her gaze. He smiles at her, a look so full of adoration that she can do nothing but stare back at him.

“Thank you.” Lysander reaches for her and she wraps her arms around his shoulders, a bit awkwardly as she's sitting next to him. A drop of water from his hair falls onto her arm and she shivers at the cold temperature. 

“Shall I dry your hair too?” Beatrice reaches up towards him. He doesn’t flinch this time as she works a drying spell through his hair. When she’s done she stands and offers a hand to help him up from the floor. His hands are steady, no sign of the panicked trembling she’d felt earlier.

Beatrice helps him change into his pajamas, he doesn’t need the help but she feels the need to be close to him just in case. She helps him button his pajama shirt up and watches with a barely suppressed grin as he tucks his pajama pants into his socks because he hates to be cold. By the time they get into bed a few minutes later Lysander is back to himself.

He pulls the covers up over both of them as Beatrice moves closer to rest her head on his chest. Lysander cups the side of her face in his hand and leans in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. Beatrice leans up to kiss his cheek too before he can pull away and he laughs, startled by the action. 

She reaches for his free hand and draws a gentle circle on his palm, tracing the lines of his veritomancy scars. She’d asked him once if it hurt to touch them, and he’d said, “Not when you do it.” 

Lysander gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear so he can see her face better. He’s still got that adoring smile on his face and Beatrice thinks she needs to look away before her heart bursts. They haven’t blown out the candles yet, and in the dim light Beatrice is sure her blush is obvious. She’s not embarrassed about it anymore, he’s used to her blushes by now. She’s learned that he’s just as shy as she is, and just as prone to blushing if the moment is right.

As much as Beatrice would like to just look at him forever, she’s having trouble keeping her eyes open. Before she really has time to think about her words she murmurs, “Perhaps tomorrow we can take a bath together. I promise I’ll keep you safe.” 

Lysander is silent for a minute and Beatrice wonders if she’s said something wrong. His brows furrow a little as he thinks before he nods and finally replies, “I suppose we can try it.” 

“I can create a bubble of oxygen around your head if you’d like.” She’s half joking, but she thinks she could probably figure out how to do that if he actually wants it as a safety precaution. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Lysander laughs. “I trust you, Beatrice.” 

Beatrice smiles, reveling in the sound of his steady heartbeat beneath her head. “I’m very glad to hear that.” 

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Hi I actually finished a fic

Have chapter three and I will reblog with an AO3 link if you want to check out the whole thing and leave kudos or a comment if you enjoy!

CW for a panic attack and for Tim bathing Jon with clear content (and absolutely nothing at all sexual in any way and hardly anything even mentioned)

What starts to concern Tim is that Jon’s restless sleep is filled with a lot more thrashing and mumbling just a short half hour after Jon falls asleep.  Tim doesn’t know if it is a good or a bad sign that he can’t make out any words.  Jon is starting to feel even more worryingly warm under his hands as he attempts to calm him down.  He gets another damp flannel, hoping that cooling Jon down will help (that usually works for Tim, probably some sort of grounding thing, but for Jon maybe it will help with the fever and thusly help with the nightmares).  

Or maybe startle him awake so Tim can try to get more medicine and fluids in him…. and hose him off or something so Tim can actually tuck him in.  He is certain Jon will be a little more calm without the rough texture of his Very old towels against his skin.  That and the congealed soup texture are probably contributing to the uneasy sleep.  Not to mention all the actual you know… horrors that they’ve seen.  Tim knows his brain throws him some pretty fucked up shit, even worse when he’s running a fever (not that that happens often thankfully (because who would even be there to take care of him?  He is just as bad as Jon, pushing people away, and he knows it)).  

Jon wakes up with a pressure on his lungs.  The feeling that the air is as thick as pea soup.  The feeling for all the gases in the atmosphere, none of the oxygen is reaching his brain.  That he can’t even breathe in.  He’s woken up from many choking nightmares after dragging Tim and Daisy out of the buried, but they never get easier.  In fact, this once was worse.  Not only does he feel like he’s been run over several times, (not to mention the hot and cold feelings of that worsening fever that he would have forgotten about if not for the Eye helpfully feeding him every fluctuation in his temperature), but the sticky, heated hell scape of his unconscious mind was filled with spider’s legs and Tim’s voice echoing that he doesn’t forgive him.  

The choking roots and jabbing rocks, a fine grit that refused to wash out of his skin and his clothes and his hair.  Roots around his ankles, roots around his lungs.  Dirt underneath his fingernails (already cut so short after his first brush with the corruption).  

There is something tacky on his skin.  Something tacky on his clothes.  If he had the air to smell it, it would have made him gag.  He almost gags on the too-close air.  Gag on the roots around him, on the grit.  Gag on his own idiocy: Couldn’t keep one of his only friends.  

Jon’s awake.  At least Tim is pretty sure.  He’s screaming and gasping for air and coughing and his eyes are open at the very least.  Tim catches his hands as he tries to tear at his skin and his clothes, Tim can’t tell which, but it’s probably the half dried soup on his clothes, the likely not-quite-clean feeling that sweat and that same soup have left on his skin, despite Tim’s best efforts to clean them off. Like a restaurant table that could never really be cleaned by a damp sponge.  

It becomes quickly apparent that Jon is spiraling into a panic attack.  Heaving breaths that shake his slight frame, Jon fights to free his hands (probably to fan himself, Tim’s memory supplies.  Jon will fan himself with anything available when panicking.  Tim’s walked Jon through a lot of panic attacks).  Tim’s right hand easily engulfs Jon’s boney wrists, so Tim holds him back (just in case he would have hurt himself)  with his right while he retrieve the discarded flannel with the other, carefully placing in on the back of Jon’s neck and trying to guide him upright enough to stick his head between his knees.  

Jon struggles between heaving breaths and rattling coughs, grabbling hold of Tim, once Tim releases his hands.  Tim tries to keep up a soothing babble, but that was always Martin’s area, not his.  

It takes longer than Tim would like to calm him down.  Not just in the sense that Tim would rather be doing anything else, but also in the sense that the fever is making Jon even more on edge than usual, and Jon’s not even thinking clearly enough to understand what is happening to him.  Under better circumstances, Jon usually can tell he’s having a panic attack, and even used to joke with Tim while he was recovering, making idle commentary about how his hands were still numb (Tim is still not certain if that is a normal symptom of a panic attack or if Jon just has really really poor circulation; he’s never lost feeling in his hands before while panicking.) and other comments to assure Tim that he would be alright.  (Of course, it’s been a while since Tim’s talked him through a panic attack, there was another time not too long ago that he probably caused several himself.   And he sure seems back on the track to causing Jon more tonight.)

Now, Jon keeps scrabbling at his clothes, at Tim, and anything he can.  Trying to get His shirt off, to get the ‘bed off’ (Jon’s word’s, not Tim’s), everything off.  Everything except Tim, who he tried to grab onto whenever he could.  He started up with the apologies again, much to Tim’s chagrin.  And he keeps apologizing well past recovering his breath. 

 Tim tries to be annoyed, and nearly manages it.  But...  Jon looks worse.  Tim isn’t sure if it’s just the panic attack or if his fever is higher (damn, Tim really ought to have a thermometer), but he looks so delicate and so afraid.  Jon looks properly worn through.  Like each year has stripped something off of him, like each mark has carved more than skin away.  It shakes away most of his earlier (partly feigned annoyance) and replaces it with a long buried protective urge.  He bites down on that, not quite ready to forgive.  But he does owe Jon an apology.  He shouldn’t have been so short with him when he is like this.  Just because he isn’t ready to forgive doesn’t mean that he should be a dick about it.  And it was a dick move to yell at Jon like that.  Hell, if he hadn’t, Jon probably wouldn’t have passed out, and wouldn’t have had that nightmare, and wouldn’t have freaked out.  Thinking as he has on that, since his attention was turned to Jon and not his phone, he feels like shit, not even from the last of the fatigue that stretched on long after his own fever had broken.  

Once Jon can breathe again, he ducks his head immediately into the wall of warmth that has been holding him steady, and he sobs.  He’s scared.  He doesn’t remember where he is.  The cloying smell of soup his making him more queasy than he can ever remember being,  He’s cold.  He is miserable.  He would very much like to not be conscious.  He curls tightly around his middle, and ever closer to whoever is holding him.  

“Jon?”

That’s Tim’s voice, isn’t it?  Jon doesn’t know what Tim is doing here.  Jon doesn’t remember what he is doing anywhere.  (He as in Jon, not he as in Tim.)  Doesn’t Tim hate him?  

“Boss, you with me?”

Jon doesn’t particularly trust himself to open his mouth without something bad happening, so he just groans.  

“Boss, I need to get you to cool down a little.  Not sure if that actually helps with your fever, but I think a cool shower will help the panic, and certainly get you a little less soup-y?”

“Mmph,” Jon makes himself grunt so Tim won’e be angry at him for ignoring a question.  

“Is it alright if I help you?  I think you’d feel better in some clean clothes and actually in a bed rather than on it, but I’m not gonna wash you if you don’t consent.  I know we aren’t on the best of terms, but consent is important.  Tim Stoker guarantee (not to mention basic decency).”

Jon frankly doesn’t give a fuck at this point.  Cooling off sounds good.  Getting rid of the soup smell might make him less afraid of opening his mouth.  He wants to trust Tim.  And he does in so far that he knows that Tim would never take advantage of him.  Not like this.  He might still be afraid that Tim might hit him, or yell, or throw him out on his ass in the street, but in this… he trusts Tim.    

“Jon, Boss… Buddy.  I need your explicit consent.  If you aren’t up for talking, which if you aren’t I don’t fucking blame you… You sound really rough.  Tap once for yes, twice for no.”

Jon taps once on Tim’s chest, moving as little as possible.  

Tim slowly maneuvers himself upright, Jon held gently in his arms, and even more gently lifts him.  Jon pales rather dramatically at the change in position, clutches at Tim’s shirt, eyes closed tightly, and swallows hard.  

“You okay?”  Tim mentally reviews where all his bins are.  

Jon scrunches up his face, but eventually taps once on Tim’s chest.  

Tim studies him carefully for a bit, and watches his face closely as he carries Jon, looking out for Jon’s ‘gonna puke’ face.  

Jon is too pliant when Tim strips him and sets him shivering in the bathtub.  Tim knows just how much Jon takes baths, but there is no way Jon will be up for standing to shower.  The best Tim can do is run him a lukewarm bath and then maybe rinse him off afterwards.  

Jon shivers pathetically as the water levels start to rise around him.  But it’s better he be here in the washroom in …just in case.  Tim wishes Martin were with him.  Jon might be a little calmer if he were on better terms with the person attempting to take care of him, even if Tim probably knows more about dealing with a sick Jon.  

Jon dozes as Tim cleans him off the best he can without crossing any of Jon’s boundaries.  (Tim thinks he will keep this part out of any later retellings at the pub, for Jon’s dignity and privacy.)

Jon starts apologizing again when Tim reaches his hair.  

“I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t get soup everywhere, you prick.”  Tim’s tone is light, and he ribs without thinking.  He works shampoo through Jon’s ever lengthening locks, using one hand to shield Jon’s half lidded eyes from the soap.  It takes a lot longer like that, but Jon is so ...floppy.   He can’t leave Jon to get soap in his eyes.  

“‘M sorry Tim.  N-not about the soup.  Well… about the soup as well…. Fuck.... ’m so sorry.  Sorry I shouldn’t even be here.  You should ‘ve just left me…”  The mumbled apologies just get more bleak from there.  “Eye probably won’t let me die… and if it did at least you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”

Tim sucks in a breath.  It chills Tim that Jon is thinking that way.  He isn’t surprised, but it is still upsetting to hear.  Especially since these are words only pried out with a scorching fever.  Not something that he throws around.  

Besides.... he was right there too.  Before the Unknowing.  

“No Jon, you are not going to die.  I can’t forgive you now, because I won’t let you die until I have.  And even then I won’t fucking let you.  Don’t you dare!  Don’t test me, Sims.  I won’t lose anyone else.  Even if you are my shitty, paranoid boss.”

“Sorry,” Jon mumble again, head drooping precariously.  

Tim growls and is a little rough rinsing Jon’s hair, leaving him spluttering which sets him off coughing again.  

Tim has to take a deep breath before speaking again.  “You aren’t That shitty, boss.  Just a little.  Just… stop apologizing for five fucking minutes.  I don’t want to here another “sorry” until your fever has broken.  And maybe keep it to once a week?  That way it might mean something, and hell, maybe my response will mean something too.  But it can’t right now.  I’m too ....fuck I don’t even know, and you’re out of your mind.  And it can’t mean anything… Not when you are still afraid of me.  Not when I still snap at you.  And certainly not when I am not even sure you’ll remember any of this in a couple hours.  Take me to the pub, when you’re well.  Or make me dinner.  Don’t apologize then either, and just maybe I’ll invite you next time.  And maybe someday in a bread and wine coma (a food coma not another spooky one, you hear me?) Maybe in a bread and wine coma, maybe then our words will mean something other than placations and trying to stick a butterfly bandage over a chunk of missing flesh?  But right now, Jonathan Fucking Sims, you are going to stop apologizing and you are going to get better.”  Tim punctuates his speech by draining the bathtub and giving Jon, a slightly-harsher-than-necissary and slightly-colder-than-necissary once over with the detached shower-head, leaving the slighter man shivering even more than before, and looking smaller than ever.  

“Do you hear me Jonathan Sims?”  It takes Tim a minute to catch his eye, and Jon might be more focused on the towel being gently wrapped around him, but he manages.  

Jon, blinking more sluggishly by the minute, and shivering violently (although his temperature is a little less profound after the tepid bath) nods.  “I hear you… Dinner at mine?”  He croaks out.  

Tim shushes him, not unkindly, but still harshly.  “Ask me when you’re well.”  

Jon is bundled in Tim’s spare pajamas (that are more than a little large on him), handed some more medicine and sports drink,  and Tim changes again (much to his slight annoyance.   He’s going to have to do so much laundry), and Jon is held by Tim, in Tim’s bed, with more than a little hope that things might just get better.