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theharrowing · 1 year

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This Sordid Place 📲 2: I would be an idiot to let you go so easily

Namjoon breaks down and installs Grindr after his friends complain he is “terminally single,” despite never really being into hook ups. Jungkook is an old pro at the hookup app.

Their connection is instant.

📲 Namjoon x Jungkook 📲 word count: 16.8k 📲 strangers to lovers, dating app au, smut, fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+ 📲 warnings: use of the word “slut” and "hoes" but not derogatorily; pining; flirting; smut (top Namjoon, bottom Jungkook; talk of switching; dirty talk; frotting and mutual masturbation; blow jobs - once semi-public; under the influence of alcohol; ass to mouth; spit as lube - but also lube; anal fingering; anal sex; praise; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; spanking; teasing and begging; a hint of cockwarming); side YoonJin with an appearance of Taehyung. 📲 written for the BTS Found Fest! 📲 thanks to @neoneunnajimin for beta reading! 📲 posted march 2023 | read on ao3

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Once Namjoon pulls up to the noodle spot, he begins to overthink everything. He worries that he should have worn something a little nicer than a plain black shirt, that he should have used a little makeup to accentuate his eyes, or put on a little lip balm. Worries upon worries swim around his mind, and he squeezes the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

But then he glances to his left, across the street from where he is parked, and he catches a glimpse of messy, wavy black hair, broad shoulders, and an oversized black tee. He is only somewhat certain that it is Jeongguk, but the assumption alone settles him, at least a little.

Namjoon opens his car door and instantly pulls it back, realizing he has extended it into traffic without looking out for cars. He sighs, checks his mirror to make sure the road is clear, then gets out and sprints across the street, hitting the button on his key fob to lock his doors.

He barely takes a moment to catch his breath before swinging the door open, turning to the man in the window, and feeling his breath hitch as they make eye contact.

The man is unmistakably Jeongguk, with his wide, pretty doe eyes and a sharp cupid’s bow. They stare at one another for only a moment, but it feels like the earth halts for them to catch up.

When Jeongguk finally blinks and shifts in his seat, Namjoon clears his throat, rubs a slightly clammy hand on his pants, then offers it to Jeongguk. Jeongguk takes Namjoon’s hand in both of his and stands awkwardly with the table in his way, bumping it with his thighs and causing bottles of oil and sauce to rattle.

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon mutters with a small smile.

“H-hi,” Jeongguk says softly, voice much sweeter than Namjoon imagined.

Their handshake lasts too long, both with eyes wide and trained on one another. When they finally release, Namjoon pulls out the chair in front of Jeongguk and has a seat, scooting in a little too harshly and knocking his knee into the underside of the table, rattling the bottles of oil and sauce once more. He chuckles, then Jeongguk quietly laughs as he sits back down, and the mood that hangs between them definitely feels a bit tense, but Namjoon does his best not to overthink it.

"Thanks for saving us a seat," Namjoon says as he grabs a menu from a small stack wedged between wooden utensil and napkin holders on the edge of the table. He glances down momentarily, then feels nervous that Jeongguk has not yet responded, so he looks up.

The expression on Jeongguk's face is adorable—eyes round and mouth agape with a pretty metal ring on the side of his lip. Namjoon chuckles and licks his lips, finding it hard to believe that this guy is picking up dudes left and right on a hookup app; he seems so shy.

"Is there something on my face?" Namjoon asks, hoping to break the tension.

Jeongguk blinks heavily and shakes his head in quick, small movements. "N-no," he clears his throat, "sorry."

The server comes shortly after, and they both order food and a bottle of soju to split. It doesn't take long for the soju to come, and Jeongguk shakes it up and begins to pour them cups, all the while, he is so quiet that Namjoon begins to worry that something is wrong. When Jeongguk hands Namjoon his cup and their fingers brush, red begins to creep up Jeongguk's neck, and he stares ahead at a fixed point on the table.

"Thank you," Namjoon says, gently holding the small cup with both hands. "What should we make a toast to?"

A shy smile creeps over Jeongguk's lips as he says, "Cheers to my Grindr date being hotter than I could have possibly imagined."

Now it is Namjoon's turn to blush as warmth covers his neck and cheeks. He must have a dumbfounded look on his face because Jeongguk begins to softly laugh.

"You're supposed to drink after someone has made a toast, Namjoon-ssi."

Namjoon scoffs at Jeongguk's formality. "Namjoon-ssi? Really?"

"What else do you want me to call you?" Jeongguk asks, raising an eyebrow, and Namjoon knows what he is thinking. Daddy. He thanks his lucky stars that Jeongguk seems too shy to say it aloud.

"Hyung is fine," Namjoon says with a raise of his own eyebrows, "assuming the 97 in your screen name is the year you were born.

Jeongguk smiles. "That is correct, hyung."

Realizing their glasses are still hovering in the air, Namjoon tilts his slightly forward.

"Cheers to my Grindr date also being hotter than I could have possibly imagined."

Jeongguk grins and takes his shot, turning his face to the side but holding eye contact with Namjoon, who also shoots back the chilled, bittersweet liquid. Suddenly, the air feels shifted, and Namjoon takes a deep, slow breath, trying to contain it in his lungs.

They make some small talk about their days. The food doesn’t take long to arrive, and Jeongguk eats like he has not eaten in weeks—slurps loudly with his eyebrows knit, barely taking time to breathe. Namjoon finds it adorable how, every time he bites into something particularly delicious, Jeongguk grimaces as if he is angry.

Namjoon is still eating by the time Jeongguk sets his bowl aside, and he nods his chin toward the empty dish.

“You really enjoyed it?”

Jeongguk smiles sheepishly and nods.

“I eat fast. S-sorry.”

This makes Namjoon chuckle and shake his head.

“Please don’t apologize. I'm glad you liked your food so much."

They hold eye contact for a moment, then Jeongguk breaks to pour more soju. Namjoon feels stunned by how easy it is to get lost in his eyes—as if Jeongguk has cast a spell on him. He definitely gets the appeal now, and would not be surprised if Jeongguk's tactic for picking people up is simply existing adorably and letting others gravitate naturally.

"So, Jeongguk," Namjoon starts as he gathers a bite of noodles onto his chopsticks, "you never told me what kind of modeling you do."

Jeongguk cracks a smirk, sets the soju bottle down, then slides Namjoon's cup toward him.

"My roommate is a photography student too, so I mostly model for him."

Namjoon has a mouthful of food, and he hums and nods his head to show he is interested, hoping that Jeongguk feels like providing more information without him having to ask. Luckily, he does.

"We have a friend who is trying to get into the fashion industry, so he sews clothing, I put them on, and Tae—my roommate—takes the photos."

His roommate Tae. Realization hits Namjoon like a bucket of ice water to the neck, and he nearly chokes on a noodle as he gasps. Luckily, the noodle does not make it far—just far enough to tickle the back of Namjoon's throat and cause him to cough. Jeongguk waits, appearing puzzled and a bit worried, and Namjoon takes a gulp of water before apologizing.

"Everything okay?" Jeongguk asks.

"Yeah," Namjoon responds with a rasp. "Just had a startling, terrible realization."

Jeongguk's mouth drops, and he looks even more worried. "What is it?"

"Your roommate Tae...is his name Taehyung?"

"Y-yeah," Jeongguk responds with widening eyes.

Namjoon can feel heat rise to his cheeks as he admits, "I think I was flirting with him over Grindr. And over text."

A gasp follows Jeongguk breaking out into a wide, pretty smile. "You slut!" he whispers loudly. "I thought you were only flirting with me!"

Namjoon scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

"Please, as if you weren't flirting your way through the app? You told me point-blank that you were looking for a cutie to fuck. How many have you hooked up with since we started talking?"

The playfulness on Jeongguk's face dulls, and Namjoon wonders if he may have crossed a line.

"Not that it's any of your business, but one," he admits softly.

Namjoon smirks.

"How was he?"

Jeongguk shrugs.

"Fine."

The mood feels charged, and Namjoon wants to explore it more, but he worries about making Jeongguk uncomfortable. Luckily, Jeongguk begins to chuckle and shake his head, pulling out his phone.

"Why am I not surprised Tae pounced on you," Jeongguk mutters, then he holds his phone out, showing Namjoon a photo of him. The dark brown mop of curls, the boxy smile...that is definitely him.

"Yup," is all Namjoon can bring himself to say.

Jeongguk begins to laugh, throwing himself against the wooden bench with his head lolling back. His eyes are pulled into tight crescent moons, and his nose is scrunched—Namjoon thinks he is absolutely adorable.

"I'm going to tell him," Namjoon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to text another man during our date, wow!" Jeongguk accuses in a mocking tone before waving his hand in the air and asking the waiter for two more bottles of Soju.

"Two more?" Namjoon asks with wide eyes, glancing up from his screen.

There is a mischievous glint in Jeongguk's gaze that gives Namjoon a chill and makes him smile. Shy Jeongguk is slowly becoming a demon in front of his very eyes, and he cannot deny how excited the possibility makes him feel.

After the two bottles of soju, Namjoon and Jeongguk leave the restaurant for a nearby bar. He convinces Namjoon in part because it is a place where he can leave his car overnight, and because it happens to be within walking distance to Jeongguk's place, should he get too drunk to drive.

"Your crush TaeTae won't be home until tomorrow, so you can crash in his room if you need to," Jeongguk teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows as Namjoon turns the ignition off and checks his mirror before exiting the car.

"Ooh," Namjoon—who is probably too tipsy to have just driven—says as he gets out of the car. He leans his elbows on the roof, and as Jeongguk's head pops into view, he asks, "Is his bed nice? Will I like it there?"

Jeongguk tongues the inside of his cheek, then says, "Yeah, it's fine. But mine is nicer."

"Oh?" Namjoon continues as Jeongguk closes his door, rounds the hood of the car, and approaches.

Jeongguk hums in response, and leans toward Namjoon as he says, "Too bad you're a prude and will never find out."

The laugh that shakes through Namjoon as they begin for the bar is far more boisterous than he had intended.

"I thought I was a slut? Now I'm a prude?"

Jeongguk shrugs as he reaches for the door, pulling it open and holding it for Namjoon to enter.

"Not my fault you contain multitudes, daddy."

And there it is, that word, laced with something dark and playful. Namjoon raises an eyebrow at Jeongguk, then enters the dimly lit bar before the blush that rises quickly to his cheeks can be detected in all its glory.

Namjoon has never considered having a daddy kink before meeting Jeongguk. In fact, the whole thing has always felt silly to him. But, hearing the word roll off Jeongguk's tongue, mixing with all the already rapidly swirling thoughts and feelings that vibrate through him, he thinks he wants to hear it again and again.

The bar is small—a rectangle with a counter on one half and booths on the other. Stained glass lamps with popular beer brands hang from the ceiling, giving the place a sometimes red, sometimes green glow, and everything is scratched up hardwood and cracked black leather. Some loud, upbeat music plays, something Namjoon might classify as punk, but he is not entirely sure.

"What'll it be, baby boy?" Namjoon asks, leaning back as he approaches the bar two steps ahead of Jeongguk, turning his head just enough so the other will hear him.

Jeongguk closes the gap between them and says, directly into Namjoon's ear, "Gin and soda. Thanks, daddy."

Biting back a smirk and hoping that his giddiness is not too palpable, Namjoon leans over the bar and asks the waiting tender for two gin and sodas, then fishes for his card to open the tab. A glance over his shoulder shows Jeongguk has chosen a booth just behind him, and Namjoon instinctively arches his back a little, popping his ass out as he reaches over the counter to hand the bartender his card with a polite, "Thanks."

As he turns back to Jeongguk, Namjoon finds himself stunned in a moment of disbelief. Jeongguk is so handsome and so charming that it actually takes his breath away. The shyness—which has all but disappeared after some alcohol has hit his system—only makes him more intriguing and adorable.

Namjoon sets the drinks down, one close to Jeongguk, and slides into the booth across from him. Jeongguk has his eyes on his phone, but shuts the screen off and pockets it, giving Namjoon his attention.

"Flirting with other cuties?" Namjoon teases.

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow and leans forward, elbows on the table as he asks, "Would you be jealous if I were?"

Although Namjoon thinks he might be disheartened to find out Jeongguk's attention was on someone else during their date, he really has no authority to tell him not to talk to other people, and he shrugs.

"Not really. I mean...I prefer if you didn't, but if I'm boring you enough to make you want to seek the company of others, then you should be free to roam as you please."

Embarrassment creeps up Namjoon's neck, and he wonders why he said any of that—worried he sounded like a weirdo. Free to roam as you please? What does he think Jeongguk is, a wild buffalo?

Jeongguk licks his lips and smirks.

"I would be."

Namjoon watches the movement—watches Jeongguk's tongue dart out and flick his lip ring.

"What?"

"Jealous."

"Oh?" Namjoon asks, somewhat taken aback.

Jeongguk hums and picks up his drink, bringing it to his lips while his eyes study Namjoon.

"I don't want you thinking about anyone else when you're with me. I want you all to myself."

"What if I'm boring?" Namjoon asks.

Jeongguk takes a sip of his drink, then says, "You're not."

Namjoon has a drink, too—lets the sour, piney gin coat his tongue, then sets his glass down.

"What if I'm a bad kisser? Or bad in bed?"

This makes Jeongguk chuckle and glance down before looking back into Namjoon's eyes. There is a dark curiosity that swims in Jeongguk's gaze, and Namjoon wants to dive in head-first.

"Are you?"

Namjoon shrugs.

"I could be."

"I doubt it. But I guess I'll just have to find out, won't I?"

Suddenly, Namjoon is acutely aware of his surroundings. The cold, dampness of his glass, the music playing overhead, which seems louder than moments ago. Everything feels like too much and not enough, all at once.

And his mouth. Sharp, pointed cupid's bow with a pretty metal ring hugging a soft, full bottom lip, leading Namjoon's attention continuously to it, especially when Jeongguk is so confidently talking about wanting to find out how he kisses and how he may be in bed. He wonders if this is why someone must get such a piercing—to draw attention to their lips. He wonders what it might taste like and if Jeongguk would like him to play with it, with his tongue.

"Perhaps you will find out," Namjoon says as he raises his glass to his mouth with a smile.

"Unless Taehyung beats me to it," Jeongguk teases as he takes a drink, and Namjoon nearly sprays his beverage through his nose.

Spending time with Jeongguk is easy, and Namjoon cannot help but smile at everything he says and does. Taehyung has also joined in on the fun, picking on Namjoon over text after he confessed to him what happened.

Taehyung Guess that means our date is called off. :(

Namjoon We'll see...Jeongguk has yet to make a move.

Taehyung Ah, so you're saying there may be hope for me, yet? :D

By the time they decide to call it a night, it is late, and they are drunk. Not unreasonably drunk, but too drunk for Namjoon to drive home.

"My plan worked," Jeongguk says with a smile as he wraps his arm around Namjoon's waist and steers him down the sidewalk, away from the bar. Namjoon likes being this close to Jeongguk—likes the faint hint of musky, sweet cologne that he picks up.

"Your plan to get me drunk and have me sleep in your roommate's bed?" Namjoon asks, leaning a bit more into Jeongguk, causing him to stumble a few steps ahead.

Jeongguk hums and squeezes Namjoon's hip.

"Wow," Namjoon responds with a grin. "Here, I thought chivalry was dead."

They only walk two and a half blocks before they are entering an apartment building, and Namjoon glances around at the street. He is not too familiar with this particular area, but the bars he tends to frequent are not too far away. Jeongguk was definitely not lying the other night when he said the app placed them in a fairly close vicinity.

Although he is tired, Namjoon is not sure he is ready to go to bed. Spending time with Jeongguk has been so much fun, and he definitely does not want to stop. But, he also has not been with anyone sexually in quite some time, and he worries about being able to please someone who seems to hook up with others often. Namjoon does not want to feel insecurity or shame, or any of those hard feelings while spending time with someone as radiant as Jeongguk, but it is hard not to.

They walk up three flights of steps, then down a short hallway, all with Jeongguk's arm wrapped tightly around Namjoon's waist. And, while Namjoon cannot deny that they have great chemistry, the closer they get to Jeongguk's place, the more his nerves begin to kick in.

Once Jeongguk pushes the door to his apartment open, he finally lets go of Namjoon, and leans against the wall to take off his black sneakers, and Namjoon closes the door behind him and leans against it to pull off his black boots. It is silly, Namjoon thinks, how worried he was about being dressed down since Jeongguk showed up in an oversized black tee, baggy black jeans, and casual shoes, looking just as amazing as if he had bothered to dress up.

Jeongguk motions for Namjoon to have a seat on the couch, and he walks through the room and flicks on a lamp, then rounds a corner. The sound of a cabinet opening and the sink running is heard before Jeongguk returns with a glass of water and sits beside Namjoon.

The apartment is small, and very much the home of two photography students. There are books, photographs, and paintings all over, along with several sad-looking plants, and a pile of fabric that faintly resembles articles of clothing draped over what Namjoon can only assume is an armchair. The space is cluttered but organized in its own way, which he appreciates.

"So," Jeongguk says as he angles his body toward Namjoon, cradling the water in his fingers. "We could watch something. Or make out for a while. Or both?"

Namjoon is nervous as hell, but he cannot stop himself from saying, "Making out sounds good," causing Jeongguk to grin.

Jeongguk sets down the glass of water and scoots closer, and Namjoon angles his body in Jeongguk's direction, though he is not sure how it will work sitting side by side on the couch.

"Come here," Jeongguk mutters as he leans closer, and Namjoon places a hand on the cushion, leaning to meet him halfway.

"I haven't done this in a while," Namjoon confesses as he closes the gap between them.

"I got you, don't worry," Jeongguk mutters as his lips faintly bush over Namjoon's.

Just the tiniest touch sends a shiver down Namjoon's spine—has the air caught in his lungs—and he leans in just a bit more to fully slot their lips together. Namjoon cannot help but groan at the slightly sweet taste of Jeongguk's mouth and the hint of cold metal, and he raises his free hand to Jeongguk's cheek, cupping it gently to hold him closer.

Jeongguk licks over Namjoon's bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth. The sparks that fly through Namjoon's body cause him to gasp and for his hand to slide down until just his fingertips rest on Jeongguk's clavicle. As Jeongguk sucks a little harder, Namjoon lets out a whimper that he is not all too proud of, feeling extra mortified when Jeongguk releases his lip with a pop and lets out a sweet giggle.

"Wow," Jeongguk whispers, pressing his forehead against Namjoon's.

From this close, all Namjoon can see are two big, dark eyes and the tips of their noses touching.

"Wow?"

"I like the way your lips feel," Jeongguk says as he slowly moves his head side-to-side, rubbing their noses together. "And I like the sweet little noises you make." He licks at Namjoon's lips, giggling as Namjoon begins to tilt forward, searching for a kiss. "I bet you taste just as sweet."

Namjoon feels as intoxicated from desire as he does from all the alcohol.

"Oh?"

Jeongguk nods and leans in for another kiss, this time putting his hands on Namjoon's shoulders and pressing into him. Namjoon angles his body, resting back somewhat against the arm of the couch and the backrest—wedged in the corner—as Jeongguk follows, sucking Namjoon's lip into his mouth once more as he begins to crawl into his lap.

Namjoon attempts to reach out and grab onto him, brushing his palms over Jeongguk's thighs before finding his waist, and Jeongguk chuckles as he settles down. He feels heavier than Namjoon expected, until he remembers all the gym selfies—Jeongguk works out; he is buff under all of these baggy clothes.

Being beneath Jeongguk feels nice—warm and secure. As Jeongguk licks the crease of Namjoon's lips, Namjoon melts beneath him, sinking into the corner of the couch despite being angled awkwardly. He parts his lips, and Jeongguk wastes no time skimming their tongues over one another. Both men groan, and Namjoon slides one hand from Jeongguk's waist to his back.

"You can touch me," Jeongguk mutters against Namjoon's lips.

Namjoon hums—a questioning sound—unsure exactly what Jeongguk means; he is touching him.

"Under my shirt," Jeongguk clarifies. "Or we can move this to my room."

Between every other word, Jeongguk licks into Namjoon's mouth or sucks on his lip, and Namjoon feels too foggy to have a conversation this way, so he tilts his chin down to catch his breath and clear his head.

Moving to Jeongguk's room would be nice, but he is not quite sure hooking up is in the cards, and he is definitely not sure how persuasive Jeongguk may be. Not that Namjoon thinks Jeongguk would struggle to take no for an answer—he absolutely does not worry the man would pressure him to do something he does not want to do.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Namjoon asks, inwardly cringing from how much of an old man he sounds.

Jeongguk's eyes widen, and he tilts his head, showing Namjoon his pouty lips. "You don't trust me?"

"It's not—I—"

"Or you don't trust yourself?"

Namjoon scoffs. If there is one thing he is almost certain about, it is his own resolve. Jeongguk may be a babe, but Namjoon has resisted the charms of many people in his day, and this one hot man is not going to test his willpower.

"Did you just scoff at me?" Jeongguk asks, sitting back and looking affronted. There is still a hint of playfulness in his gaze, but Namjoon feels a tiny tinge of guilt pang in his ribs.

"Jeongguk—"

"Call me baby boy."

Namjoon can not hold back a smile.

"Baby boy," he says slowly, pausing dramatically. "You are breathtaking...gorgeous...fun to kiss..."

"But?"

"But," Namjoon lets his lips fall into a wide, genuine smile as Jeongguk's pout deepens. "But, I have denying people down to an art. And, as strong as my attraction to you is...my willpower is stronger."

At this, Jeongguk playfully sneers, and Namjoon's mouth falls open.

"You think so?" Jeongguk asks, still on Namjoon's legs, which are beginning to ache with him sitting up and putting most of his weight directly onto them.

Namjoon shrugs, attempting nonchalance. "Sorry, baby. I know so."

Jeongguk shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and gathers the bottom of his shirt with both hands. In a swift movement, he is shirtless, his hair is wild, framing his face in loose waves, and Namjoon is speechless. Mirror selfies at the gym posted to Grindr do not do him justice. In fact, Namjoon wonders if they might be older photos; Jeongguk looks way more ripped.

In addition to the lean, cut muscle that Namjoon cannot tear his eyes from, he also has an unobstructed view of Jeongguk's tattoos—a full sleeve of dark shadows and vibrant colors.

"How's that willpower of yours, daddy?" Jeongguk chides.

Namjoon swallows the saliva that has pooled beneath his tongue, blinks heavily, and forces himself to meet Jeongguk's eye.

"F-fine."

"Fine?" Jeongguk asks, leaning in close.

Namjoon sinks back against the couch, nodding as he lets out a very unconvincing, "Uh-huh."

"You have no desire to touch me?" Jeongguk asks, snaking his arms around Namjoon's neck.

"W-why ever would I desire to do such a thing?" Namjoon stammers senselessly, gazing between Jeongguk's eyes and lips.

Jeongguk smiles as he flicks his tongue over Namjoon's gaping mouth.

"You are a terrible liar, daddy," he teases as Namjoon loses his composure as steals his lips, eager for one more kiss.

This time, rather than a brief exploration, Namjoon opens his mouth, and Jeongguk licks inside, groaning as he twists his tongue over Namjoon's tongue and pushes his fingers into Namjoon's hair.

This time, Namjoon does touch. With one hand, Namjoon places his palm against Jeongguk's hip—holds him loosely with his fingers splayed open. With the other, he reaches for Jeongguk's shoulder and slowly lets his hand glide down, over Jeongguk's pec, and up, rubbing his nipple with his palm. This is a surefire way to break down every ounce of his own resolve, but Namjoon cannot help himself. His rule is arbitrary, anyway.

Jeongguk sucks Namjoon's lip again, pulling a groan from his throat before releasing him to sink helplessly, further into the couch.

"Your willpower excuses groping?" Jeongguk asks playfully, then nips at Namjoon's lip.

Namjoon groans weakly. "You're too enticing, baby boy."

"I think the term you're looking for is dangerously pretty," Jeongguk teases, making Namjoon let out another embarrassing sound.

Jeongguk's hands return to Namjoon's shoulders and rub first over his biceps, then down to his pecs.

"You've been teasing me with this tight shirt all night, daddy," he pouts. "I want to see you."

If Namjoon were a stronger man, he would not let the pout of a buff man have such an effect on him. But, as it turns out, Namjoon is weak. He is beginning to think the only reason his willpower was strong in the past was that he was not sitting directly beneath any of his potential suitors with their very muscular breasts in his face.

Namjoon struggles to untuck his shirt, but after some effort, he manages. Jeongguk eagerly assists, pulling the fabric up, over Namjoon's head before tossing it aside, then he lets out a gasp, muttering, "Damn," under his breath. It takes no time at all for Jeongguk to ask Namjoon for permission to touch and—once given a nod—to begin groping his chest and arms.

"Is this how you woo all of the cuties you bring home?" Namjoon asks with a smirk, delighting in being felt up by someone so pretty.

Jeongguk chuckles, meeting Namjoon's eye with a dangerous glint in his.

"Nah, if you were one of my typical dates, I would be fucking you by now."

A chill quakes through Namjoon. He should know by now—half-naked with kiss-slick lips, after spending a date with someone he met on Grindr—that Jeongguk is likely to be very forward and brash. Still, he cannot help how his breath hitches at the thought.

"You would be fucking me, hmm?" Namjoon asks with a tilt of his head, attempting to play it cool.

Jeongguk has the audacity to shrug and appear unaffected.

"Or you can fuck me. I'm open to anything."

It is dangerous—Namjoon knows it is dangerous—and he knows that he should not continue this line of conversation if he wants to attempt to not hook up on the first date. But Jeongguk is heavy and warm on his lap, and traces of him are still on his lips and tongue. He wants Jeongguk, despite wanting to take things a bit slower. He wants him badly, and he wants to make it known.

"I would like that," Namjoon says, running his hands over the cotton-polyester blend covering Jeongguk's thighs and around to gently grab his ass.

"What, exactly," Jeongguk asks, and Namjoon does not miss the way his voice trembles.

Namjoon leans in close, inches from Jeongguk's lips as he says, "To fuck you."

Jeongguk gasps and rolls his hips down against Namjoon's lap. Namjoon is half-hard beneath his slacks, and although the angle of Jeongguk's movement does not directly cause friction, the feeling of his body teasing him has Namjoon struggling to exhale.

"N-not tonight, I mean," Namjoon fumbles to clarify.

"But soon?" Jeongguk asks, voice lilting prettily at the end, pleadingly.

Namjoon nods in short, frantic movements as his palms rub up and down Jeongguk's muscular back.

"Yeah. Soon."

Jeongguk hums and leaves Namjoon's lap, scooting back until he is sitting on the couch, and Namjoon—desperate to keep touching—follows Jeongguk, leaning toward him so that his hands never leave the warmth of his soft skin. Jeongguk grabs onto Namjoon's wrists and tugs him, causing him to get onto his knees and straddle Jeongguk, who begins to lay back.

"How would you want me?" the devil incarnate asks as he lies down and pulls Namjoon forward to settle between his parting thighs. "On my back? Or on my stomach?"

Namjoon has no doubt that Jeongguk's ass is a sight to behold—if the rest of his sculpted body is anything to go by—but he imagines the expression on Jeongguk's face when he is breathless and full must be absolutely astounding. He crawls between Jeongguk's legs, caging his head in with his arms as he settles over him.

"On your back."

This pleases Jeongguk, who groans as he wraps his legs around Namjoon's ass and pulls him close, down for a kiss. Namjoon's cock is completely hard as it rubs against Jeongguk—his slacks just thin enough to feel ridges of coarse denim. A shaky gasp leaves Namjoon's lips, which Jeongguk swallows whole as their kiss deepens—Jeongguk having full control.

"What if we—" Jeongguk begins, then stops, lips pressed against Namjoon's mouth. He goes in for another kiss, but Namjoon wants to hear his thoughts, so he trails his lips down Jeongguk's chin and jaw instead, listening for hints that Jeongguk likes how it feels. When Namjoon reaches Jeongguk's neck—just below his ear—his back arches as he whimpers, so Namjoon doubles down, kissing and licking the area more.

"What if we what, baby boy?" Namjoon asks as he nips at the spit-slicked skin.

Jeongguk moans soft pretty sounds that echo in the otherwise quiet room.

"What if we—ah—jerked off together."

This is a new one, Namjoon thinks. Nobody has ever recommended mutual masturbation before, and considering how soon they just met, Namjoon is surprised Jeongguk is not too shy for something like that.

"Please, daddy," Jeongguk whimpers, and Namjoon groans from the sound, then anchors himself on his hands enough to hover over Jeongguk and look him in the eye.

"How do you want to do it?"

"Really?" Jeongguk asks, eyes wide and surprised.

Namjoon chuckles, intrigued.

"Well, I am pretty fucking hard, and it would be nice to get some relief."

Jeongguk nods emphatically and places his hands on Namjoon's chest to push him up and off of him. Namjoon struggles to get on his feet, feeling dizzy from being pulled and pushed around, and he reaches out for Jeongguk, chuckling as he seems equally affected and stumbles into him.

"Come on," Jeongguk says, taking Namjoon's hand. "Let's go to my room."

Although Namjoon already misses Jeongguk's lips, there is a chaos to the way things are arranged throughout the apartment, and he resists the urge to attempt to kiss while walking, lest he knock something over. Jeongguk leads him by the hand through a living room, into a small hallway with three doors, and Namjoon wonders if he will only see one of the rooms tonight—if he will not be taking Taehyung's bed, after all. Although the whole situation is fairly funny, Namjoon thinks it may be better that he stays with Jeongguk, anyway.

Jeongguk flips a switch on the wall, but the bulb glows dim and purple, casting only enough light for them to see where they are going. His room is much tidier than the common space, and Namjoon has a very fleeting curiosity about what Taehyung's room must look like, but it is washed away by the warm press of Jeongguk's lips against his.

Gasps, low groans, and wet lips smacking together fill Namjoon's ears, and he reaches both hands to tug Jeongguk closer, but Jeongguk resists and, instead, pulls him toward the bed. Then, Jeongguk begins to work Namjoon's belt open while his kisses become needy.

"Is this okay?" Jeongguk pants into Namjoon's mouth, and Namjoon responds with a deep, "Mmhmm, yeah."

Namjoon reaches for Jeongguk's fly, flicking it open with just his thumb and index finger, then slowly pulls down the zipper. Jeongguk's movements are much more sloppy and rushed, making Namjoon gasp and smirk from the feeling of fingers grazing over his cock.

"Want me that badly, baby boy?" Namjoon teases as he pushes his hands into the sides of Jeongguk's oversized jeans and gropes at his hips and the sides of his ass.

Just this little touch alone has confirmed something that Namjoon has been terrified of—and is elated to discover, in equal measures—which is that Jeongguk is just as ripped below the belt, after all.

Jeongguk moans into Namjoon's mouth as Namjoon snakes his hands further back and properly grabs onto his ass—round and perky and soft; an absolute dream. Meanwhile, Jeongguk's hands make quick work shoving Namjoon's pants down and pawing at the waistband of his briefs.

The kiss breaks, and Jeongguk looks down at Namjoon, whose slacks are around his knees, leaving him in tight, dark blue briefs, and he gasps.

"You're—you're so—oh, fuck."

"Cat got your tongue, baby boy?" Namjoon teases as he pulls his hands from Jeongguk's pants and begins to shove the denim down.

"I could tell you would have a big dick, but this—"

Namjoon blushes.

"Stop."

"I want to choke on you so bad," Jeongguk whines. "Please, daddy?"

From what Namjoon can glean, Jeongguk's package is impressive, as well, and he licks his lips at the thought of seeing it without the layer of soft black fabric in the way. But that will have to wait, it seems.

Jeongguk must take Namjoon's silence as a not-no, and he pushes his own jeans down to his ankles and sinks down to his knees. Namjoon's breath hitches at the sight of dangerously pretty Jeongguk kneeling before him, staring up at him through his lashes.

"Please," Jeongguk tries again.

Namjoon nods his head in a daze, and mutters, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

With the most devious grin Namjoon has ever seen, Jeongguk rubs his thumb over his clothed cock, sending a violent wave of arousal crashing through him, making him shiver. Pleased with himself, Jeongguk leans forward and exhales over Namjoon's bulge, covering him in warmth as he nudges the tip of his nose against him.

"Such a tease," Namjoon whines, though he does not mind; he loves the build-up—loves being pushed to the point of madness by desire.

"Want you out of these," Jeongguk mutters as he shoves Namjoon's slacks lower.

Namjoon makes a haphazard attempt at stepping from each leg, and Jeongguk gathers the garment and tosses it aside.

"These too," Jeongguk says as he slides his palms over Namjoon's thighs and gathers the waistband of his briefs with his fingertips before tugging them down.

Namjoon feels a bit awkward and exposed, standing before someone as his last shred of clothing is being removed. He is distracted from his anxiety, however, when Jeongguk mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he becomes increasingly more eager to remove Namjoon's briefs.

"Yes, baby boy?" Namjoon asks with a light chuckle.

Jeongguk shoves the briefs to Namjoon's feet, and Namjoon steps out of them as Jeongguk takes his cock in his hands and sits up high on his knees, slowly stroking his length with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. It feels good, and Jeongguk looks like pure heaven.

Before Namjoon has the chance to fully process what is happening, Jeongguk's lips are around his length, and he is sucking so eagerly, Namjoon's knees buckle, causing him to grab onto Jeongguk's head for stability.

"Holy fuck," Namjoon groans as he widens his stance and attempts to keep himself from toppling over.

Jeongguk takes him deep into his throat, slurping loudly and humming as he sucks, creating a lewd euphony of sound that has Namjoon's head absolutely spinning. This is certainly not what he expected to happen when he walked into this room, but he cannot say he minds.

With a pleased moan, Jeongguk pulls off Namjoon's dick, holding his mouth open wide with spit hanging from his lips to Namjoon's tip. He looks absolutely sinful, staring up with tears dotting his eyelashes, and he smiles.

"You're too big. Almost made me gag."

"You said you wanted to choke," Namjoon teases, making Jeongguk pout.

"It's a figure of speech."

Namjoon pushes a dark brown wave behind Jeongguk's ear, feeling a swell of affection and intense arousal.

"You did so well, baby boy. You feel amazing."

Jeongguk strokes Namjoon's length, twisting his palm over the head, and giggles when a tremble of pleasure visibly quakes through him. Then, he stands and gently tugs Namjoon by the dick toward his bed.

"Come on, I want to rub our cocks together."

Jeongguk's candor makes Namjoon laugh, and he stumbles forward, watching as Jeongguk reaches the edge of his mattress and shoves at his briefs. A very pretty, long cock springs out, and Namjoon licks his lips.

"You want to—to what?" he asks, in a daze as Jeongguk's words finally catch up to him.

Jeongguk chuckles and sits, then scoots to the center of the bed and pats the black comforter. "Grab the lube and come here."

On the bedside table is a bottle of lube, and Namjoon grabs it as he gets onto the bed, crawling on his knees to Jeongguk, who slowly strokes his own cock while on his back, but angled slightly on one hip.

"Come here," Jeongguk says again, this time with his voice much lower and inviting.

Namjoon sets the plastic bottle down on the comforter and leans forward, slotting his lips with Jeongguk's and groaning from how soft and sweet and pleasantly familiar they are. Jeongguk drapes an arm around Namjoon and pulls him close, and Namjoon feels a warm hand wrap around his hard length, making him groan.

"Lube," Jeongguk says against Namjoon's lips, and Namjoon pats the comforter with his hand several times until he finds the bottle and hands it over.

Jeongguk flips the cap open and squirts it directly onto their dicks, making both of them hiss, and Namjoon practically jumps out of his skin from how cold it is. A devious chuckle comes from Jeongguk, and Namjoon gently bites down on his bottom lip, making him whine. He almost scolds him for being such a brat, but then Jeongguk rubs the lube over his length and thrusts himself against him, making Namjoon practically black out from pleasure.

Namjoon attempts to situate himself better, wrapping his arm under Jeongguk's neck and resting it against a small pile of pillows. He props himself on his elbow so he can angle his hips while laying on his side, giving Jeongguk access to thrust against him. Then he grabs the bases of both their cocks, feeling them slide against his palm as he slowly begins to rut his hips in rhythm, forward when Jeongguk pulls back and backward when Jeongguk thrusts forward.

"Wow," Jeongguk groans, lolling his head back. "I wasn't sure this would work but it feels amazing."

Namjoon leans forward and gently sucks at Jeongguk's jaw and throat, eager for more pretty sounds, which he receives in the form of whimpers.

"Yeah? You like this, baby boy?"

The way Jeongguk's entire body trembles in response tells Namjoon all he needs to know, but he still revels in Jeongguk whimpering, "Yes, daddy."

Of all the things Namjoon anticipated might happen when he walked into this apartment drunk tonight, this was not on the list. Namjoon does not even know what the word for this is. Mutually masturbating with both cocks touching—wet and warm and heavenly—while Jeongguk continues calling him that ridiculous nickname that spurs something inside him to want to take charge and make Jeongguk whine.

Jeongguk wraps his hand around Namjoon's tip and gently twists it as he strokes, and Namjoon chases the feeling, upstroking into his palm and using his hand to glide over Jeongguk's length. The sounds that leave Jeongguk's mouth—deep and low, punctuated with pretty, pitchy whines—are heaven, and Namjoon nuzzles against Jeongguk's neck, moaning lowly as he nips at his soft skin.

"Fuck, I wish I had this cock inside me," Jeongguk whines, sending a shiver down Namjoon's spine. "I bet you would fuck me so good, wouldn't you, daddy?"

"I would," Namjoon groans, feeling dizzy with pleasure. "Fuck, I would."

Namjoon almost cracks. He almost says to hell with it and rolls Jeongguk onto his stomach to stretch him on his fingers and turn him into a whimpering, begging mess. But, he still feels kind of drunk—not too drunk to be doing what they are doing, but perhaps too drunk to navigate fucking someone for the first time. He wants it to be perfect, or at least, he wants it to be good.

And anyway, Jeongguk is trembling and thrusting and completely losing control, moaning as his back begins to bow and his legs push and pull along the comforter. He is definitely close.

"Want to cum watching you jerk off," Jeongguk whines, releasing Namjoon's dick and scooting away a few inches.

Namjoon stays where he is, a bit dazed by the request and disappointed that the warmth of Jeongguk's body is leaving. But he strokes himself in long, steady movements, getting closer and closer to climax. Jeongguk's eyes on him make him feel a hint of shyness—never has someone requested to watch him jerk off before—and he lets his gaze fall to Jeongguk's chest, abs, and cock.

"Fuck," Namjoon moans as he watches Jeongguk's hand stroke his length. He looks good, and Namjoon wants to have that cock in his hand as he fucks Jeongguk into the mattress. "Moan for me, baby boy. I want to hear you."

Jeongguk complies, rubbing a hand over his pec while he fucks into his fist, making deep, lewd sounds of bliss. Namjoon plummets toward orgasm, rolling fully onto his back as he moans lowly.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, you sound so good. Gonna make me cum."

Any ounce of shame that Namjoon may have felt about this scenario diminishes the moment Jeongguk's mouth falls open, and he whines, "Please, daddy, please cum for me."

Namjoon's hot, sticky release spurts onto his fist and stomach—orgasm rocking blissfully through him—and he slowly squeezes the head of his cock, pulling the last droplets of cum while pleasure trembles through his limbs.

"Holy f—" Jeongguk mutters, then drops his head back, moaning loudly.

"That's it, baby boy; let me see you cum," Namjoon instructs with a low, fucked out voice.

All Jeongguk manages is a weak, unintelligible utterance of sounds before he is also painting himself with his release. Namjoon fights the urge to bend and lick some of it from him—would likely do so if his own mess wasn't cooling to his skin and threatening to drip onto the comforter.

Jeongguk sinks back, letting his clean hand drop to the side while he stares at the ceiling wide-eyed, panting. He looks like he has a lot on his mind, and Namjoon waits for him to say anything before insisting on cleaning himself up. Although this was Jeongguk's idea in the first place, he worries about saying or doing something to freak the guy out.

Luckily, Jeongguk finally turns to Namjoon with a lazy smile and says, "You are absolutely insane."

"I am?" Namjoon balks, feeling how cold his jizz is becoming on his skin. "You were the one who suggested this."

Jeongguk sits up, nods to the bedside table, and says, "There are tissues in the drawer."

With a groan, Namjoon does his best to maneuver himself, holding his soiled hand over his stomach to minimize mess while swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, causing cum to drip down his abdominals. With his clean hand, he reaches for a small drawer on the wooden bedside table, pulling it open to reveal a rectangular box of tissues and a pile of condoms.

Namjoon pulls out two tissues for himself, then removes the entire box, shouts, "Incoming!" and chucks it gently over his shoulder. The sound of the box hitting Jeongguk and falling to the bed has Namjoon chuckling while he wipes himself off, then he feels the cardboard slam into his back, making him laugh some more.

"Not funny!" Jeongguk complains, but when Namjoon twists around, he is also laughing.

Suddenly, there is a lightness between them, despite a bit of tension that simmers along the edges.

Suddenly, the air feels cooler and less charged, despite Namjoon having no idea what comes next.

Suddenly, he feels substantially more sober than he had when they got to Jeongguk's place, despite considerably little time passing since.

"So," he says, attempting to break the ice. "Now what?"

Jeongguk bunches up his tissues in one hand, gets onto his knees, and begins to crawl toward Namjoon. He hooks his chin over Namjoon's shoulder, and asks, "What do you mean?"

For some inexplicable reason—or, perhaps for the very understandable reason of such a pretty man being so close—Namjoon feels nervous.

"Uh—I mean, am I still sleeping in Tae's room?"

Jeongguk wraps his arms around Namjoon's shoulders and yanks onto him until he is falling backward, onto Jeongguk's legs.

"Do you want to sleep in Tae's room?" he asks, but he bends down and slots their lips together too fast for him to answer, lazily licking against his tongue.

"No," Namjoon mutters the moment their lips part, gazing up into Jeongguk's pretty eyes.

"Then don't," Jeongguk says, grabbing the spent tissues from Namjoon's hands and tossing them to the floor. Namjoon wants to remark on how gross it is, but he truly cannot care about anything else as Jeongguk closes the gap between their lips once more.

They continue to kiss in this awkward position until Namjoon's lips are tingly and swollen, then they change position, get under the covers, and continue to kiss and smile and mutter sweet nothings until they fall asleep naked with their limbs tangled together.

Namjoon wakes up covered in sweat and a bit confused. He is no stranger to sweating in his sleep, but he feels hot. Hotter than usual. He also does not feel like he is under his favorite forest green blanket, and when he cracks an eye open, his suspicions are confirmed.

Everything comes pouring back. Jeongguk, the drinking, the flirting, the jerking off in tandem and grinding their dicks together. In the slightly hungover haze of Namjoon's mind, he feels equal parts embarrassed and excited.

Jeongguk stirs beside him and turns, cracking one of his eyes open, as well. "You sweat a lot," he complains, and Namjoon chuckles.

"That I do."

"I have the urge to lick it, but it probably just tastes like salt," Jeongguk mumbles, turning to wrap a warm arm and leg over Namjoon's already very warm body.

He would protest, but Jeongguk does not seem to mind, and it feels nice to be held onto. So, he lets Jeongguk nuzzle up beside him, sticky and warm, and holding on tight.

"We should get up before Tae is home," Jeongguk says with his lips pressed into Namjoon's shoulder.

"Oh?"

Jeongguk hums.

"He doesn't have a lot of boundaries when it comes to open doors, and we never shut mine."

Jeongguk's bedroom door is, in fact, still open, albeit just a crack. And, as if on cue, the door to the apartment opens, and Namjoon hears the sound of keys hitting a hard surface, followed by a surprisingly deep voice calling into the room.

"Ggukie, are you in there?"

"Don't come in!" Jeongguk grumbles in an attempted shout, but it is too late.

Namjoon turns his head to find a dark tuft of hair sticking into the room, and Taehyung's face brightens with excitement as he gasps, staring with wide eyes and a wider smile.

"Bonsai father, we meet at last."

Namjoon chuckles and warmth rises to his cheeks; he feels exposed despite being under a thick comforter.

"TaeTae, hello," Namjoon responds.

Jeongguk groans and squeezes Namjoon with his limbs in a tight full-body hug before sitting up.

"I already claimed him. He's mine. Be gone!"

Taehyung chuckles. "Awe, come on Ggukie, didn't your parents teach you to share?"

Jeongguk lifts a pillow and chucks it at the door, sending it flying. Taehyung's face disappears, only to reappear once the pillow has made impact and fallen to the floor.

"I'll make you some breakfast," Taehyung offers, "Joon, baby, how do you like your eggs?"

Namjoon hesitates, then Jeongguk mutters, "He's a decent cook, we can accept his offer," so he informs Taehyung that however he and Jeongguk usually have their eggs is fine with him.

"Three omelets, coming right up!" Taehyung sing-songs, as he leaves the room without closing the door.

"Thank you for staking your claim on me," Namjoon says once Taehyung is gone, turning to smile at Jeongguk.

With a shrug, Jeongguk says, "If he wants you, he'll try anyway," and Namjoon laughs, choosing to leave it at that.

Jeongguk finds Namjoon a toothbrush once they manage to get dressed, which is a relief, because Namjoon was feeling self-conscious about how close Jeongguk—who is surprisingly flirtatious first thing in the morning—was getting to his face.

Breakfast is surprisingly chill; Namjoon had expected the dramatics to last, but once they were dressed—Namjoon in one of Jeongguk's plain black t-shirts, and a pair of black joggers—and seated at the small dining table, everyone falls into conversation about how their week was, joking about Namjoon being a two-timing slut, and remarking about how unseasonably nice the weather has been, lately.

But once Taehyung begins clearing plates, anxiety starts to seep into Namjoon's pores, and he worries that perhaps he is overstaying his welcome. He is pretty sure that Jeongguk had fun with him last night, but he does not want to seem clingy or weird.

"So," he says, standing from the table. "I don't want to impose or anything, so if you guys have something to do, I can always go."

Jeongguk shrugs.

"I have nothing going on, but if you want to go home, you can. Otherwise, I was going to suggest we continue what we started yesterday."

"Oh?" Namjoon asks, somewhat surprised by Jeongguk's response.

And Jeongguk, the devil that he is, stands from his chair, leans in, lips to Namjoon's ear, and mutters, "It's not just a hookup if we spend twenty-four hours together, right?"

Goosebumps cover Namjoon, and he mulls it over. This rule feels completely made up, but such is the case with most rules in life.

"I suppose you're right."

"Good," Jeongguk responds, still so close, his lips graze Namjoon's ear. "Because I really want you to fuck me, daddy."

Namjoon chokes on nothing, coughing and attempting to cover it by clearing his throat. But Jeongguk is obviously well aware of the effect he has and smacks a kiss to Namjoon's temple before walking away with a giggle.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of Namjoon becoming surprisingly comfortable in their home. Taehyung shows him some of his favorite photographs of Jeongguk modeling their friend's clothing, and even asks his opinion of some of the more recent pieces their friend has sewn. They convince Jeongguk to try some of them on—mostly flowy, formless articles of fabric—and Taehyung shoots some candids of the two of them, simply for the fun of it.

When the sun begins to hang low in the sky, and he and Jeongguk are deciding on what to have for dinner, Namjoon is surprised by how much time has passed so quickly. Taehyung excuses himself, saying he is going to stay with someone for the night, and winks on his way out, leaving the two of them alone.

"How do you feel about fried chicken?" Jeongguk asks before Namjoon has a chance to dwell on whatever may come next.

"I like fried chicken."

Jeongguk stands from his place on the floor in front of the couch, and Namjoon cranes his neck before standing and joining him.

"There's a spot just down the street. They have beer, too. If you want to drink again."

"I could drink a little again," Namjoon says.

"Want to change? Or are you comfortable in my joggers?"

Jeongguk is also dressed in a tee and joggers, so Namjoon does not see the issue of wearing more or less the same clothing.

"This is fine," he responds.

And with that, they are off. Jeongguk makes his way to the door and begins to slide his shoes on, offering a pair of sneakers to Namjoon, so he does not have to wear his boots. And Namjoon follows suit, sliding into the shoes—which fit perfectly—willing to let Jeongguk lead him out the door and anywhere he pleases.

They walk a little over a block away. Namjoon begins lamenting as soon as they get outside that he is not quite dressed for the warm day to cool with the lowering sun, but he hardly has a chance to feel uncomfortably cold before Jeongguk is pulling open a door and ushering him inside.

The restaurant is surprisingly raucous, with patrons shouting over televisions playing baseball games, and there is a steady echo of bottles and glasses hitting wooden tables in nice, hollow thunks. Jeongguk finds them a seat in the center of the space—a small, square wooden table that hardly looks big enough for the two of them—and Namjoon pulls out a rickety wooden chair and sits.

Namjoon likes these restaurants because the quality of the food speaks for itself. The actual dining room is a little dank with walls splattered in stains he would rather not overthink, and the furniture is all past the point of being safe—and is certainly not comfortable, by any means. But one does not come to a spot like this for the ambiance. One comes for the fried chicken and the drink specials.

They order a variety of chicken, some with sauces and some plain, along with a pitcher of beer, and two bottles of fresh soju. It only takes a few minutes for drinks to arrive, and Jeongguk grabs for one of the bottles to crack it open while Namjoon makes quick but delicate work filling two chilled pint glasses with beer.

Jeongguk reaches to set a cup of soju in front of Namjoon, and Namjoon glances with a smile before looking back at the beer that he slowly pours, careful not to let too much foam build. Seokjin and Yoongi have never let him live down the one time he poured too quickly and had a cup that was close to eighty percent foam. Lesson learned.

"So," Jeongguk says, pulling Namjoon's gaze as he reaches to set the beer in front of the younger and begins pouring his own glass. "How has this very long date been for you, daddy?"

Namjoon glances around, nervous that someone may have heard him referred to as daddy, then looks at Jeongguk with a smile before focusing on his half-full glass.

"It's been fun."

Jeongguk hums, and Namjoon wonders if his answer was unsatisfactory, so he continues.

"I really like being in your company. And Taehyung's. But mostly yours."

"So you're saying I won't have to fight my roommate for you, after all?" Jeongguk teases.

Namjoon chuckles and sets the partially empty pitcher aside, then smiles at Jeongguk, raising his glass to his lips.

"I don't know; maybe he will return tonight unexpectedly and make his move."

Jeongguk laughs, then picks up his beer and has a drink. Namjoon also drinks, letting the cold, carbonated liquid chill him to the bone. Then, Jeongguk sets his beer aside, lifts his shot of soju, and holds it up, waiting for Namjoon to do the same.

"To my roommate staying gone until I have had a chance to deflower you," Jeongguk says with a wide, devilish smile.

The sound that comes from Namjoon's chest can hardly be considered a laugh. It is more like a deep, awkward bark, and as soon as it passes his lips, he feels embarrassed. Still, he taps his small glass cup to Jeongguk's and shoots the liquid back, feeling the sting of the clear liquor against his taste buds as they settle into the feeling.

"You are always so unserious," Namjoon complains, though he absolutely does not mind.

"You love it," Jeongguk beams with a cheesy smile.

And it is true. Namjoon is smitten by Jeongguk's goofy antics. So much so that he already anticipates really missing him the moment this very long date has to inevitably come to an end.

With a sigh, Namjoon grumbles, "Somehow, I am charmed by it, yes."

And although Namjoon is feigning annoyance, there is a genuine spark of something in Jeongguk's eye—excitement, perhaps. Namjoon takes another pull from his beer, suddenly feeling nervous to have to fill the space with more discussion—unsure what to say to Jeongguk despite having spent the entire day with him.

There are many things he would like to discuss—like how fun the impromptu fashion show was, and how much he enjoys the way Jeongguk and Taehyung seem to feed off one another, sharing similar energy and playing along easily with one another. But he overthinks how it may sound. He overthinks the possibility of saying something wrong. Silly, really, since Jeongguk has given him no reason to.

"You seem lost in thought," Jeongguk teases.

Namjoon hums and lies, "Just hungry. I guess I am spacing out some."

"It's okay, hyung. You can tell me how excited you are to bend me over, later. I won't mind. In fact, I love the attention."

The longer Jeongguk talks, the higher Namjoon feels his nervous giddiness rise, and he shifts in his seat. Jeongguk must pick up on the effect he is having and grins.

"Shameless," Namjoon grumbles.

"What do I have to feel shame for?" Jeongguk challenges, leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his glass of beer hanging between his fingers. "Hmm?"

Namjoon searches for something clever to say in response but comes up short. Instead, he shrugs and takes another drink of his beer. He is beginning to feel lightheaded and is grateful for the server who comes along carrying a tray of fried chicken.

The food is amazing—crispy skin breaking away to juicy, flavorful meat. Namjoon watches with a smile as Jeongguk frowns into his first bite, and they exchange pleased groans before getting their fill. By the time the plates are empty, the pitcher is, too, and Namjoon sits back in his rickety chair, contemplating whether they should drink more or get back to Jeongguk's apartment. Despite all they have had to drink, Namjoon only feels faintly tipsy, thanks to the greasy food, so if Jeongguk did want to continue drinking, he thinks he could handle a little more before calling it quits.

Jeongguk clears his throat, pulling Namjoon's attention.

"You're spacing out again, hyung."

"I am," Namjoon sighs, feeling a bit embarrassed to be caught in the act. "I was just thinking about how much I want to get you home."

"Oh fuck, say less," Jeongguk says as he stands quickly, sending his wooden chair scraping against the worn floor while he fishes his wallet from his pocket.

Before Namjoon has a chance to protest and insist on paying, Jeongguk snatches the check from the table and makes his way to the counter. Namjoon takes a moment to chuckle and catch his breath, somehow already feeling his nerves build and begin to get the best of him. He wants to make Jeongguk feel good, and he hopes that, after talking a big game, he is able to perform.

But first, Namjoon needs to use the restroom. He stands and glances around, finding a wooden door in the back, then fishes out his phone, ignoring nosey messages from his best friends as he shoots Jeongguk a text that simply says, "Bathroom," and makes his way through the crowded restaurant.

Namjoon yanks on the handle, expecting it to be a room with several stalls, and is surprised to find it is a single room with just a toilet, a urinal, and a sink. Although the smell of cleaner is overwhelming, the room is surprisingly tidy, and Namjoon locks the door behind him and approaches the urinal to undo his pants and relieve his bladder.

A chill goes down Namjoon's spine, and he tips his head back with a happy sigh. The last twenty-four-ish hours have been a whirlwind and this moment of silence and reprieve is welcome. Once finished, Namjoon gives himself a little shake, tucks himself back into his borrowed joggers, and makes his way to the sink to wash his hands. The reflection staring at him in the mirror is tired but glowing, and it takes him a bit by surprise. Happiness looks good on him.

Once his hands are dry, Namjoon returns to the door, twists the lock, and pulls it open. Before he has a chance to take a step out into the restaurant, two firm hands press him backward, causing him to stumble back into the bright fluorescent light and smell of cleaner.

"Jeongguk," Namjoon chuckles, watching as Jeongguk enters and locks the door behind him. "Baby, you live a block away."

"Want you now," Jeongguk whines with two hands on Namjoon's hips, leading him back until his ass rests against the sink.

Jeongguk takes two paper towels and places them on the floor, then sinks to his knees, and Namjoon cannot help but chuckle at his attention to detail. His laughter, however, dies in his throat when Jeongguk begins to palm over his cock, sending blood rushing toward the touch.

"Baby, we can do this at your place," Namjoon tries again, not really against doing this here, if that is what Jeongguk wants, just concerned for his comfort.

But if Jeongguk wants to kneel over brown paper towels on a cold, hard tile floor and pull Namjoon's cock out with that devious, pretty look in his eyes, then who is he to stop him?

It takes mere moments for Namjoon to get hard, and Jeongguk wastes no time taking him into his mouth as far as he can. Pleasure quakes through Namjoon and he bites back a moan, gripping tightly to the sink behind him, but Jeongguk reaches and takes one of Namjoon's hands, and places it on his head, pressing his hand against him.

"Want me to guide your head, baby?" Namjoon asks, threading his fingers in Jeongguk's hair.

Jeongguk looks up with tears in his eyes and attempts to nod. The sight is so sweet, Namjoon lets out a pleased sigh.

"Want me to be gentle?"

Jeongguk attempts to shake his head, blinking his eyelashes invitingly.

"Want me to be rough?"

Jeongguk pulls back, mouth open with his tongue held flat and still touching the tip of Namjoon's dick as he nods. Then he takes Namjoon's length back into his mouth, deep, deep into his throat, and Namjoon trembles through the feeling and grips tightly onto his hair.

Although he has been given permission to be rough, Namjoon takes it slow, applying gentle pressure to Jeongguk's head. When Jeongguk's throat contracts and he gags, Namjoon lets up, but Jeongguk shakes his head as best as he can and whimpers, coming up for air, then eagerly taking him as far as he can once more.

Last night, choking on his cock was just a figure of speech, and today it is a serious want, and Namjoon is definitely reeling a bit from the switch in demeanor, but willing to give Jeongguk anything, pressing on his head as he gently thrusts his hips.

The two of them build a rhythm of slow thrusts, with Jeongguk swallowing around him before coming back for air, eagerly sucking at the tip between his lips before shoving it back into the tight clutch of his throat. Arousal builds, coursing through Namjoon's blood like oxygen, and he feels himself slowly climbing toward orgasm.

As if the feeling could not get any better, Jeongguk picks up the pace and pulls at Namjoon's hips, urging him to fuck his face. Namjoon can hardly believe his eyes as he watches tears stream down Jeongguk's pretty cheeks, looking at him with an expression that begs for debauchery.

"Close," Namjoon mutters, feeling his high build to the breaking point.

Jeongguk continues to stare up as Namjoon uses his throat, thrusting deep enough to trigger the muscles to spasm but not far enough to make Jeongguk fully gag around him. It feels like heaven, and Namjoon squeezes Jeongguk's hair tightly in his grip.

From outside, the handle is rattled, followed by a knock on the door, and a wave of excitement mingling with shame crashes over Namjoon as he picks up his pace, determined to cum quickly and get the fuck out of there.

"One moment," Namjoon attempts to shout evenly, though it definitely sounds like each word is laced with pleasure.

Jeongguk swallows hard, sucking in his cheeks and moaning around him, and it is just what Namjoon needs to sink into bliss. With a loosened grip, in case Jeongguk does not want jizz in his mouth, Namjoon mutters, "Gonna cum, baby."

A moan vibrates over his cock in response as Jeongguk continues to swallow hard and pull pleasure from him. Orgasm quakes through Namjoon, threatening to throw him to the floor, and he grips one hand against the sink as the other continues to press and guide Jeongguk's head. It is taking absolutely everything in Namjoon's power not to moan, and he gasps and pants through gritted teeth, letting soft whimpers squeak out between barely parted lips.

As his cum spurts into Jeongguk's mouth, the younger pulls his head back enough to let his tongue fall flat, and he uses a hand on Namjoon's shaft to milk him of the rest of his release, painting his pretty pink tongue white. The sight is absolutely sinful—tears streaking his face while his mouth is full of thick, viscous liquid—and Namjoon has to hold back from falling to his knees.

"Holy fuck, baby," Namjoon groans, voice coming out shattered and breathy.

Post-nut euphoria has Namjoon practically begging Jeongguk to marry him right there on the spot. Luckily, post-nut clarity washes over him quickly enough that he is able to tuck himself into his borrowed pants and help the pretty boy of his dreams up off the floor. Jeongguk swallows back Namjoon's load and nuzzles against his neck with a pleased purr, causing affection to burst and bloom in his chest.

"Let's get out of here," Namjoon mutters, rubbing his hands over Jeongguk's arms, and Jeongguk presses a kiss against Namjoon's skin.

As they exit the bathroom, Namjoon bows his head down to the person waiting outside, eyes on the floor. Jeongguk cheekily tells the person, "It's all yours!" as he takes Namjoon by the hand and yanks him through the busy restaurant and out into the cold night air.

The sun has completely set, and the breeze hits Namjoon unpleasantly as they turn to head back to the apartment. Luckily, Jeongguk tugs Namjoon close, nearly causing them to trip over one another's feet, warming up the left side of his body.

"Wow!" Namjoon practically shouts, gripping Jeongguk's side tight. "That was…god damn, baby."

"You liked that?" Jeongguk has the audacity to ask, making Namjoon laugh.

"Did I like that? It was incredible. Pretty sure I saw god."

"You did," Jeongguk teases. "You were staring down at me the entire time."

Cheeky, Namjoon thinks. Cheeky and sexy and absolutely perfect. He cannot wait to return the favor and is thrilled at the prospect by the time they are approaching Jeongguk's place.

"Do you mind if I shower?" Jeongguk asks as he unlocks the door to the building and holds it open for Namjoon to step inside.

"Why would I mind?"

"I don't know," Jeongguk mutters as they make their way up the stairs. "Don't want you to get bored."

Being bored in the organized chaos of two art student's apartment is not something that Namjoon is terribly worried about, but he simply shrugs and says, "I'll be fine. Just don't stretch yourself too much while you're in there."

Jeongguk lifts his hand to punch in the code to his apartment door, but it hovers over the buttons. He turns to Namjoon with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

The minuscule space between them is closed as Jeongguk steps close and asks, "Eager to stretch me, yourself?"

Namjoon smiles.

"Of course I am."

The look that flashes in Jeongguk's eyes is bright and eager, and he seems to struggle with reality for a split moment before remembering where they are. Jeongguk clears his throat, then turns back to the keypad, entering the code that gains them access—wrong first before getting it right.

As soon as the door is open, Jeongguk tugs Namjoon inside and pulls him into a deep, eager kiss. Namjoon tastes heady remnants of himself on Jeongguk's tongue and groans as Jeongguk nibbles on his bottom lip.

"You can join me in the shower if you want to," Jeongguk offers.

And although the prospect of seeing Jeongguk naked as quickly as possible is very enticing, there is never a good way for two broad bodies to stay warm in one shower, so Namjoon shakes his head and says, "I can wait, baby. I don't mind."

Jeongguk licks once more into Namjoon's mouth, raking his palms up and down Namjoon's pecs, then he breaks the kiss, kicks his sneakers off in a hurry, and shouts, "Be right back!" as he runs through his apartment, toward the bathroom.

Fond laughter rocks through Namjoon's chest, and he toes out of his borrowed sneakers and lightly kicks them onto the pile, then makes his way through the apartment, into Jeongguk's purple-lit room. Throughout the course of the day, he has felt texts coming in—probably from at least one of his best friends—but he has managed to ignore them until now, and he plops down onto Jeongguk's bed to check his phone, finding four messages in their group chat.

Yoongi How was the date last night?

Yoongi It is unlike you to sleep past noon, so I am going to assume it was really great, or you are dead.

Yoongi Namjoonah. You have until midnight to respond before I file a missing person's report.

Seokjin Earth to Namjoon! Yoongi is a mess! Respond to him before I go insane. We are supposed to be watching Chopped, but he keeps checking his phone.

Namjoon shakes his head and chuckles as he reads over the messages. How did two of the most dramatic men he has ever met find one another? They truly are perfect for each other, he thinks.

Namjoon Sorry for making you two worry.

It takes exactly five seconds for the two of them to respond.

Seokjin Yah! He lives!

Yoongi For fuck's sake, finally!

Namjoon Sorry, hyungs. I spent all day with Jeongguk. Haven't been checking my phone.

Yoongi I knew we would completely lose you, but I didn't think it would happen this fast.

Seokjin With him all day, huh? And is it safe to assume you stayed the night?

Namjoon I did.

Yoongi The slut-shamer truly has become the slut. We love to see it.

Seokjin Is he as buff in real life as he is in his pictures?

Namjoon He is definitely more buff. But hold your slut remarks, hyung. We haven't fucked yet.

Seokjin What on earth have you been doing for the past twenty-seven hours?

Namjoon Other things.

Yoongi Other slutty things?

A laugh rocks through Namjoon's chest; these two are incorrigible.

Namjoon Yes, I suppose we have been doing other slutty things.

Seokjin And you like him? Are you going to see him again?

The sound of a faucet being shut off—a metallic whine coming from deep within the pipes—cries through the wall, and Namjoon bites his lip as a smile blooms over his face.

Namjoon Yes, very soon. In about a minute, actually.

Yoongi Oh?

Namjoon hears the bathroom door open, and he quickly types his last message—

Namjoon He's out of the shower. Bye, hyungs! Don't wait up for me!

—and then flings his phone face-down onto Jeongguk's bedside table just in time for Jeongguk to appear in the doorway toweling off his hair while standing in the nude.

Last night, Namjoon only saw Jeongguk while laying in his bed, and he was so overwhelmed by everything that was happening, that he really did not get a good look at his body. So the sight of Jeongguk walking in, muscular thighs flexing with each step while his cock hangs heavy and partially erect has Namjoon's mouth watering in seconds.

"Like what you see, daddy?" Jeongguk has the audacity to ask.

Namjoon is stunned into silence as he nods, letting out a weak, "Uh-huh."

Beside him, his phone buzzes loudly on the small wooden table, and Jeongguk glances at it, then grins.

"Texting other hoes?"

Namjoon nods, then realizes what Jeongguk asked and shakes his head, struggling with how the sight of Jeongguk nude and approaching has his brain buffering so hard.

"Best friends," he mutters. "Probably excited that I am about to do slutty things with the man of my dreams."

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow, asking, "Man of your dreams, hmm?"

All Namjoon can do is smile back at him, lost in his wide, shimmering eyes.

Jeongguk laughs, bright and pretty, warming Namjoon's chest. The closer he gets, the more Namjoon tells himself that he needs to stop being an absolute fool and get a hold of himself. Luckily, Jeongguk wrapping his arms over Namjoon's shoulders and straddling his lap seems to bring him back to reality. The familiar heavy warmth is back, and Namjoon hugs his arms around Jeongguk's body, rubbing his palms across his ribs and back.

"It's cute how flustered I make you," Jeongguk teases, leaning down to slot their lips together.

"Glad I amuse you," Namjoon responds with a soft smile, feeling his heart go haywire in his chest.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to resist fingering myself while thinking of you?" Jeongguk asks against Namjoon's lips, sending a chill through him.

Namjoon slides his hands down to Jeongguk's ass and grips tight enough to make him gasp.

"Is that so?"

Jeongguk's confidence seems to crumble just a little, and he pouts as he nods and says, "Yes, daddy."

Namjoon drops his voice lower and gently spreads Jeongguk with his hands. "But you were a good boy and didn't finger yourself, I hope?"

A sigh falls between Jeongguk's parted lips, which he licks as he nods again, saying, "I was a good boy."

"Show me," Namjoon commands, giving Jeongguk's ass a little smack before letting him go.

Jeongguk scrambles to get off Namjoon's lap and crawls to the middle of the bed. He hugs a pillow and his black comforter as he settles on his elbows and knees, and if Namjoon is not mistaken, he looks a little shy.

And god, the sight of him. Jeongguk is soft yet muscular, skin graced with tan lines and tattoos. Faint stretch marks on his thigh and hip adorn him like tiny, pretty tiger stripes, and Namjoon dances his fingertips over them, feeling the barely-there rise and dip of skin.

Namjoon reaches for the bottle of lube on the bedside table and tosses it aside, on the comforter, then gets onto his hands and knees and takes his place behind Jeongguk. The slope of his perfectly round ass, cascading into a thin, sculpted waist and thick, muscular thighs…Namjoon could study Jeongguk's topography as art; place him on a pedestal between the statues Aphrodite of Milos and David.

A long, slow sigh leaves Jeongguk's lips as Namjoon traces his fingertips down the expanse of his ass and gently spreads him wide. Puckered skin greets him like an invitation and Namjoon licks his lips and feels a warm sheen of sweat cover him as he imagines just how good Jeongguk must taste.

"So pretty," Namjoon groans, rubbing his thumbs affectionately over Jeongguk's skin.

A soft chuckle greets Namjoon, followed by a gasp of, "Are you just staring at my asshole?"

Namjoon laughs, looking to Jeongguk's face affectionately, which is partially buried in his blanket.

"Does it make you shy?" he teases.

With a groan, Jeongguk responds, "A little."

Namjoon rubs his hands up and down the swells of Jeongguk's ass, hoping to soothe his anxiety.

"I am an appreciator of art, baby. Let me appreciate you."

Jeongguk lets out a whiny little groan in response, and Namjoon lifts his hand and gives him a playful smack on the ass that stings his palm ever so slightly. With a low whimper, Jeongguk trembles, and Namjoon gives the skin a little squeeze, causing even more pretty sounds to fill the room.

"Do you like being spanked, baby?"

"Yes," Jeongguk whimpers sweetly. "I also like being fucked and you're teasing me so much."

Although it is fair for Jeongguk to be so eager—especially after his stunt in the bathroom of that restaurant—Namjoon gives Jeongguk's ass another smack and squeezes.

"So needy," he taunts, grinning widely when Jeongguk responds with an impatient groan.

Namjoon leans forward and flicks the tip of his tongue against Jeongguk's rim, watching as the skin puckers and absolutely reveling in the moan that falls from Jeongguk's lips.

"Please," Jeongguk whimpers, and Namjoon thinks he can hear blunt fingernails scratching at the black comforter.

"Yes, baby?" Namjoon asks, dragging his lips over the soft swell of Jeongguk's cheek, close to his pretty little hole.

"Need you, please," Jeongguk whines desperately, giving his hips a little wiggle. "I'm so fucking horny, hyung, please."

Namjoon chuckles at the use of hyung over daddy. Jeongguk must really be desperate if he is falling back to something slightly more formal.

"What can hyung do for you, baby?" Namjoon teases as he leaves wet kisses along the cleft of Jeongguk's ass, up to his lower back.

"Touch me."

Namjoon squeezes the soft skin in his palms, muttering, "I am touching you, baby."

The groan Jeongguk graces Namjoon with is so frustrated and pretty, Namjoon almost feels bad for working him up to his point. Almost.

"Eat me out, finger me, fuck me, anything, please, daddy."

Namjoon settles on his knees, releasing Jeongguk from his hold long enough to pull the borrowed shirt over his head and fling it to the floor. Then he takes Jeongguk forcefully in his hands—making the poor man gasp—and says, "Well, since you said please," as he leans forward and licks a firm, slow stripe over Jeongguk's hole.

"F-f-fuck," Jeongguk whimpers as Namjoon laps over him, eagerly tasting and giving him exactly what he wants.

Jeongguk is faintly tangy-sweet, and Namjoon groans as his tongue breaches his tight hole, met with resistance as he stretches him. The sounds Jeongguk makes are music to Namjoon's ears—deep and low with pitchy squeaks and whines.

Namjoon fucks his tongue into Jeongguk's hole as drool drips down his chin, alternating slurping over the rim and swirling his tongue, groaning as he devours him. Pleasuring Jeongguk is so satisfying, Namjoon's cock is instantly full and leaking in his briefs, somewhat uncomfortable in the constricting material, and he reaches down with one hand to adjust himself, whimpering from the brush of his own fingertips against his length. Then he grabs the small plastic bottle of lube and flips the cap open with his thumb while his mouth stays busy.

Carefully, Namjoon squirts lube onto his fingertips without bothering to look, sucking and licking at Jeongguk's rim, making a wet fucking mess of him. Moans and whimpers roll nonstop from Jeongguk's lips, and Namjoon rubs the lube over his index finger and snakes it up to his rim, tapping it against him enough to make him tremble.

"This what you want, baby?" Namjoon groans, pressing the tip of his finger into Jeongguk's hole while dragging his lips, teeth, and tongue over any skin he can reach.

"Yes," Jeongguk whimpers, "yes, please."

Slowly, gently, Namjoon presses his finger into Jeongguk, feeling the rings of muscle tighten and relax, attempting to accommodate to the intrusion. Jeongguk lets out a loud, shattered moan, and Namjoon works his finger out and back in, pressing forward a little more each time.

When Jeongguk is finally adjusted to one finger—no longer panting and gasping like he is in peril—Namjoon slicks up his middle finger and gradually inserts it. Jeongguk's legs tremble hard, and Namjoon litters his thighs and cheeks with kisses.

"Need me to stop or slow down?" Namjoon asks softly, nipping at skin.

"No," Jeongguk whimpers, "'s fine. Don't stop."

Despite Jeongguk's insistence, Namjoon does take it slow. When his knuckles catch, struggling to push past the rim, Namjoon lets a stream of spit drop from his lips to his fingers and slowly pulls out, watching as the fluids squelch on the press back in. Jeongguk gasps and whimpers, and although it takes him a little while longer to accommodate two fingers, by the time he does, he begins to beg for more.

"Please," he whimpers, panting with a glossy sheen of sweat covering his body. "Feels so good, daddy."

The nickname makes Namjoon chuckle—still not fully used to it—and he picks up the bottle of lube, flicks the cap open, and dribbles some of the cold liquid directly onto Jeongguk's hole, which is stretched around two fingers. Payback from the night before.

Jeongguk squeals and nearly tugs Namjoon's fingers out of him as his hips buck downward, and Namjoon gives his ass a light little smack, chuckling at all the bratty huffs coming from him. Namjoon uses the two fingers inserted to spread Jeongguk to the side, then uses his other index finger to stretch him further, watching as he is swallowed whole by Jeongguk's pretty, taupe-pink inner muscles.

The petulant sounds from Jeongguk are quickly replaced by gasps and moans, and Namjoon lets his eyes follow the perfect curves of Jeongguk's body, to his face smashed against a pillow, and back to his ass.

"So perfect," Namjoon praises as he works his fingers in and out, pushing his left while pulling his right, back and forth.

"Please," Jeongguk whimpers. "Need you. Please."

Namjoon chuckles and leans to nip on the soft skin of Jeongguk's ass.

"Oh, baby. You're not stretched enough to handle my cock, yet."

The groan that leaves Jeongguk's mouth is one of deep frustration, and Namjoon cannot help but laugh. Of course he would be a needy little brat when he bottoms.

Namjoon sucks marks into both cheeks, nipping at the sensitive skin and making Jeongguk whimper while he slowly continues to stretch him on three fingers. Then, he dribbles spit into Jeongguk's hole and slowly begins to insert his other middle finger, prising him open with both hands.

"H-holy f-f-fuck," Jeongguk moans.

His entire body trembles, and Namjoon watches and listens for any little hint that Jeongguk needs him to slow or stop. But Jeongguk just sobs and shakes and whimpers loose consonants that may or may not be attempts at words.

"Feel good, baby?"

Shattered sounds fall before Jeongguk manages an intelligible, "S-s-so good," making Namjoon smile.

"You're almost ready for me," Namjoon groans, moving two of his fingers to hook on the bottom of Jeongguk's rim while he twists his other two inside, feeling for his prostate.

Jeongguk's body tenses and he practically screams as Namjoon applies pressure to his sweet spot, and Namjoon continues to dribble spit into his stretched hole to keep his rim nice and wet while he pulls and prods.

"Can you cum untouched like this, pretty baby?"

Jeongguk whimpers in response, and Namjoon continues to prod at his prostate, gently attempting to push him over the edge. One of Jeongguk's shoulders moves, and Namjoon cocks his head, watching as he reaches for his own cock. With a click of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Namjoon stops his movements, making Jeongguk whine.

"Hands above your head, baby."

"But why—" Jeongguk sobs as he reaches both hands above his head.

"Only good boys get fucked," Namjoon teases, dropping his voice low. "Are you going to be a good boy for me?"

Jeongguk moans an eager, "Uh-huh," to which Namjoon says, "Use your words for me, baby."

"Yes!" Jeongguk sobs. "Yes, daddy. I will be good for you."

Namjoon continues to prod into Jeongguk, twisting his fingers and rubbing against his prostate. Jeongguk quickly becomes a sobbing, blubbering mess, trembling harshly the louder his voice becomes.

"Is my baby gonna cum?" Namjoon asks, and Jeongguk sobs out a, "Yes!" that is borderline unrecognizable, muffled by fabric.

Gaped and prodded, Jeongguk's body quakes hard, voice coming out ragged. The scene is downright filthy, and Namjoon cannot get enough. One of Jeongguk's legs slides out from underneath him, and then he gradually sinks the other down, laying flat onto the mattress and either intentionally or involuntarily rutting his hips down against the bed.

"Is my dirty boy gonna cum from humping his comforter," Namjoon teases.

Jeongguk only sobs.

It does not take long for Jeongguk to cum without warning, crying into the pillow, muffled but still a delightful sound. Only when Jeongguk begins to scramble—nails digging and body quaking—while begging Namjoon to stop, does Namjoon slowly pull his fingers free.

Jeongguk's hole is puffy and stretched, and Namjoon bends low to lave his tongue soothingly over it, causing Jeongguk to let out a deep, strangled moan while melting into the bed. The taste of him is covered by the sickly sweet flavor of lube, but he still groans and licks as if this is a flavor he craves, if only to continue to unravel Jeongguk completely. Then, he sits high on his knees and gives Jeongguk's ass a playful smack, delighting in how it jiggles on impact.

"On your back, baby," Namjoon commands. "I want to see that pretty face."

Jeongguk groans as he gets onto his elbows and knees haphazardly, then falls to his side and slides to the edge of the bed, standing just enough to yank his cum-stained comforter out of the way. His hair is a wild mess of sweat and waves, sticking out in every direction with some clung to his forehead. When he sits back on the bed, Namjoon stands and moves more of the comforter to the side, then hooks his thumbs into the waistbands of his briefs and borrowed joggers and pushes them down.

"How is my pretty boy feeling?" Namjoon asks affectionately as he watches Jeongguk watch him undress.

"Good," Jeongguk mutters with his eyes glued to Namjoon's hard, leaking cock. "No one's ever done that before. I thought I was gonna pass out."

The praise instantly goes to Namjoon's head, and he climbs onto his hands and knees and crawls between Jeongguk's spread legs.

"No one has ever fingered you open with both hands and played with your prostate until you came?"

"No," Jeongguk responds with a chuckle, shaking his head slowly with his eyes wide and a little dazed.

Namjoon sits on his knees and gently rubs his palms up and down Jeongguk's thighs, and Jeongguk's eyes flutter closed as he leans his head against the wall and smiles.

"Do you need a break?" Namjoon asks, and Jeongguk keeps his eyes closed as he shakes his head and mutters, "No."

"Some water?"

Another slow shake of the head, "I'm good."

"Alright," Namjoon says as he gently tugs at Jeongguk's legs. "Lay down for me."

Jeongguk complies, scooting low until his head meets the pillow, staring up at Namjoon. Never has Namjoon seen someone look so pretty with wild hair, covered in sweat, and he crawls between Jeongguk's legs, cages his head in with his hands, and leans in for a kiss.

With a groan, Jeongguk wraps his arms around Namjoon and sinks his legs into the bed, and Namjoon licks and nips at Jeongguk's lips until his mouth sighs open, pliant for him to explore as he likes.

"How do you like to be fucked?" Namjoon asks against Jeongguk's lips, making him gasp.

It takes a few seconds for Jeongguk to groan, "However you want to fuck me. Just want to feel you."

Namjoon chuckles, plays with Jeongguk's lip ring between his teeth, then nudges their noses together.

"Do you like it rough?"

Jeongguk nods and opens his eyes pleadingly.

"I do like it rough."

"Alright," Namjoon groans, kissing Jeongguk nice and deep before sitting high on his knees once more, searching the tangled comforter for the lube.

His fingertips graze plastic, and he lifts the bottle and flicks it open, then squirts some onto his palm. Using both hands, he warms the liquid, then coats his cock while reaching to smear some over Jeongguk's hole.

Jeongguk gasps and fists the comforter by his sides, eyes wide and eager, and Namjoon crawls forward and hooks Jeongguk's legs around his hips, then begins to line himself up. It has been far too long since he has had the pleasure of sinking his cock into someone, and he hopes like hell he does not cum too fast, wanting to give Jeongguk as much pleasure as he can.

Slowly, gently, Namjoon presses his slick, blunt tip into Jeongguk's tight, wet hole, watching intently as Jeongguk's expression twists and widens before relaxing, only to twist again. The squeeze is almost too much, and Namjoon works slowly in before pulling a bit out, over and over until Jeongguk finally swallows him whole.

Incoherent sobs and a sputtering of syllables fall from Jeongguk's lips, and he fists the blanket tighter the more he becomes a panting, sweating mess. Namjoon stills his hips as Jeongguk adjusts to the stretch, waiting for him to give him to go ahead, rubbing his hands up and down Jeongguk's thighs and over his knees.

"You feel so good, baby," Namjoon coos sweetly, touching Jeongguk as if he is something delicate.

"T-too big," Jeongguk whimpers, screwing his eyes tightly shut before opening them wide.

"Shh, you can take it, baby. You can be so good for me."

Jeongguk nods slowly, muttering, "S-so good for you," as his eyelids flutter prettily.

"Do you have a safe word?" Namjoon asks, fingertips cascading over kneecaps.

After a few seconds, Jeongguk shakes his head. "I'll just tell you to slow if I need it."

Namjoon rolls his hips back slowly, and Jeongguk reaches both hands above his head, stretching them until his knuckles graze the wall while letting out a deep moan. Then Namjoon snaps his hips forward, forcing Jeongguk's back to arc as he sobs.

"Too hard?" Namjoon asks, rolling his hips back once more, and Jeongguk frantically shakes his head.

"Perfect," he mutters, gazing up as if Namjoon and himself have swapped places to be god. "So good."

"Good," Namjoon responds as he snaps his hips again, then he grips onto Jeongguk's spread thighs and begins to set a hard, punishing pace.

Jeongguk immediately begins to babble nonsense, interspersing a series of, "Yes, yes, yes," cried out almost desperately, and Namjoon cannot get enough.

"So tight," Namjoon praises, winning a pitchy sob.

"You feel so incredible, baby," he adds, and Jeongguk answers with sounds that could hardly be considered words.

Jeongguk's hard cock slaps against his tummy, leaving a wet little splatter of precum on his skin, and Namjoon considers gripping his length and finding out how quickly he can make the poor man cum again—wonders how many times Jeongguk can orgasm until he really does lose his mind completely.

But instead, he takes his time pushing Jeongguk to his second orgasm. The sight of him bouncing on his cock, thighs splayed and screaming with his hands gripping uselessly for purchase above his head is too irresistible to bring to an end so soon, even if Jeongguk could handle several more orgasms. Namjoon is in no rush.

“You take my cock so well,” Namjoon praises, grinning as Jeongguk sobs and nods his head in a daze. “You should see yourself. Breathtaking.”

With a whimper, Jeongguk covers his face under one arm. Namjoon reaches for his wrist and gently tugs it away, above his head, then leans forward, pinning him down and changing the angle of his thrusts. His abdomen rubs against Jeongguk's cock, causing Jeongguk to tense and tremble, and he clenches Namjoon's cock like a vise grip.

"Fuck, baby, I won't last if you squeeze me so hard," Namjoon groans, lolling his face toward the ceiling to give himself a break from looking down at the fucked out, devastatingly pretty man beneath him.

"G-gonna c-cum," Jeongguk mutters, causing Namjoon to snap his hips forward a bit harder.

"Yeah?" Namjoon taunts, looking back down at Jeongguk, whose eyes are glossed over with tears, which pool at the edges. "You gonna make a mess of yourself for me, baby?"

Jeongguk nods and whimpers, then begs, mouth hanging agape as his back arches. "Please make me cum."

Namjoon sits back on his knees, making Jeongguk whine—undoubtedly from a loss of friction—then he gently brushes his fingertips over Jeongguk's messy cockhead, watching him squirm for more before wrapping his fingers around his length and gently stroking.

"This what you need, baby?"

"Yes," Jeongguk whimpers, trembling from limb to limb. He sounds mindless as he mutters, "Please, please," over and over like a prayer.

Namjoon grits his teeth, fucking Jeongguk so hard and deep, sweat drips down the side of his face.

"You like way I fuck you?"

"Yes!" Jeongguk sobs. "I love the way you fuck me, daddy!"

Unsure where the sudden ego trip is coming from, Namjoon asks, "And has anyone every fucked you this good before?"

Jeongguk shakes his head eagerly from side to side, knitting his brows. "No! Only you!"

"That's right," Namjoon growls, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily in the hope of chasing off his looming orgasm. "Only me."

"Only you, daddy," Jeongguk mutters softly. "Only you."

Namjoon wishes he could capture this moment and save it for later, enraptured by the visual of Jeongguk sprawled and heavenly, praising him so sweetly while Namjoon tugs at his cock and fucks him into his mattress.

Jeongguk's utterances of, "Please, please," continue, and Namjoon gives his dick a squeeze, ready to let Jeongguk have what he so desperately wants, feeling Jeongguk's muscles flutter and pulsate around his length.

"Cum for me, baby," Namjoon groans, voice deep and full of want, and Jeongguk moans loudly, gripping the pillow above his head as his back arches. "You've been so good; let me see you cum."

Jeongguk's cock twitches in Namjoon's fist as his cum spurts out onto his chest and belly, and he squeezes Namjoon so tightly, Namjoon feels himself hurtle toward orgasm. And maybe, just maybe, Namjoon would be able to hold back and stave it off a little longer if it weren't for the moans punctuated by choked sobs that leave Jeongguk's pretty lips.

"I'm gonna cum too," Namjoon whines, succumbing to the feeling despite wanting to last much longer.

"Inside," Jeongguk pleads as the final drops of his release slide down Namjoon's fist. "Fill me, please."

A deep moan bursts from Namjoon's lungs as pleasure claws at him, dragging him down to the depths of hell, orgasm hitting him so dizzyingly hard that he releases Jeongguk's cock and nearly falls forward. Namjoon quakes and trembles, pressing himself deep into Jeongguk, who continues to squeeze rhythmically around him, milking him of his release, and Namjoon thinks he sees stars.

Two warm, soft arms wrap around Namjoon's neck and pull him gently forward, and only then does Namjoon realize that his eyes have been squeezed tightly shut. As he allows Jeongguk to guide him down, laying on his cum and sweat-covered body, Jeongguk runs his hands over his hair and neck, praising him softly.

"So good, daddy," Jeongguk coos, rubbing the tip of his nose just under Namjoon's ear and making him shiver. "You felt so fucking good."

Namjoon allows himself to be held and wraps his arms around Jeongguk's neck, burying his face against sweaty hair and skin that already smell like home. He makes no move to pull his soft, spent cock from Jeongguk, and Jeongguk does not seem to mind, holding him impossibly closer.

"God damn, that was incredible," Namjoon grumbles when he finally finds his voice. His mouth feels dry and raw, and he desperately needs water, but he does not want it badly enough to move.

Silence, save for the sounds of their deep, shattered breaths, fill the space, and they finally readjust with the two of them on their sides facing one another, sadly without Jeongguk cockwarming Namjoon anymore. Fingertips brush through Namjoon's hair, and he opens his eyes to find Jeongguk watching him and smiling with something like reverence in his gaze.

"I meant it, you know," Jeongguk says, and Namjoon attempts to remember anything either of them may have said in the last hour or so before simply asking, "Hmm?"

Jeongguk chuckles.

"When I said nobody has ever fucked me as good. I meant it."

A soft laugh pushes from Namjoon's lungs, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks from the sudden onslaught of vulnerability.

"So you'll let me do it again?" he asks, sheepishly.

"Of course," Jeongguk responds sweetly, rubbing the tips of their noses together. "I would be an idiot to let you go so easily."

Affection bursts behind Namjoon's ribs and he pulls Jeongguk close as he mutters, "Good."

Namjoon would be surprised by how easy it is to fall into step beside Jeongguk, becoming a regular facet in his life, but, truth be told, everything with Jeongguk is easy.

From the time he returns home from his long date with Jeongguk—after having to very reluctantly peel himself from the younger's bed the morning after—it takes Namjoon approximately ten minutes to delete Grindr from his phone, and another three minutes to text Jeongguk to ask when he wants to see him again.

They schedule their second date for the following evening, with plans to keep it low-key and simple, which Namjoon thwarts the second he decides to put together a picnic and surprise Jeongguk at one of his favorite parks near the river. And that night, Jeongguk returns to Namjoon's home, and it takes several days for him to leave, doing coursework beside Namjoon as he works from home, taking up a space that Namjoon had never realized was so empty.

And just like that, the two of them become inseparable. Namjoon introduces Jeongguk and Taehyung to some friends who are in charge of local galleries and DIY art spaces, and slowly, more and more of Jeongguk's items find their way into Namjoon's apartment, just as easily as Jeongguk finds his way into Namjoon's heart. Their friend groups grow and blossom, intertwining beautifully, and Namjoon often waxes poetic about the sordid place that, against many odds, brought the two of them together finally feeling complete.

okay, yeah, the very ending is a bit rushed tbh because i didn’t want to end on smut but was so brain-empty to go on any longer. but it’s sweet ok so whatever lolol. sorry this took me months to complete, but i hope it was worth the wait! as always, please don't be a silent reader! comments and reblogs are so helpful, and likes are nice, too!

tags: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @katskeigo @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki @yoongiofmine 📲 this fic is over, but if you would like to be tagged in future works, dm me!

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#namjoon x jungkook #namkook #namkook smut #namkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #fic: this sordid place

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fictionadventurer · 1 year

Note

Rumpelstiltskin Theatrer AU

I think this might just be The Phantom of the Opera.

#i'm sorry but now that i've thought of that i can't come up with an actual fic #but actually it's because all my ideas went to very dark places #about the sordid side of the entertainment industry #and i decided not to subject anyone to that #but thank you for asking!#answered asks #misscrazyfangirl321

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indouloureux · 2 years

Note

eddie fic where he's sleeping beside the reader after a heated fight and he makes it up by fucking her from behind?

shisjskssj make up sex *faints.* thank you for requesting! <3

18+ mdni — afab!reader, she/her pronouns, fingering, praising, p in v, unprotected sex, light choking, biting, scratching, creampie

he never thought it would hurt to see your back facing him.

usually it excites him. knowing he'd surprised you, hug you from behind, wrap his arms around your waist and place his chin on top of your head as he greets you with messy kisses.

same goes for tedious nights, spooning you, encasing his own body in yours in benign possession; in a promise of protection to the people who thinks of harming you. eddie feels as though he's keeping his own heart against his chest.

but now, your back facing him squeezes his chest. and you're not even beside him — you're by the edge of the bed, curled into the ball with the blanket halfway through your torso, hands tucked beneath your pillow as you breathe unevenly. you're still awake.

it started at work. at some dingy restaurant where you waitered, serving some greedy and sordid men who thought a hand down your ass was enough of a tip. they never got away with it, because your boss knew it was wrong. and eddie knew that none of it was your fault — of course he did. he should.

but an old friend came over. an old boy-space-friend came over at work. sat on the booth right at the corner. and you couldn't help but catch up, because he was an old friend. but eddie got the wrong idea; standing outside the restaurant with a smile that slowly fell as you laughed and smack some other guy's arm as you did so — the way you'd do to eddie when you couldn't breathe from all the laughter.

he wasn't insecure. eddie knew you loved him. but it didn't mean he would trust the guys around you immediately. watching at the way the old friend eyed you like some fresh meat, the way his hand would go on your shoulder as he laughs like a pretentious dick.

jealousy burnt him alive. it put him in a sour mood even as he picked you up, chastised his kiss by placing it on your cheek, but his hand on your thigh was tighter.

and gasoline rained upon him when you went home.

"come on. i saw the way you touched his arm!"

"it wasn't even a touch, it was a slap! i slap my dad's arm like that all the time. what the hell is wrong with you?"

"maybe if you weren't flirting with some guy, i wouldn't have acted this way."

you weren't even the one who poured it.

as the fire died, residues of leaden smoke pervade the bedroom. as well as your irritation towards his irrationality. because for you, though he may not have said it, you think that he's lost his trust by the simple sight of another man laughing harmlessly with you.

it angers you. how he got jealous — even though you would have felt the same if you ever saw him with some other person. but you know you'd never shout at him, or accuse him of flirting, or any other detrimental acts that could break the chain in your tethered hearts.

but you're young. and you're petty. and you have every reason to be mad. so you are mad. sinking into your side, eyes shut even though the dreams refuse to start. you know eddie's staring at your spine, tracing the color of your thin shirt — your shirt rather than his. a detail he's picked up that leaves a pang to his chest that spreads everywhere.

he thinks of letting this go. letting you sit in your own cottage of anger until its wood has been burnt into nothing but lethal ashes. but if eddie sits this one out, there'll be nothing left to fix; what would ashes do if not be swept away by the wind?

eddie sighs. "(y/n)."

no answer. duh.

"sweetheart."

he gently, so gently, places a hand on your shoulder to shake you carefully. you frown at his sudden touch, but you refuse to move and try to trick him into thinking that you were asleep. because you really just want to sleep.

but ever the fighter, eddie makes another sigh before he's scooting closer to you. until the curve of your back hits his chest and he hooks his arms around your waist, his fingers splayed around your stomach. "baby," he mumbles, pressing his lips on your clothed shoulder.

your tongue clicks with the roof of your mouth, the lines between your eyebrows deepening as you try not to melt into his touch. "what, eddie?"

his nose tickles the crevice of your neck, his breath hot as he huffs against your skin. "i'm sorry, baby," eddie pouts, his head lifting slightly to take a glimpse of your eye and cheek. "i didn't mean to yell. or accuse you."

hesitantly, you open your eyes, staring onto the poster that sticks to the plaster walls of his trailer, but your focus remains on the way his hand is lightly massaging your stomach and his lips that stay on your shoulder.

you turn around, the sheets ruffling along with your heavy huff. eddie etches a small, triumphant smile on his face, even though you're still frowning at him.

"sorry doesn't cut it, eddie," you whisper. his smile withers, licking his lips before he nods in understatement. "you yelled at me. you accused me of flirting with someone else. it's like you don't trust me."

eddie puts his hand on your arm, furrowing his eyebrows as he leans closer. "no. no baby, i trust you. it's just that—"

"you don't trust them. i know," you pinch the bridge of your nose. "but that doesn't mean you should yell at me. he was a friend. we were catching up. and i'm sorry if it made you think that way but we should have just talked about it."

guilt showers him. and embarrassment drowns him in this tub; because he knows you're right. eddie should have sat down, or approached you quietly, and maybe he should have just asked who he was and told himself that you'd choose him over anyone. because you would, right?

because you promised. and he believes it because he trusts you.

"princess," he whispers into the thin air, cold and cruel to exposed skin. "i'm sorry. i- i trust you with my whole heart. i swear. okay? i'll never do it again, i promise you." brazenly does he let his fingers dance up your arm to the side of your face where he pushes your hair away, swallowing thickly. "i swear to you. i swear on my hair. on ozzy osbourne. on the hellfire club. even dustin henderson. i swear."

you find the love in you to laugh and smile at him, despite the fact that it wasn't a joke and he knew that he'd actually swear on dustin — the kid he adores the most. you place your hand on top of his, the one on your cheek, and find comfort in the warmth of his flesh in this cold night.

"i still need to see some groveling, though," you half-jest. "i wanna see you on your knees tomorrow. cooking for me. iron my clothes. fold my laundry. everything." eddie grins, his teeth glinting between his thin lips. "that shows then how sorry you are."

"baby, i'd be at your service any time," he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips placed on top of a vein. "i'd be on my knees for you anytime." eddie says this with the hand beneath his body untucking itself so that it would travel down your stomach, coz he's a sucker for a great performance.

eddie nudges his nose with yours, his lips hovering in a ghost of a wanted kiss but never truly reuniting. his hand wanders down, cheeky fingertips lingering above your shirt before it comes down beneath to touch your hot flesh. "babe," you warn, letting your eyes flutter shut when his thumb grazes the skin beneath your breasts. "i still- i still haven't fully forgiven you. 'was supposed to give you the silent treatment but—"

"but we're here now, hm?" you gasp at the touch of his rough hand suddenly groping your tit, pressing your hard buds against his palm as his fingers dig onto your flesh, squeezing it like some pillow. eddie smirks when your eyebrows join, lips parted to let out small, quiet whines when his other hand decides to slither beneath your shirt and cup your tits with his thumbs running over your nipples. "gonna let me make it up to you, princess? we can start now, yeah?"

you know he's not fully in control, in the way his hands still stay on your tits and never really where you want him to. his thumbs and fingers that pinch and pull on your hardened buds awaits for your guidance; you take one hand of his, and shove it beneath your sleep shorts to let him cup the pool of wetness created by merely by the fondling of your breasts.

eddie chuckles, each beat drips boastfully. "all that for me? you're mad at me but you're still wet, huh?"

you tsk, frowning still with your eyes closed. "shut up or i'll fuck myself in the bathroom."

"with what?" he queries, fingers tracing the lace of your panties before they press against your slit through the fabric. eddie bites his lip when you moan quietly, subtly grinding against his palm. "your fingers, hm? thought you can't make yourself cum? because your fingers aren't as big as mine, sweetheart. you'll just anger yourself more."

still, despite his teasing, he moves your panty to the side and lets his fingertips drag through your slick folds. eddie swallows the moan that comes out by pressing his lips with yours — a messy, breathy open mouthed kiss that makes your hips stutter against his fingers that they slip to prod on your starving hole. he shoves his tongue in your mouth, flicking it with yours before he closes his lips around you to fully kiss you, silencing your moans.

his fingers decide that sliding them against your cunt wasn't enough, coming up to rub your clit in slow figure-eights. you squirm against him, slowly lifting when eddie's other arm wraps beneath you to push your head closer to him, resting on the side of your head to at least keep you still and quiet.

"eddie," you whine. "you're such- you-ah...you're an asshole."

your glinting slick coats his fingers. your supposed insult makes him press harder to your clit that makes you jolt, eyebrows clenched and raised when he does so. "i know, baby," he hums, smiling roguishly. "i'm such an asshole for touching you after we fight. i'm such an asshole that—"

he plunges his fingers — two fingers, right inside your hole. straight up until he's knuckle deep and his fingertips graze your g-spot when he curls them. you moan loudly against his lips, only to be muffled when he encases your mouth again.

"—i'm only fingering you," he finishes. "that i'm teasing you. because you want my cock, right? i know you want it. gotta give my princess what she wants, hm? but how will i be sure if it's my dick she wants if she can't even say it?"

you're panting, even though eddie's doing all the work by fucking you with his long fingers. he's pressing and tracing your gummy walls; scissoring his limbs in the way he knows you love that has your toes curling. your grip his forearm, nails digging on the bats on his skin until there's crescent indentations on his opalescent organ.

"say it, baby," he nips at your bottom lip, opening his eyes just to stare at your slacked jaw and wrinkled face. you whine and whimper when he picks up the pace and goes fast, a soft squelching noise heard beneath the blankets from your arousal.

"i- i want your cock," you mewl, legs spreading wider. when eddie shoves a third finger, your forehead touches his, greeted by an unsynchronized kiss where you take his top lip into yours. "p-please. i want your cock, eddie. your big, fat fucking cock inside me."

"atta girl," eddie takes his fingers away, shoving three of them to suck out your sweet juices. he moans as he does so, your eyes opening and you feel like you could just cum right there at the sight of it. "turn around, sweetheart."

you go back to your old position — your back to his chest. but this time it doesn't squeeze his chest. it makes all the blood flow down to his hardening cock, begging to be sprung out by his tight boxers and dive into your gaping hole.

still with an arm beneath you, eddie uses the advantage to lightly wrap his hand around your neck, pressing on the sides. your hand moves blindly behind you, searches for his cock that eddie tries to free as he removes his briefs and tucks it beneath his ass. he licks on his palm and jerks himself a few times, groaning when your palm meets his shaft and pumps him sloppily.

"fuck, baby," he pants. "god it hurts. i need to- i need to be inside you right now."

eddie nips at your earlobe, both your hands holding his cock upright as he presses his tip right into your hole that clenches on nothing but the sweaty air. you take a deep breath when he starts pushing in, his hand leaving his cock to push your leg up from beneath your knee, his length slowly pushing in until his thick mushroom bulges almost painfully at your cervix.

he stops then when he's pushed to the hilt; his balls right up at your neglected hole. eddie lets out a short moan, grunts when your nails scratch at his forearm and throw your head back where your hair meets his lips.

"‘y so tight, (y/n)," he sighs. "can feel you squeezing the shit out of me. i'm gonna move now, okay?"

you nod. eddie pushes his hips back, cunt halfway through his length before he slams back in, tip almost bulging out of your navel. your hand comes up to wrap behind his head, letting his lips evade your temple, trailing down to your neck where he removes his hand just so he can suck on your sweaty complexion.

he's slowly pistons himself, though despite the laggard thrusting, skin slapping is heard. eddie's panting on your neck, your moans high-pitched and sometimes mistaken as a whimper when you try to keep quiet as to not disturb neighbors nearby.

"love this cunt," eddie groans, his thrust slowly fastening. "such a tight pussy. pretty fucking pussy jus' taking all of me 'coz you're such a good girl, yeah? a good girl who deserves everything; even my fucking cock. come on, baby, milk me dry."

his grunting exceeds when he fucks himself faster, your ass grinding up against him. you wish to see his face, the way they would always scrunch up into his blissful haze at the feeling of your walls against his bare dick. but you're too cockdrunk, your limbs tangled into this clusterfuck of released anger and make up sex.

you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling his teeth biting at your skin. "shit, baby," you mewl, pushing up against him. "fuck me faster— oh, yes! yes yes, fuck!"

he removes the hand from your knee to rub your clit, almost ripping the seams of your underwear as his hand moves vigorously on the swollen nub. he circles, he rubs it left and right in a quick pace that almost matches his thrusts. his slick and your arousal creating the most lewd and loud squelching noises that the covers can't even muffle.

"oh- yeah," eddie moans, maybe a bit louder than you. "fuck, i'm gonna cum. i'm gonna fucking cum, baby."

eddie doesn't need your approval, anyway, because at one thrust, you're spilling all over his thick cock, painting his muscle in white, salty cream. he moans when he feels your warm substance coat him like the way your hand would. and soon, his tip pushes his seed deep in your pussy, paints you hot white like a blank canvas.

but despite his sensitive cock twitching, he's still slowly thrusting inside you. eddie pulls out when he's had enough, turns your panting into whimpers when his fingers scoop up his cum and push it back inside your spasming hole.

"eddie, i'm still sensitive," you say absentmindedly, eyes dripping.

"i know, baby," he kisses your cheek. "just gotta keep you full, okay? just keepin' it inside."

and when he's pressed your panties back in places and cleaned himself up with his hand, eddie wraps his arms around you once more, pushing you close to his chest and peppers kisses all over your head.

"i'm sorry," he whispers. "i still am sorry for what i did. i'll grovel tomorrow, i promise."

you hum, taking his hand and kissing the back of it. "you're forgiven for like, five percent."

"five?!"

"because you teased me," you playfully kick his shin. "now let me sleep."

rushed bc dude i need to take a shit

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

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dilemmaontwolegs · 5 months

Note

i know u have a gazillion requests but what if we spice up that Carlos fic? if you decide to do a pt 3. maybe Carlos is once again is frustrated because of the penalty after a good quali and has sex with Rebecca cuz he can't find the model. a lil angst

It’s no secret, I’m in an angsty kinda writing mood at the moment 😅 I also forgot who was meant to be the toxic one...and now it's both of them.

Lady in Red (3) || CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, cheating, manipulation WC: 1.5k

One || Two || Three || Four

You had been called away to work just before qualifying finished. You and half a dozen other models were asked to stand behind the top three drivers and wave feather fans for the cameras while an Elvis impersonator pumped out his signature dance moves.

From your position you could see the frustration on Carlos’ face. He had qualified second fastest yet he was going to have to start from 12th on the grid. You weren’t the only person in the area upset by the 10 place penalty and the Ferrari supporters were making their opinion known as they chanted for Carlos.

“Alright, sweethearts, we need you over at the Bellagio for some promo shots and then you’re free for the night,” one of the headset-clad organisers said to the group you were with before checking her watch. “Or should I say morning.”

The drive back from the Bellagio to the paddock seemed to take hours with the road closures and checkpoints, but finally you made it back. Knowing Carlos would be waiting somewhere for you, you scanned each floor to find him before heading straight to the top.

“Fuck, mi amor, this is what I need,” Carlos moaned.

You froze at the sordid scene you had walked in on. Neither one saw you in the doorway of the darkened room, their backs to you as Carlos bent Rebecca over the desk and pounded into her. He curled her hair around his fist and pulled back so to expose the pleasure painted on her face.

You didn’t even notice you were crying until a droplet fell from your cheek to land on your breast, the feather girl outfit he enjoyed on full display. You suddenly hated how exposed you felt in the ridiculous costume. It was almost as ridiculous as you - for thinking a man like him could change.

“Take it, cariña, take it,” he stammered as you recognised the pinch of his brow. He was close. He was close to finishing and you were more than done with seeing it.

You were conscious of your footsteps as you retreated from the room and descended downstairs. You just needed to make it to your dressing room so you could get your stuff and go.

“Hey,” Charlotte called out as she caught your arm and pulled you to a stop with a friendly smile. “Carlos was looking for you earlier. Did you find him?”

“Yeah, I did,” you whispered, quickly wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Don’t bother drafting up the breakup post.”

Her smile dimmed as confusion replaced it. “What breakup post?”

“Huh,” you laughed humorlessly as you shook your head at your stupidity. “The one Carlos clearly didn’t talk to you about. God, I am a fucking idiot.”

You left the track, heading straight back to your hotel room and before you even reached the room you saw Carlos’ name come up on your phone. You sent him straight to voicemail, again and again.

You barely slept as you thought about how humiliated you felt. You wanted to get him back but you weren’t innocent yourself. You knew your career would be over if you outed the relationship you had with Carlos, even if it made you feel better momentarily. No, you weren’t going to bloody your hands for him, there was already a stain on your soul for what you had knowingly done.

You were a survivor and you were smarter than your recent actions showed. You knew things about Carlos that he had been foolish enough to share in the unburdened state that came after sharing his bed. You were going to use it to your advantage and do what you did best, be the envy of every man.

You had turned your phone off when you arrived at the paddock for the race but it was going to be impossible to ignore Carlos when you were assigned to the Ferrari team.

“Stacy, swap with me?” you begged as she waited for Charles to escort him to the grid. “Pleeeease.”

“Whatever, French boys aren’t my thing anyway,” she said with a grin before heading next door to Carlos’ side.

“I’m not French,” Charles corrected as he stepped out of his room. “I’m Monégasque.”

“Today, you’re pole,” you said with a grin as you offered your elbow out to him. “Ready to go?”

You didn’t glance in Carlos’ direction as you accompanied Charles out onto the grid. You didn’t even have to fake enjoying the company as you found the Monégasque had a good sense of humour and made you laugh the entire way.

From the slamming of Carlos’ car door you knew you were getting to him. Carlos’ fear was losing to his team mate and he was sick of always being compared to Charles Leclerc.

Carefully angling the feather fan to hide your faces from the jealous driver, you leant in and wished Charles good luck for the race. To the fans, you were clearly talking, but to Carlos? He would always think the worst.

Charles was high with adrenaline when he arrived at the Bellagio after coming second place. It wasn’t the win he was obviously hoping for but you could see how happy he was with the result.

“So, you like Charles now, huh?” Stacy whispered as she stood as you did, a fake smile on your faces as you lined the interview stage.

You cast her a quick side glance and winked. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I know why you wanted to swap, Carlos acts like a fucking baby. He practically trashed his garage after Charlotte spoke to him about something. God, I wish I could have heard what that conversation was about.”

“Hmm, me too,” you said with a sick sense of delight as the interviews wrapped up. “Oh, finally, almost time to party.”

“You must be happy, proving Carlos wrong,” you teased Charles as you escorted him back to the Rolls Royce he arrived in.

His steps faltered and he slowed his walk as his other podium finishers drifted further ahead. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s been telling everyone how much better a driver he is compared to you,” you stated with a shrug. It was an exaggeration, you had overheard him complaining to his father in the garage. “But you showed him.”

“A better driver?” Charles scoffed. “He is full of shit.”

He seemed to be in deep contemplation as he walked silently, until he reached the car and turned to you. “You should come to the after party.”

Carlos had already added you to the invite list but you smiled and batted your lashes as Charles. “Are you asking me?”

He blushed and laughed at himself as he nodded. “Would you like to come to the after party with me?”

“You don’t have a girlfriend do you?”

“No,” he laughed warmly. “I wouldn’t be asking to take you if I did.”

“Then I would love to go with you.” You gave him your room number that was conveniently in the same hotel as him, since both Ferrari drivers stayed in the same one.

You already had the perfect dress waiting in your room and as you stood in front of the mirror you had to admit you looked stunning. The red dress was tailored to your body and the plunging neckline was risque and exactly what you envisioned it to be. You couldn’t wait to see Carlos’ face when you walked into the party on his teammate's arm.

“Hey,” you greeted as you opened the door after the knock, but it wasn’t who you expected to see on the other side. “Carlos, what are you doing here?”

His jaw fell slack, lips parting, as his eyes trailed down your body. “Mios dios, hermosa.”

You held your hand out, planting it on his chest as he stepped forward to kiss you. “Woah there, buddy, not happening.”

“Why not? Why have you been ignoring me?” he asked with genuine confusion.

“I saw you fucking Rebecca last night after Qualifying.”

He looked a little sheepish as he scratched the back of his heated neck. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better when you call her ‘mi amor’ too?”

“I didn’t mean it, I-I was thinking about you,” his eyes widened as his voice went up a pitch. “I swear.”

You nodded sympathetically as you rubbed his arm. “Of course, like you were thinking about me when you didn’t have that chat with Charlotte. Yeah, I know you didn't, so just go back to your girlfriend.”

“But I want you,” he pouted as he bowed his head and looked up with big brown puppy dog eyes.

“But I don’t want you. Not anymore.” You gave him a push and he ceded the space in your doorway as the elevator across the hall opened and Charles stepped out looking good in a pair of jeans and a fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. “Hey handsome,” you greeted him with a smile as you grabbed a black clutch with your phone and money. “Perfect timing.”

“You are breathtaking,” he said after a few blinks to recover from the sight of you. He smiled as he brushed past Carlos to kiss your cheek, ignoring the Spaniard completely. “Ready to go, chérie?”

You took his hand and sent a dark smile in Carlos’ direction as you passed by. “See you around, red man.”

Click here for part four.

#carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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yourneighborhoodporg · 2 months

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Hello! Could I request an obi wan x reader x anakin fic where the reader is a force sensitive Jedi? They have to go undercover for a mission and ani and obi are awestruck/distracted by reader in flattering clothes (that aren’t Jedi robes) and it makes them both realize their feelings :) feel free to make it a lemon if you want

Little Red Dress

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader x Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Jealousy, Reader in Alluring Clothing, Brothel Setting, Some Life-Threatening Danger, Light Violence, Creepy(ish) Fella, Soft Smut (Minors DNI), all characters are over 18, Anakin Threatening Murder TM (why am I even surprised 😂), light banter, fluff, alcohol is around, boys being worried, HEAVY FLIRTING.

Song Inspo: Red Dress — MAGIC!

A/n: This took me way too long to get to lol 💀 Absolutely love this request idea which made it so fun to write. Wasn’t sure which gender you wanted for the reader so I made them female-identifying. This is my first request and short (lol) fic so please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

Words: 8.1k

She was built like a dream — Joseph Heller

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker were… uncomfortable.

Not because Master Yoda himself had tasked the three of you with this urgent mission to the Outer Rim. Nor was it due to the cloudy, dark, and incessantly rainy atmosphere that was Morlana One’s Leisure Zone— its backstreets dotted by the occasional lifeless streetlight that just barely reflected off the puddles below, paving the two Jedi a glimmering path toward the local brothel.

No. It wasn’t any of that at all.

Instead, they felt a foreign existence within their own bodies, with each nearing step toward the club’s shadowy entrance, on account of the perplexing, and frankly alien, wears that sheened their limbs.

Of course, they never had any styling choice in the matter. Not for an assignment like this, where the elimination of Jedi symbols was expected.

Because this was a mission that required a gentler, more covert hand.

Because this was a mission that had you all undercover.

Nearly 72 hours ago, unknown assailants had broken into one of the Jedi Temple’s artifact rooms. From the emergency cache, they’d stolen seven Kyber crystals, which were always held at the ready in case a Jedi needed a temporary saber after damaging or misplacing their own.

A facility Anakin took advantage of too many times to count.

But, on this occasion, the Order could only count themselves lucky that The Chosen One had again somehow lost his lightsaber during a short mission to the Coruscant Underworld, requiring him to report to that very same artifacts chamber for a replacement before he could continue his search down into the planet’s murky depths. By chance, the chestnut-haired Jedi had arrived just in time to witness that the usually locked, ornate wooden door was notably ajar. And, with further investigation, that the krystals’ storage chest had been ransacked.

With Council Member Master Kenobi assigned to the inquiry, he quickly learned from a few trustworthy sources, including his old friend Dex, that the crystals were flown off-world to be sold at auction. To a seedy establishment in the Morlani System, no less. All with an undetectability and swiftness that duped not only the inter-District and planetary departure security systems, but the Jedi Temple’s once-thought-impregnable apparatus as well.

Evidently, Master Yoda had found that this operation met a sophistication not often seen among the ranks of disparate pirates or common thieves. It was why, after Kenobi came to him with this information, the Grand Master decided that the bearded man and Jedi Knight who discovered the robbery would be assigned to retrieve these precious artifacts. Placing an emphasis on the need to arrive undercover, lest this sordid enterprise catch wind of a group of creeping, saber-wielding Jedi.

They just couldn’t risk it.

Any action like that would certainly force this gang to race underground once again, crystals in tow, before the Jedi had a chance to recover them.

So, the Council supplied Obi-Wan and Anakin with clothes of the region’s elite, aiming to disguise them both as potential buyers.

Kenobi, a black dress uniform with gold, reflective embellishments suffocating his suit jacket while fueling his growing desire to remain hidden within the shadows as it converted his torso into a glinting beacon under the passing lights. And Skywalker, a simpler, but equally sophisticated gray suit atop a pearly white button-down that screamed conformity louder than Anakin could voice his displeasure.

Still, leaving the crystals’ fate up to whether this gang would accept Republic Credits was a game of pure chance. That, and the notion of buying back stolen, sacred property was never the Jedi way.

That’s where you came in.

A Jedi whose Force-sensitivity was so saturated, that you had the ability to viscerally sense Kyber crystals from parsecs away. And a talent that, in Master Yoda’s opinion, made you the perfect addition to the team.

Well, that and the open secret that the three of you had long ago become an unofficial squadron already. Considering the countless missions you’ve traipsed through together for most of your Jedi, and even Padawan, years, it was a wonder that Master Yoda felt the need to specifically mention your name either way. Even on missions in which the rag-tag trio were slingshotted to opposite poles of the galaxy, you’d always found a way back to each other.

That, or the Force itself had a dire motivation to keep those momentary separations brief.

Perhaps that’s why the two men, in addition to their clothing-related distractions, had sparking nerves heightened by another, salient factor.

That you weren’t by their side.

Given your skill set, it was clear from the beginning your cover needed to be quite different from theirs. So, twenty hours before the auction was set to start, while Obi-Wan and Anakin prepared their disguises, you slipped out. Leaving for the brothel on your own since you all agreed that the only way to secure your cover as an establishment employee was by actually applying to become one.

It was the only surefire way to explore the back rooms without tipping the sellers off. The only option the three of you had to find the crystals’ exact location. And to ensure that when chaos did reign, the artifacts wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

Still, neither man particularly enjoyed this arrangement.

“You remembered to bring it, correct?” Obi-Wan voiced, glancing at Anakin’s pensively taught brows beside him as the brothel’s neon purple sign gently flickered into view, encouraging him to once again tug at his neckline’s taught clasp around his throat.

“Of course!” The younger Jedi acknowledged. “I was the one telling her that she should’ve had it in the first place.”

In spite of the underlying weariness still thrumming at his chest, Kenobi couldn’t help but raise an amused brow at his former Padawan.

“You? Lecturing Y/n about leaving her lightsaber behind? I seem to recall that it was your inability to keep track of your own that landed us in this predicament in the first place.”

Anakin scoffed, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I seem to remember Master Nu saying that the raid on the artifacts room wouldn’t have been discovered for weeks if it weren’t for me.”

Still, the chestnut-haired Jedi sighed, yanking down the tails of his gray suit jacket that just barely fit his longer form while he continued.

“Besides, it was no mistake. She didn’t take her lightsaber intentionally.”

Kenobi shook his head knowingly. Partly due to his former Padawan’s somewhat warped perspective of the situation, but mostly because he too was not completely on board with the notion of you being undercover and completely unarmed. Though, no matter how much he desired to do so, Obi-Wan had trouble denying that, like always, your reasoning stood sound.

A reminder that subconsciously made his heart flutter.

“You know, Anakin, that she couldn’t have feasibly hidden it away. It’s safer for her that we hold onto it for now. She will have it when she needs it.”

And that’s why, no matter his outward assurances, Kenobi seemed to have an inability to take his own advice. Perhaps too it was Anakin’s own anxieties that were infecting the Force.

But no leakage from his signature could truly reflect the hate Skywalker felt for this plan. He had shot down its premise the whole journey here, but in the end, it was no use. Anakin understood that once you put your mind to something, especially in the name of protecting the community you held so dear, there was nothing anyone in the Galaxy could do to stand in your way.

And he really did treasure you for that.

“I know,” Skywalker grumbled, pivoting to avoid a stumbling Bith with a curved bottle in hand, brown liquid sloshing out to land just beside his black dress shoe as he walked by. “But I still don’t like it.”

Evidently, no matter their confidence in your ability to take care of yourself, the two men remained deeply troubled by the fact that you were still far enough away as to be immune from their protection.

But that would soon change.

“Alright,” Kenobi slowed just beside the establishment’s greasy, revolving door to address the younger man as they neared their arrival.

“We will need to remain in one place so that Y/n can find us. She needs to know where we are at all times to deliver the signal. The zone’s blueprints suggest that the center bar will have the best vantage point. So that’s where we’ll go. Oh—“

Obi-Wan lifted a warning brow at the younger man.

“And don’t stray.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, lips pursing in an attempt to keep his face neutral.

“I don’t stray, Master.”

—

If you had your portable chronometer on your person, you would’ve checked it by now.

About fifteen minutes, you’d been waiting a handful of meters from the brothel’s storage room, disguised by the far corner tables nestled within the establishment’s shadowy edges. Marking it the perfect locale for distant observers of the night’s entertainment— or idly spying Jedi. Fifteen minutes since Krissa, a now fellow employee, shuffled into that very same room to collect a few crates of Fizzbrew for the opening bar. Nearly twenty hours after you’d secured employment as what the owner lovingly called a “Friendly Dancer.”

Luckily, it was during that same interview that you’d caught the colorful, Force-illuminated trail, leading your attuned senses to this secured back room, like a bloodhound to its prey.

Or a Jedi to her Kyber crystals.

Yet, despite your carefully chosen cover, both assumed identity and dark corner camouflage, you still had a nagging feeling that your specially selected ‘employee uniform’ wasn’t doing you any furtive favors.

Besides the strikingly crimson, skin-gripping short dress that clad your hips, the black, shimmering fishnet stockings and translucent platform heels were sure to draw some unwanted attention during a time in which invisibility was your best friend.

But you had no choice. If you had any hope of maintaining your cover and completing your mission, you had to work with what you were given.

So, for now, one of these rusted-over, ash stools would need to serve their purpose— concealing you from the trickling in throng’s broad perspectives as you kept a peripheral lock on that steel door’s sturdy frame. One by one, hungry bidders with puffy, expensive coats and sparkling wears thickened the atmosphere, all while you hoped Krissa would quicken her exit via the locked door so that you could slip in.

It was moments like these that you’d wished you had your lightsaber. At least then, you could’ve cut through the heavy, metal barrier all on your own.

But, alas, this was a mission of stealth. And you’d be damned to put either Obi-Wan or Anakin in danger because of your impatience.

Causing you to, once more, question their absence.

“Boys, boys. Where are you boys…” you hummed lowly to yourself.

Glancing toward the billowing crowd, you grew remiss at their absence. It was easy to recall how both Jedi were particularly against your decision to immerse yourself into this environment, alone and unarmed. So much so, that you assumed they would’ve arrived by now. An observation that forced you to consider how this mission was sure to sour quick were you required to act without backup.

You shook that thought out of your mind almost as immediately as it arrived.

Obi-Wan and Anakin would always appear when you needed them most.

And you adored them for that.

That, among the litany of elements that drew you into their lives in the first place.

Your first mission together was but a sapling in the times you were to share. Memories, little moments, and fleeting glances recently coalesced into the singular realization that you’d fallen in love with two of the most powerful Jedi the Galaxy has to offer.

But they were just that. Jedi.

And so were you.

So no matter your unquestionable feelings for the men, there was nothing you could do. Putting aside that you doubted any emotional reciprocation, you were sure too that they’d never break the Jedi code for you.

And that left you to again drag yourself back from those innermost thoughts to focus on the situation at hand. Specifically, your conclusion that any dearth left in Obi-Wan and Anakin’s wake would mean nothing of consequence if you couldn’t get into that storage room.

Luckily, there was no need to wait much longer.

Krissa shoved open the door, using her back to thrust it the rest of the way with a crate of clinking, dark green bottles swirling in her arms. Fluttering lilac dress flowing by her legs as her eyes landed on your surveilling form.

Kriff.

“Hey!” She scream whispered, brows stitched in reprimand while she leaned toward you. “You’re gonna get fired before you’ve even had a chance to work if you keep hiding from paying customers.”

You smiled sheepishly, playing into her assumption as you ‘stumbled’ to your feet.

“I’m so sorry,” you mouthed, ambling toward the older woman while lifting a hand to ripple through the force floating by her eyes.

You spoke lowly.

“You want me to help you bring out those crates.”

“I want you to help me bring out these crates,” she parroted in a glazed-over daze, arm catching the steel door just before it shut to allow you entry.

You nodded to her thankfully, even though she had no choice in the matter, before pushing your way past the chilly aperture, entering the stuffy storage room while the door slammed shut behind you.

Speedily, you surveyed the cramped compartment, stacked and spread to the ceiling with a strange concoction of alcohol-filled crates, charcoal cargo containers, and draped artifacts that evinced the basement of a museum far more than a brothel’s back room.

But you didn’t really give it a second thought. If you didn’t want to get caught, then there was no time to ponder aesthetics.

Quickly, as your eyes fluttered closed, you allowed the Force to thicken your blood, treating your body and mind like a living, breathing compass in its guide to connect you with your True North—

The seven missing Kyber crystals.

With vision consumed by blackness, you dodged each precariously placed box and every outstretched figurine that threatened to obstruct your path as your senses drew you a detailed map toward the back wall. Almost like a pulsing beacon, you felt the heat of your connection to the sacred artifacts deepen, warming your more-than-usually exposed skin. Intensifying with each, deliberate step. Until it reached a fiery blaze so extravagant that one stride further would’ve certainly lit you alight.

You opened your eyes.

“Hey!” A deep voice called from behind you, triggering your heels to spin around toward the sudden sound, and away from the loosely sealed cargo container whose subtle, yet familiar, blue shine confirmed your senses.

Swiftly, you absorbed the older man’s ruffly peppered beard and chilled brown eyes as his head poked past the slightly ajar steel door, barely masked snarl contorting his lips.

“I don’t pay you to ogle the merchandise! Get out there and mingle,” he continued, jutting a thumb to the club’s main room to his rear.

You leapt to your feet, making a mental note of the crystals’ location while scurrying toward the owner who seemed to have somehow grown at least one more gray hair since your interview with him.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumbled, twisting to get by his form against the door and entering onto the main floor before turning back toward him. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he huffed, swiveling to catch the shutting door with his foot before leaning down to retrieve something from behind it.

Still, his muffled voice echoed beyond the subsequent shuffling.

“You’re assisting tonight, and I want high bids. So get out there and make them like you.”

You nodded complacently, already prepared to whip around and follow his orders until the older gentleman reemerged with another case of green bottles cradled under his arm.

“And here,” he shoved the crate, obliging you to catch it somewhat unexpectedly with opened palms.

“Take this to the bar.”

—

“I don’t like this…” Anakin droned during his casual stroll toward Obi-Wan’s side, a glass of orange fizzy liquid held inconspicuously before his lips.

Kenobi was leaning against the bar, his cup of whatever was on tap cradled between his fingers yet clearly untouched. Instead, the subtly troubled Jedi’s attentive eyes continued their periodic scan of the barely lit brothel. Flitting past the pockets of gold-illuminated tabled alcoves and dark blue paneling, his eyes weaved through the voluminous throng. One that featured intimately quiet mumblings among extravagantly suited clientele and gorgeously draped employees.

It wasn’t hard for him to surmise the highest paying customers from the number of brothel workers who’d hang from their arms, clearly on the job.

Smiling at each of their glances. Laughing at every joke…

Kenobi wasn’t daft.

He clearly understood the expectations a club like this had for its staff. At the least, for those who mingled with the bidders before the show. He’d only hoped that with whatever position you’d acquired for your cover at this establishment, it wasn’t pressing you to do much of the same.

And no matter how illogical it sounded in his mind, he still didn’t want to see that.

Moreover, it seemed to be a thought that equally disturbed Anakin, as his gentle thrums of anxious musing stained the Force, gradually amplifying since both Jedi had yet to locate you.

The younger Jedi had always been protective of you, Obi-Wan excused, unbeknownst that Skywalker was making much of the same defense. Though for the chestnut-haired Jedi, it was more the self-justification that he was a protective person in general. And that this was nothing more than only that.

Just Anakin being Anakin.

“I’m confident she’ll turn up soon, Anakin.”

The younger man expressly sighed, permitting a brief beat to pass as a spring of laughter ricocheted by his ears from a nearby dancer. Waiting for it to die down with bated breath before angling to respond.

“What if she didn’t get the job? She might be trying to find a different way in right now.”

Obi-Wan had no need for reaching out to the Force in order to confidently answer that inquiry.

“She succeeded. Trust me, I’d know otherwise.” He hummed, raising his glass to just barely grace his lips, but never daring to take a sip and weaken his awareness. “However, should they not show soon, I am considering they may have been apprehended.”

Similarly, Anakin vehemently shook his head. He even permitted a wry chuckle to escape past those formerly parched lips before confidently responding to the Jedi Master’s statement.

“No way. If Y/n got caught, she’d send us a signal the second she felt us near.”

Skywalker’s confident air faltered.

“Well,” he shrugged nervously. “Assuming she’s not injured.”

Obi-Wan shot his former Padawan a disapproving glare.

Until his attention was suddenly grasped by a warm, comforting hand sliding across his shoulder.

“Is this what you boys do when I’m not around? Theorize about my potential failings?”

The two men spun toward you, catching the playful smirk consuming your features before their eyes were tugged down like an anchor to trail your stunningly sheathed body, almost as if it was the first time they’d ever laid eyes upon you.

It would be an understatement to state that absorbing this captivating sight had coerced their jaws into forgetting their primary function.

The low-cut style of your short, curving red dress. The fishnet stockings that stretched down your thighs and softly clasped your high-heeled feet. The sparkling, green gemmed earrings that perfectly brought out your plump, red lipstick and long lashes. And, most noticeably, your loose, flowing hair that they’d only ever seen tied back for battle, now resting lushly across your bare shoulders like a still-life statue.

It wasn’t a side of you either men had the pleasure of observing before. And, if given the chance, they’d challenge whichever entity had so long sealed this wonderful sight from their burning eyes to a duel.

One that such an unjust creature was sure to regret.

It was a kind of fairy tale notion that both men pondered instantly once they felt a bubbling heat swarm their countenance when faced by your visual power.

So much so, that Anakin couldn’t help but break the brief lull as his suddenly dried mouth reached down his throat for an audible, and undoubtedly embarrassing, cough as he scratched his nose to try to hide himself.

Obi-Wan wasn’t coping much better. The Master Negotiator had lost all concept of Basic, its vocabulary, grammar, and everything in between as his mind was only filled with your enticing image, your pleasantly exposed skin, and the touch of your fingers to his body.

Until it was too soon gone.

Your hand fell thoughtlessly to your side, head cocking with lifted brows before speaking.

“You can close your mouths. It was just a joke.”

But it was Kenobi who first gathered the confidence to respond.

“Um, you look—“

“Lemme guess. Ravishing? The night’s main treat?” You relayed sarcastically while heaving down a large crate of clinking bottles atop the bar, one that both men only just now noticed before you whipped back toward the still stunned Jedi, drawing their gaze center.

“I’ll have it known that the distance between the storage room and the bar is a mere fifteen-second walk and I’ve already heard it all—“

“…like an angel,” Anakin muttered, not even himself realizing that he’d said that aloud.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you felt your heart skip a beat, sending an unexpected tingle to the root of your gut before sheepishly smiling at the deepening flush of the chestnut-haired man.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, tensely eyed his former Padawan.

“Okay, that one’s new,” you admitted, gaze trailing away to conceal your unpreparedness for such an unexpectedly sweet comment.

Ironically, it was at that moment that your wandering stare settling beyond Anakin’s shoulder abruptly caught a familiar, peppered beard. Accompanied by terse, beady eyes that scowled at you from a far wall with the intensity of a lodestar.

You had a decision to make.

But, really, was there a choice at all?

Obi-Wan would catch on, you thought.

Though, no matter how well Kenobi did understand the requirements of your cover, he still certainly wasn’t expecting you to, in a millisecond, swiftly stride toward his bewildered form to wrap your warm arms around his neck.

Immediately, despite the quickening of his thrumming heart latching onto his Adam’s apple, Obi-Wan raised his usually firm hands to gently clasp at your forearms, being sure to send you a questioning glance as he smoothly played along.

But under all that, and although he was still unsure why, deep down Kenobi secretly hoped that such a quizzical gesture hadn’t encouraged you to subsequently pull away. For some reason, he despised the thought of influencing you to forgo remaining this close to him.

So close, that he could feel the tickle of your breath across his chin.

Thankfully, though, his innermost prayer seemed to have been answered.

“Sorry,” you whispered, conveying an outwardly flirting expression of perked lips and a tilted head.

There were very few people in the Galaxy capable of reading the subtle apologetic shine of your eyes that deeply stared into his. An invisible utterance that remained firm while you briefly freed one hand to beckon over a confounded, and secretly peeved, Anakin who stood just behind his former Master, before you grasped his loose hand and tugged him forward with a terribly fake laugh.

Soon, you rested the younger Jedi’s arm on your lower back, securing its nervously flaccid form around your waist while Skywalker’s face transformed into a brand new shade of crimson once he discovered the dress’s open back.

A clearly readable reaction that deepened Kenobi’s hesitation with his former Padawan’s proximity to you. And while his mind struggled to connect the dots on why he continued to experience these strange bouts of discomfort, too distracted to truly pin down these sensations, Kenobi still felt fueled by Anakin’s expression to nudge you a little closer into his own chest.

If that was even possible.

Paying no mind to the sudden action, you addressed both men, giving a particular glance to Anakin who seemed to be the most caught off-guard of the two of them.

“The brothel’s owner made it very clear that if I don’t ’mingle’ with the customers, trouble will come my way.”

And that made the former slave’s blood boil.

“I’ll kill him.”

“No, you won’t,” you punctuated, temporarily removing your other arm from Obi-Wan to privately rest on Anakin’s balmy cheeks, caressing them down to draw his eyes to your level as he too struggled to fight off the festering heart attack that threatened to crack his rib, and deepened the sudden feeling of emptiness in Kenobi’s chest. “Because we have one mission here, and it’s to retrieve those stolen crystals. And I’m not losing my chance to snatch them away due to your needless protectiveness. I’m quite capable on my own.”

“What do you mean?” Kenobi inquired, taking this opportunity to regain some realm of confidence before snaking his arms around your waist and tugging you toward him with a roughness that would easily read as greedy to anyone who happened to be looking that way.

Still, the unexpected suddenness of his movement set the nerves in your face on fire. No matter, you played into the act, falling into his chest with fingers gripping onto the lapels of his oddly sparkly jacket.

“Um,” you swallowed, regathering your thoughts with a blink. “I’m assisting tonight. Meaning that I’ll be showcasing each item while they’re bid upon.”

You hummed to yourself while considering this new stroke of luck. A sudden vibration against Obi-Wan’s chest that you hadn’t realized sent a fresh, nervous chill down his arms as he held your mystifying figure, encouraging subtly wandering eyes to drink in the sight once more while his unsteady heart began to churn his innermost thoughts.

It was in that same moment that Anakin first caught onto his former Master’s charade, having finally glimpsed an equal measure of voraciousness within his distracted, blue orbs. Something that stoked Anakin’s frustration that began anew with each moment Kenobi drew you closer to himself.

“I say we don’t waste the credits,” you commented, refocusing both Jedi’s attention. “The minute I have the crystals in hand, I’ll send you a signal, and we’ll dash out of here.”

Obi-Wan leaned into you, forehead mere centimeters from yours as a spoke lowly. And for some reason, you thought, with noticeably erratic breath.

“That’s extremely risky.”

“Well, you have my lightsaber. Don’t you?” You challenged with a lift of your lips.

Suddenly, a trail of warm fingers raked up into your hair, sending quite an unexpected chill down your back once they clutched around a bunch and somewhat needily rotated your head toward Anakin’s expectant face. Yanking your body more forcefully before soon feeling his strong arm catch your side.

“I have it,” he spoke lowly.

And in spite of how desperately he tried to keep his eyes connected with yours, he couldn’t help that split second in which they sparsely flitted toward your perfectly tinted lips.

An action you apparently missed for your focus on the mission at hand.

But a gesture that contorted Obi-Wan’s lips into a perpetual frown as his mind caught up with his frothing feelings.

“Good,” you expressed. “Then I’ll have it when it’s needed.”

While your eyes remained focused and thoughtful, half a mind on playing up your cover with the other half on those crystals, Anakin had trouble keeping his eyes from once more wandering downwards.

The feel of your red-draped body against his, the closeness of your bared upper chest and noticeable cleavage, the sparkle of your eyes that comparably made your bright earrings look like clumps of coal.

Though not fully, Anakin was beginning to understand what was going on in his chest to draw his signature into such a volatile temper. Mostly because he couldn’t help himself when one hand released from your soft hair to trail down your exposed back, the other palm brushing upwards from your flank to meet the other side as he briefly traced the outline of your shoulder blades.

All of which sent a lightning bolt of cold heat right up to your head and down toward your sensitively tingling toes before he inched you toward him with the press of his fingertips while he whispered.

“Obi-Wan is right. I don’t think we should take the risk. But just in case you need it…”

Slowly, he retrieved a hand, raking it over your shoulder and feeling every inch of your arm while his mind cleared. The chestnut-haired man’s swelling eyes traced the enticing experience until he reached your hand. And with feigned gravitas clouding his features, he carefully guided your hand beneath his suit jacket, dragging it just along his warm back until you felt a cold metal resting beside his tailbone.

“…you know where it is.”

What was happening?

That was the main question you were asking yourself.

Were both Obi-Wan and Anakin just really amazing actors when the moment required it? You’d certainly never seen such a talent from either of them before. Yet the sudden naturalness, the near familiarity with which each Jedi pulled and held you close? The intimate touches and long glances while this secret meeting proceeded?

You weren’t sure what changed between twenty hours ago and now. Yet, in your core, you knew a part of your brain didn’t want it to stop.

No.

You were a Jedi. You were all Jedi. Committed to a code.

You must’ve been reading this wrong. Feelings that you knew you’d long held for the men had once again clouded your judgment.

Meanwhile, the growing tension between the two Jedi had heightened to a noticeable degree. But with your mind focused seemingly on other matters, it was only just to each other.

“You? Not wanting to be reckless?” You stated, attempting to suffocate your rushing nerves with a confident smirk. “Are you sure I’m speaking with Anakin Skywalker or do we have an imposter in our midsts?” You chuckled. “Oh, and agreeing with Obi-Wan?” You added, raising a brow.

This time, it was Master Kenobi who felt a fire erupt through his veins while his thoughts solidified.

It was you.

You who were making him feel such a way.

Ever and always.

On every mission and in each universal moment, it was you who made the Jedi Master take pause as his heart skipped a beat in your presence.

Master Kenobi was even more firm in this belief: that he was quite finished with watching Anakin cradle you in his arms for any longer. That, and the growing desire fueled by this new angle permitting Obi-Wan to graze over your open back’s supple skin with his eyes, drained him of all his decades-long self-control in an instant.

He needed to do something about that

Reaching a warm hand to the closest corner of your waistline, and with a little nudge from the Force on the other side, Obi-Wan tugged you right into his arms.

You felt the imperceptible, tiny scratches of his sequined suit jacket and the heat barely underneath sprawl across your back while his palms meandered up your sides and down each arm, soon folding them across you as he enveloped you against himself.

This time, you truly couldn’t help the light, crimson blush that bloomed across your cheeks. Especially when Kenobi chose this opportune time to gradually lean into your shoulder, chin dipping so that his lips hung mere centimeters from your attentive ear before whispering a warning with a tone warmer than you were used to hearing from the Master Negotiator.

Especially in the middle of a mission.

“You should listen to him.”

Still, despite feeling the ravenous desire to take a calming breath and smooth your hammering heartbeat, you held firm, responding to his inquiry with an overpowering confidence that usually settled any score when the three of you were having a disagreement.

At the same time, having just noticed the brothel owner’s decision to push off his far wall perch to approach, you decided to also strike a grin, raising a flirtatious brow over your shoulder at Obi-Wan’s unreadably dark eyes while you spoke, maintaining your cover.

“No. The plan stands. Trust me, there’s no need to worry.”

But, unexpectedly for you, witnessing your visually claimed figure in Obi-Wan’s arms barking out orders all while clad in that tiny red dress ignited a fierce burning passion in Anakin to challenge you back as he too decided to make his thoughts known.

Through his words and with his hands.

Taking one powerful stride to stand directly before your toes, the younger man just barely graced your bottom lip to seize your chin, lifting it upwards and twisting you to meet his wanting, blue gaze. Compelling your bright, widening eyes to wonder once more whether the lines between fiction and reality were beginning to blur.

Your breath hitched.

“Gentlemen!” The owner exclaimed, sliding next to Obi-Wan and Anakin to place a performative pat on both their shoulders. “I’m glad you’re enjoying one of our new hires, but I’m afraid that I’ll need to borrow her for the rest of the auction. We are about to begin.”

Wordlessly, both Jedi released their respective grips on you, sharing between themselves an unamused glance above your head while you ambled toward the owner. Never breaking your own, painfully forged smile.

But that seemed to be enough to convince the quite older owner that all was set to begin, as he swiftly turned on his heel toward the brothel’s far podium, motioning for you to follow his trail.

You promptly obliged, yet not before sending one quick, yet quiet, last word with a twist of your head toward the Jedi who begrudgingly stayed behind with crossed arms or a clenched beard.

“Wait for my signal.”

—

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Anakin commented idling by Kenobi’s side.

The two men continued their observations of the auction since it began half an hour ago, their eyes rarely drifting away from the rather cramped, rickety stage while you traveled from side to side, displaying each item with deliciously attractive poise. Presently, you were exhibiting an old, handheld marble statue modeled after a female Twi’lek. And although other patrons regarded the item with interest, the two Jedi meant to be watching your back for any danger had their minds on other matters.

Anakin couldn’t keep his eyes off your sensually pacing legs, while Obi-Wan could barely remain still with your elegant, tightly wrapped hips moving to and fro.

“I hear 2,000 credits! 2,000 credits. Do I hear 2,100?”

Master Kenobi readjusted his shoulders somewhat uncomfortably. “I know. I don’t believe I’ve said otherwise.”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you want Y/n.”

The bearded Jedi whipped his head from the stage as he addressed the seemingly jealous, younger man. And for the first time in a very long time, Obi-Wan began to feel those same, envious emotions with equal strength, like he’d caught some psychic disease from the blue-eyed Jedi’s glance alone.

“2,100! Do I hear 2,200? 2,200 folks, for this ancient artifact of an unknown Ryloth civilization!”

“And?” He acknowledged nonchalantly, taking an assertive stance while he found comfort in the memory of you in his arms. “And what if I do?”

Anakin’s lips formed a thin line, the image of your parted, shocked lips when he caught your dressed figure perfuming his thoughts. “Then you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ve noticed,” Kenobi stated sarcastically before raising a rather annoyed brow.

“Going once! Going twice!”

“What are you gonna do?” Anakin mumbled.

Skywalker had to ask the question. Even though he’d already confirmed in his mind that no matter what, no matter if Master Kenobi felt the same, that he’d give you the chance of knowing that there was more than one.

Obi-Wan answered simply. “I’m planning on telling her.”

“Sold! To the fellow in the orange top hat on the right!”

Because through the older Jedi’s musings, Kenobi was arriving at a similar conclusion. That if you in any way felt the same, he’d at least give you a choice.

“I assume you’ll be doing the same?” He continued.

“Yes.” Anakin sighed, eyes returning to the stage just as you remerged with an old, raggedy yet sealed box held tightly in your hands. “And what if she can’t decide?”

Obi-Wan followed the young Jedi’s line of sight, subconsciously licking his lips as the fabric of your tight, red dress pulsed his blood and slackened his jaw.

“Then we do what we must…”

The bearded Jedi swallowed.

Hard.

“…we help her.”

A rallying spark flung through the Force, filling both Jedi’s senses as they were wrenched from the momentary, visual distraction that was your ravishingly dressed person.

There was no way to deny it. Your pointed expression? Your readied stance?

The signal had just been fired.

Reaching for their respective lightsabers hung inconspicuously at the belt, both Jedi swiftly whipped their weapons out into the open, igniting a collective blue glow that provided enough of a shockingly, eye-catching distraction for you to leap from the stage, box in hand, without much recourse.

Then came the blasters.

As if emerging like shadows from the establishment’s dark corners, a sporadic group of armed men dressed like well-to-do pirates began their determined assault. Coloring the air with orange beams while the crowd scattered, hurried screams and the groans of abruptly shuffling furniture echoing off the walls.

You bolted for the Jedi, triggering both to somersault toward you while they attempted to block any bolt that you nearly failed to dodge before landing at either flank. Thankfully, that provided the chance to fling a searching arm beneath Anakin’s suit jacket, grasping your saber from its warm habitat before yanking it out into the open to launch its green luminescence.

“Go!” Obi-Wan cried, deflecting another round of bolts from your rear while the two men encircled you like a living, breathing barrier.

“We’ll hold them off!” Anakin agreed, flinging a badly aimed bolt toward a now broken and sparking light fixture above before facing you. “Get back to the ship!”

You glanced at both men, making clear your uncertainty and reluctance through the Force as, even with your aid, the gentle perspires of their efforts became noticeable.

But it was their turn to stay firm.

“Now! We’ll be right behind you!” Obi-Wan strictly assured.

So, with the box of crystals secured tightly beneath one arm and your saber effectively defending against the coming onslaught with the other, you decided to, for once, follow the boys’ instructions as you bolted for the exit, and out the brothel’s door.

And, with their hearts already racing, both Jedi had to do their best not to focus on your distracting wears as they paved a path to race after you.

—

Leaping through the red and white Nu-class shuttle’s rear hatch the instant it opened wide enough to do so was enough to coerce out an instant sigh of relief as your feet landed on the metal floor, drawing you deeper into the bird’s belly. Naturally, after regaining some bearings in the familiarity of the ship, you felt secure enough to set the relatively sturdy box of Kyber crystals atop a nearby ledge before turning to assess the situation behind you.

You already sensed that Anakin and Obi-Wan had stuck close to your heels during the entire escape, sabers twirling with elegant control against any threatening phaser until you strayed far enough beyond the brothel’s preview to lose any potential tails. So you weren’t surprised to find both men maintaining a similarly brisk pace while speeding up the ramp seconds after your arrival. Sabers long ago clipped back at their sides with Obi-Wan leading the way, leaving Skywalker in charge of closing the now slowly rising hatch.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was that the overpowering determination emanating from the bearded Jedi’s face had not in the least bit lessened since he entered the craft. Quickly, yet smoothly, he shed his gaudy suit jacket, tossing it unceremoniously to the side as he subsisted his approach.

In fact, the slight narrowing of those blue eyes, an expression you’d only seen in the occasional sparring session, remained forwardly focused. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was charging right for you, an action itself that compelled you to perplexedly speak while his brown boots closed that ever-shrinking distance.

“What are you—“

Warm lips smashed against yours, moving hungrily yet delicately while Obi-Wan’s sturdy arms snaked around your waist to gently tug you into himself.

Your heart nearly stopped, and from the tingling, tiny explosions erupting at each and every nerve ending alone, you felt yourself fall into the momentum, arms raising with the certainty of a choreographed dance to cradle Obi-Wan’s head and run your fingers through his soft, auburn locks.

Whether consciously or not, his grip on you tightened, straining your breath before you had the unavoidable need to be even closer to him. You intensified the kiss, drawing his plump, reddened lips into slow and steady locks, only for them to release with the duration of a clap before you both deeply met each other again with needy swiftness.

It felt like hours, but it had been mere seconds since the instant his body met yours. Still, the two of you reluctantly pulled away from each other. Mostly to catch much-needed breaths from the pure, unadulterated shock of it all.

Master Kenobi held you still as your gaze graced over his flushed features, including that slightly tussled hair and darkened eyes that diverted from their usual bright sparkle. Especially when they flitted from your surprised orbs, to your plump lips, and back again.

But no matter this pleasing diversion, still, out of the corner of your eye, you were forced to notice Anakin— standing in the far corner in quiet observation, and chillingly reminding you of where you were and what important rules both you and his former Master had certainly just broken in his presence.

What made it all worse, though, was that for the life of you, you could not read the younger man’s expression. Apparently, he had just stood there, arms crossed once the shuttle door was secured and simply… watched? Impassively?

No, that couldn’t be right.

Then, he pushed off the wall.

Anakin’s arms fell to the side as he gradually approached you both, brows tightening into what looked like a slightly angrier cross that ran your brain into overdrive. You were still having trouble discerning his emotions through the Force, but could only make an educated guess that he was beyond frustrated that the two beings closest to him had just broken the Jedi Code.

And, also because, he didn’t seem to have any particular reaction to what Obi-Wan did, making you sadly doubt that he’d ever feel the same way you’d always felt for the chestnut-haired man and his former Master.

So, no matter how right it felt, how much you wanted it, you knew that it was time for some damage control.

“Obi-Wan…” you took a deep, shaky breath, nerves still firing at every end while your stare stood firmly on Obi-Wan’s wanting expression, Anakin nearing your side.

You loosely exhaled.

“Where did that—“

Hot moisture met your neck, Anakin’s wet lips attacking its side and extracting a startled gasp from your lungs as your eyes fluttered closed. Greedily, he cupped your throat to softy tug you toward him, draining your arms into a state of perpetual pliability from the pleasant heat filling your chest.

They slid, soon falling from Obi-Wan’s body entirely before you angled toward the younger Jedi and shakily twisted them around his shoulders for support. Another weak sigh escaped past your lips once you felt Anakin’s teeth graze across a sensitive spot as the weakening kisses continued, an action which only seemed to encourage the younger Jedi considering he returned to that spot with more fervor, sucking it dry until your jaw slackened.

Still, no matter how dazed your mind had become in this last minute of chaos, you just couldn’t believe this was happening.

It had to be a mistake, right? Was something else wrong?

Something must have happened.

Regathering your senses, you quickly pulled away from Anakin, feeling the resistance of your initial jerk snap Anakin from his equally influenced status as he quickly tried to give you space.

“Are you ok??” He asked rapidly, eyes seeping wide-eyed worry and flickers of guilt while Obi-Wan, who was initially calmly analyzing the show, too shifted to share a similarly concerned expression.

“Yes, of course,” you aired, still slightly out of breath as you stared confoundedly at the two men. “I’m fine Anakin, but what is going on? This is coming out of nowhere.” You shook your head. “Were the two of you drugged or something?”

“In a sense, I suppose we were,” Obi-Wan answered nonchalantly.

You raised a brow.

“Y/n,” Anakin uttered, drawing your eyes toward his. “Obi-Wan and I realized something back there during the mission. Something it looks like we both kinda knew for a while but didn’t really understand until now.”

Master Kenobi’s eyes raked across your figure once more while he spoke. “I saw you there, we saw you, truly, for the first time. And I lost my breath.”

You melted at his words.

“All I saw was pure beauty and you, and I couldn’t tell the difference,” Anakin spoke disjointedly, nearly making you giggle. “And I knew that seeing you like this, in this way, I couldn’t wait any longer. We couldn’t wait. We needed to tell you.”

“Tell me?” You asked breathily, preparing yourself for whatever was to come next.

“That we desire you,” Obi-Wan barely whispered, fluttering your stomach. “That you are more important to us than ancient statutes. And we determined that you must know so that you may decide if you wish it.”

You shuttered, worries of the Code fading into nothingness while the two men before you consumed your senses. “Decide?”

Anakin stared at you, a pleading glint in his eyes as he spoke gently.

“Which one of us you want back.”

Your still heavy breaths punctuated the otherwise quiet air. Characteristic of the thoughts rattling against your buzzed skull before a throaty mutter made its way past your teeth.

“I can’t…”

You watched while their faces deflated at your words.

“We understand, Y/n,” Obi-Wan spoke, a subtle sadness drooping his tone. “It’s quite alright—“

“No,” you corrected quickly. “No, I can’t decide.”

Anakin’s brows quirked at this, head tilting as curiosity subdued his brief listlessness.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

You sighed heavily, eyes drifting to the floor with an unaccustomed quiver. “I mean, I can’t decide because… because…”

You bit your lip.

“I want you both.”

Raising your head, you carefully observed the two men, bodies as still as statues while their swollen eyes held firmly on your figure. Anakin nurturing a steadily expanding, devious grin while he quietly flexed a fist, and Obi-Wan, faintly flicking his tongue across his top lip in an effort to carefully drink in your figure.

A pleasant chill ran down your spine.

“Is that alright?” You whispered.

Anakin chuckled incredulously, cueing Obi-Wan to respond to that inquiry.

“Darling,” he murmured, insatiable eyes sucking you barren as the nickname sent a new round of tingles down your legs. “That stretches far beyond ‘alright.’”

“How do you want us?” Anakin posed, tone nearing a growl.

Unfiltered, you spoke your mind.

“As close as possible.”

And the Jedi obliged.

________________________________________________________________

Should I do a part 2 at some point? Let me know :)

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dollwritesarchive · 2 years

Text

𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒, 𝓇𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 ⎹ 𝓜., 𝓖.𝓢., 𝓒., 𝓗.𝓢.

❝ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ⤻ jujutsu kaisen / kinktober 2022 / @dollsanime-library

❝ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ⤻ mahito, geto, haruta, choso [ but mostly geto & mahito ] x captive!human!reader ( f! )

❝ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⤻ nsfw! none of my writings are meant for anyone under the age of 18, and any minors interacting will be blocked on site.

❝ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ⤻ this is a dark fic, please don’t read if any of the warnings are potentially triggering for you! kidnapping, recollections of violence and current violence against reader, noncon, group sex, cum marking, impact kink, free use kink, facefucking, degradation and threats, forced breeding mention, overstimulation, double PinV, all that good stuff.

❝ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⤻ 4.2k / one shot

❝ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ⤻ i do not consent to having my work reposted / translated / stolen in any capacity for any reason. please reblog and leave a comment to support content creators! my work is very rarely proof read so mistakes may be present. all characters / pairings i write for are 18+ with no exceptions.

you’d severely underestimated Mahito’s cruelty.

no, you knew just how wicked he was. but you’d thought that you were special. he could never hurt you, that’s what you told yourself every time you would lay awake in his arms after you’d been an audience to his cruelty. you were his little plaything, he’d said so himself. that meant he considered you fun enough to keep around and play with, which — at first— was enough for you.

until you realized just how deep you were, and suddenly you were drowning in his wickedness, sucked to the bottom of a dark, cold abyss. all you wanted was to be able to breathe, to find the surface again, so you sought out the only ones you thought were capable of protecting you.

those Jujutsu Sorcerers he and Geto talked about; they almost seemed wary of them. especially one. Gojo Satoru. you’d managed to run away, and track him down, beg for protection, which he and another, Nanami if you remembered correctly, had promised you.

but you were so stupid to ever believe that there would be a place in this dimension or any other that Mahito couldn’t find you, and once he’d dragged you back to these stinking sewers, kicking and screaming by your hair, he’d told you so.

now, his words echoed in your otherwise blank mind, bouncing off each corner. it was easier to focus on remembering his voice, than to listen to the sound of your body being violated over and over, relentlessly, by those recruited by the curse. your sex squelching as you’re forced to take Choso’s size, again. you knew it was him, because he liked to grip your hips and dig his thumbs into your lower belly until you feel like they’re going to push right through you. pressing you inward so he can feel himself bulging against you on the other side. you could feel just how snug the fit was, you can only imagine the view— the shape of his cock poking out from your belly; you were thankful for the cum and tear soaked blindfold that kept you from being forced to watch the sordid display. and Choso liked to rut deep, battering your cervix until you were crying. this time, however, you could only gurgle and whimper, mouth full of cock, too. Haruta’s, to be exact.

it wasn’t just his breathless moaning that gave it away, whining like he’s never been touched in his life, but also the way he would pull his length free, allow you a moment to breathe and drizzle more cum and spit on to your cheeks, and slap them and your lips with his member, giggling when you purse your lips and try to turn your head. but your head was hanging over the edge of the concrete, so there was nowhere for you to escape to, especially when Haruta was planted in the water that you could hear running just below your dangling head. “Wanna see the shape of my cock imprinted on your messy, pretty face.” Haruta croons, grasping a handful of your damp hair at the root and holding you tight in place. “I’ll leave bruises of it if I want to.” he says, and you could practically hear the grin he must’ve worn. “I can do whatever I want to you, you know? Carve you up, break your bones, leave my name in burn marks over your skin. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You’re completely helpless, aren’t you?” he punctuates the question with a harsh slap to your face, this time with his palm. “Go on, say it!” he urges with boyish delight, “Tell me that you’re a helpless, dirty whore and I can rape you how I want.”

you didn’t want to— the very words threatening to elicit a gag, but you knew he’d hurt you again if you didn’t. “I—I’m a helpless,” you choked on the words, broken each time Choso bottoms out inside you, “helpless dirty whore… and y—you can rape me however y—you want to—“ whilst you struggle to form the words, Haruta places his length over your lips and rubs it between them, slurring the words, and he moans again.

“Mm… Nowhere to run to… no one to help you… you just have to lay here and take whatever we want to give. Fuck, it gets me even harder knowing you hate this.” maybe he could see you clenching your teeth, or the way your brows were knit together, “I want to hurt you even more now!”

but Choso was deep in your guts, squeezing your belly, and grunting under his breath. the stretch was unbelievable the first couple of times he took you, but now your body yields to his size, back arching, and arms and legs trying to flail. if only they weren’t both bound with thick, tight bandage. calves to thighs, and forearms to biceps, leaving your hands and feet helplessly exposed to twitch.

“Not— not inside again—“ you croak, clenching the throbbing tool nestled in your body. he was close, but you were already so full of cum that when he pulled out there was sure to be plenty to ooze on to the concrete under you. you didn’t know if you could handle another load. “P—please—“

Haruta laughs again, pulling your hair to angle your head up towards the man fucking you, though you were thankful you couldn’t see him. your mouth was slack, sore, and hopeless moans slipped from it each time he pounded himself home. “Aw, Choso, she doesn’t want you to cum inside her again! Poor little whore must be so full! Let’s see!” his free hand rubs your lower belly, pushing down until you’re squirming— the remnants of your past assaults gushing from between your thighs and soaking Choso’s groin. your face is on fire with humiliation. “Why don’t you beg him real cute-like, and maybe he’ll be nice enough to paint your tits, instead?”

you knew Haruta was going to get off on your begging, but you clench your fists, and bite your lip in hopes to stifle your humiliating sounds. “P—please, Choso! Please c—cum on my tits, instead! I don’t… I don’t think I can take anym—“

but one hand abandons the grip on your hip to clamp over your mouth, his voice more akin to an animal’s snarl. “Stop talking.” he’s grinding his teeth, you can hear it in his voice, and Haruta has settled for sliding his cock, still slippery with your spit, into your fist. muffled, you try again to beg, but he’s already burying himself as deep as he can go. “Do you think I’ll show you mercy? That all you need is a couple of pretty words and I won’t take you how I want?” you shake your head, eyelids fluttering behind the sticky blindfold. you groan in defeat when you feel him release inside, the warmth spreading. and he leans closer, until his breath is against your cheek. you flinch, but can go nowhere while Haruta grips your roots. “I’ll breed you over and over, however many times I please. And if you ever,” the word is punctuated by a deep pump, coaxing a squeak of submission into his palm, “speak out of turn again, I will make sure that Mahito stands aside and watches you birth a litter of my curses.” weakened, you nod submissively, and after a moment he withdraws his hand. when he pulls his manhood from your tremor-wracked body, you suck in a breath through your teeth; you can hear the cum that won’t physically fit inside you anymore splatter on the ground underneath you.

“He’s wicked, isn’t he?” Haruta hums, fucking your clenched fist at a fervent pace, “but don’t you worry— I’m not. You asked for cum on your tits, didn’t you?” you want to protest, but you don’t have the strength left to, and when Haruta releases your hair, your head hangs over the edge again, your body limp and shaking. his hand glides down to grasp a handful of your breast, squeezing tight, “I’m gonna paint them so pretty for you.” his thumb and forefinger pinch and pull your nipple until you’re crying out, back forced off the ground, pain bringing tears to your eyes, and he moans, finding more pleasure in seeing you distressed than from your hand. “Come on, cry some more,” he coaxes, alternating between tugging and slapping, leaving your skin stinging, “I’m almost there…”

twin footprints approach, and you recognize Mahito’s voice. “How’s my brave girl doing?”

you whine, trying to reach for the sound, temporarily and willingly forgetting that he’s the one that put you in this position in the first place— convinced that he would stop the torture now that you’d learned your lesson. “Mahito!” your free hand clenches and unclenches desperately, “H—help!”

“Help?” he asks, mocking sympathy as his footsteps echo around you, coming closer, before he squats down beside you, and you feel the gentle dance of his lithe fingertips over your thigh. he grips one in his massive fist and drags you closer, grinding your back into the stone floor and elevating your head on to it again. at least there was that— you wouldn’t be lightheaded from being upside down anymore. “Oh, you precious little thing. Why would I put a stop to this when it’s so much fun to watch?” he coos at your puzzled whimper, running the digit pad over droplets of sweat, smearing them into the grime of the ground that clung to your skin. you were sore everywhere, plenty of swollen bruises and cuts donning your flesh, and he didn’t even try to avoid them. “Didn’t I ever tell you? I hate traitors.” he sighs, allowing you to squirm. he doesn’t even seem to mind Haruta’s high pitched whimpering as he smears the tip of his cock over your abused breasts, glazing them with his release. “But, of course, I didn’t want to kill you for betraying me; I’m much too fond of you for that. I want to believe that you will see the error of your selfish ways through just a little bit of punishment—“

“Please!” you break in, crying for him, “I—I am so sorry, Mahito! I won’t do it again— I swear I’ll be good— I’ll never try to run away again!” you were writhing, trying to push yourself off the ground towards him, “No more, please… I can’t… no more…”

Mahito giggles, his hand careening between your legs and you yelp, frantically shaking your head and babbling the same, protesting pleas. your whole lower half was sore and throbbing, used to your limit and then some, but his large, svelte fingers trace the shape of your swollen clit, “Look at this poor, little cunt, Geto.” he purrs, trailing downward, teasing your folds. the entrance pulsates in opposition of yet another entry. “She’s so sensitive, look at her shake, I’ve hardly even touched her.”

Geto whistles in admiration, and even though you’re blindfolded, you imagine him standing over you, head tilted and sharp eyes focused between your legs. waves of heated humiliation wash over you relentlessly. “She’s had to take so much cock since she came back to us,” Geto murmurs, and you can tell by the way his voice traveled closer that he was squatting down, too. “I wonder if she even knows the difference anymore? Or if she’s been fucked so braindead that she no longer cares who it is, as long as someone’s plugging her up.” a palm, Geto’s you assume, pets your head, pushing your damp hair back, only to curl into a tight fist and lock the tendrils in a harsh vice.

“Is that true?” Mahito taunts, pushing his fingers inside you. the sensation is electric, and your head rolls against the concrete, whining. your thighs twitch, desperate to close and and push him out, but they can’t and he’s already knuckle deep with two fingers spreading you open. “Would you even remember what my cock feels like? Or did we let the others fuck the sense out of that pretty head of yours?”

“M—Mahito, please…” you mewl, lower lip quivering. the feeling was already overwhelming, and you were going to cry again. but he didn’t care, his digits probe deep, a third joining the first two to force your stretch even further, “Please… I see… the error of my ways…! Please, please, please… stop… it’s too much… I’m so—sorry—“

Geto hums, thoughtful, his fingers gripping the blindfold to snatch it from your face. “You don’t yet. But you will.” you squint, even in the dimness of the sewer, it was unbearably bright and blinding, and it takes you several seconds to blink the dizziness away, before you see Geto leaning over you, staring down at your writhing form. he’s smirking, but it’s partially a grimace, as if he’s disgusted and aroused at the same time. feeling unworthy to meet his eyes, you avert your own, to catch a glimpse of Choso and Haruta in the corner. both are stroking themselves. Choso strokes slow, eyeing your every move with a furrowed brow and a tight-lipped frown, but Haruta is pumping himself quick, moaning again, licking his lips. they were forcing themselves hard again. to fuck you again. your stomach turns. you suddenly wish he’d let you keep the blindfold on.

your eyelids flutter, looking down your torso to Mahito, who was thrusting those fingers into you at an inhuman pace, and you couldn’t help but squeal his name, mouth hanging open. he catches your eyes and grins, wickedly, yanking his fingers free and smearing the cocktail of essences left there over your belly. “I wonder how much more it would take to open you up.” he croons, mostly to himself, and you shake your head, but he’s not paying attention, discarding his own clothes while you quiver on the floor, splayed and vulnerable.

“N—no more…”

Mahito grins, wrapping a fist around himself. he was already solid, so you knew he’d been watching for a while, possibly even stroking his cock to the sound of your begging for mercy, and the thought made you want to throw up. had this always been in the back of his mind? ever since that first night he took you in, had Mahito thought about forcing you to take him and all of his comrades? and had your betrayal simply given him a reason to do so? “No more? You sure?” Mahito asks, and you nod, desperate for a break, before he cocks his head to one side, and in one, smooth motion, he rips your arms free from the bandaging. you hadn’t noticed his fingertip was blade shaped until you feel it nick the flesh of your bicep, and a trickle of blood races towards your armpit. he does the same with your legs, and you slump, free but too weak to move, on the gritty concrete. “You’d better try to get away, then.”

what?

you wince, peering up at him perplexed, but he’s wearing that damned, wicked smile. “Go on.” you bite down on your lower lip, heart racing. you didn’t know whether or not to do what he says, so you decide you’re better off trying. forcing your body to flounder, you manage to roll on to your stomach, and take a moment to try and plant your palms on the floor, pushing yourself up on to all fours. “Go on!” he repeats, too joyful for your liking, and uses the sole of his bare foot with a forceful kick to your bum to push you forward. with a pathetic yip, your arms give out, and your chin hits the concrete hard when you fall forward. the muscles in your arms refuse to cooperate. “Scream for your Jujutsu Sorcerers to come and save you! Come on!” another kick, and you whine, using your forearms braced against the ground instead to try and pull yourself away, towards what you knew to be the way out. it was a slow crawl, one that had him and Geto and Haruta all laughing at, but you were trying.

“H… Help…” you mumble, inching closer.

“If we can’t hear you, I promise you they can’t, either.” Geto said, now standing a few feet in front of you. “Scream.”

“Help!” you croak, pulling yourself closer. your legs weren’t even bending at this point, and you could feel the mess leaking out of you as you drag yourself along the floor; you were utterly humiliated and exhausted. “Please! Help me!”

Mahito’s laugh echoes just behind your hopeless plea, and then you felt his hands on you, reaching for you. you careen when he grabs your hair at the scalp to lessen the pain, leaning towards him, and he hauls you to your feet, though your knees are buckling before you’re even partially planted, and you’re collapsing forward into his chest, both your hands trying to grasp at his hair and his arms to keep you up. “They’re not coming for you, are they?” he asks, dual tone eyes heavily shadowed by thick lashes. you shake your head, defeated, and one of his hands slip under your thigh, pulling it up, and then the other, lifting you off your feet and spreading you open to him. “No one is coming to help you, baby. You just don’t matter enough.”

“P— please…” you whine again, but he wasn’t listening. “I’ll be good… I promise I will… just let me rest—“ you cry out when Mahito perches you atop his cock. just the prodding alone is enough to send your overstimulated nerves into a frenzy, but he was none too gentle in pushing you down, impaling you all at once. your walls clench, a feeble attempt to push him out, and then spasm when he stretches them open further.

he tightens his grip on your shaking thighs to keep you from kicking, if you could muster the strength, and releases a breath he must’ve been holding, and it morphs into a moan. “Mm, so this pussy does remember me after all,” he croons, and he’s already bouncing you up and down. your stomach churns, your nails dig into his shoulders, fierce enough to collect crimson under them as you bring blood to the surface, but he doesn’t care. if anything, it adds to the eroticism for him, and his fingers dig into the bruised, supple flesh of your sticky thighs. the feeling of being full again, his rigid girth barreling through you, is all but overwhelming. he doesn’t fuck you like he used to— it’s not fun and exciting, it’s cruel and rough. he’s making a point to hurt you on purpose for betraying him, and using his cock to drive his punishment home into your belly over and over again. he’s deeper than you thought was possible, and his ferocity and speed is inhuman. the head of his cock pokes against your belly from inside, battering those already abused nerves.

you can’t even begin to try and hold your pleas back, babbling for him to just please stop before he kills you.

“Such a dramatic, little cunt you are.” Geto comments, and you can hear the swish of his garments behind you. was he undressing, too? you try to look over your shoulder, but his palm smacks into the back of your head and forces it forward, burying it in Mahito’s heaving chest. “And bold.” you’re smothered against firm, muscle pads, and you pant, open mouthed, and taste Mahito’s sweat on your lips, begging for his forgiveness in a string of breathless apologies. “I never once gave you permission to look at me.”

Mahito snickers, spreading your legs wider, pushing your knees up towards your ribs until they won’t bend further and you mewl— too much more pressure and he’d snap a bone. “The rougher I am, the tighter she gets!” he exclaims, “She’s like a little, fucking vice.”

“That’s no good, then,” Geto hums, and you feel his rippled torso against your back— you hold your breath, expecting him to take your ass. “It sounds like we’ll just have to stretch her out a bit more.” smearing then swollen head of his cock over your ass, he teases the hole for a moment, before careening lower to stuff himself into your core, urging for Mahito to share.

you squeak in protest, both arms flailing behind you to push him back. “That’s— too—!!”

“That’s too what?” Mahito grins, baring his teeth as he plows ahead, “Don’t tell me that’s too much cock for you, baby. You must feel like you’re going to tear in half!” he sounds all too elated at the thought alone.

but he seizes both by your wrists and draws them back, squeezing tight, “These bones of yours are mighty frail,” he hisses in your ear, bucking his hips to nest deep inside, “and if you try to push me out again I’ll crush them.” squeezing his fists, you can feel your wrists yielding, the bones on the edge of fracture. you can't even clench your fists, but instead let your hands go limp, whining in submission. “That’s better.” keeping your arms pulled back, Geto rocks into a rhythm almost as cruel as Mahito. locked between the two, you can do nothing but slump forward against Mahito’s chest and try to take it.

before long, whatever strength you had left was quite literally fucked out, and you were nothing but a rag doll for them to play with.

the sensation of both of them filling you at the same time, fucking at different paces, and their cocks rubbing against each other inside you was too much for your already exhausted psyche to handle, so even when Haruta and Choso blocked in both sides, taking advantage of how low Geto was holding your arms, you couldn’t even look up. your cheek smushed against Mahito’s chest, your eyes glazed over.

“Look at her!” Haruta chimes, wrapping your fingers around his manhood and pumping quick, “She snapped so easily!”

Geto was stifling a moan by grinding his teeth, but you could feel him throbbing against your sensitive walls, each and every vein that ground into them had your head spinning. he liked it.

Choso was fucking your other hand, but his free one grabbed your face and pulled it towards him, and you’re too limp to fight it, eyelids fluttering as he glares down at your dazed countenance. you couldn’t focus on his face, your hazy eyes kept threatening to roll back, and a string of incoherent whimpering falls from your swollen lips. “It didn’t take long to turn this one into a mindless cocksleeve. It’s almost impressive.”

Mahito chortles, though it’s strained as he works his jaw, fucking so recklessly that his own climax must’ve been working him over. “All the potential has been there since, ah, the very beginning.” he boasted, before looking at you, “Little whore was always more than eager to spread her legs when I snapped my fingers. Isn’t that right?” if he expected a response, you couldn’t give him one that wasn’t a helpless moan as you’re juggled between the four, cruel men. “Now, she’ll do the same for all of you, too.”

Geto smirks at this, and releases one of your wrists to wrap his fist around your neck instead, marveling at the way you immediately beg him not to, and leans in close to your ear, “Hear that, rapetoy?” his breath is heavy and hot against the shell of your ear, but you don’t have the strength to shy away from him, nor could you with Choso’s thumb and forefinger hollowing your cheeks. “You’re nothing more than a set of holes for us to fuck when we want. One at a time or all at once, you’re going to do whatever we want you to and you’re going to thank us for the opportunity to serve us, so long as you want to keep breathing.” nuzzling into your hair, he presses a kiss to your lobe that you swore oozed acid, “Let’s see just how long it takes to destroy you completely.”

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pacifierbby · 6 months

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THE NANNY ~ part 1

- And I'm so impatient when you're not mine I just want to catch up on all the lost times And I'll say I'm sorry if I sound sordid 'Cause all I really ever want is you.

Summary ~ Mason was an amazing dad to his little girl, april. Whenever Mason went, his little girl came with even including to his game when his mum had her. However, when an opportunity pulled up for him to leave Chelsea and move to Manchester, he couldn't say no. However, 4 hours away from London, Mason had to get a nanny for his little girl.

A/N~ hello so this is my first series please give me feedback it will really help! Hope you all enjoy your day lovely's

Warning~ mother abandonment,Mason fluff,Mason dad fic

Pairing ~ masons mount x reader

Taglist ~ @writergiih

Locations ~ Manchester, Masons house

Mason did everything for his little girl he always made sure that she was first before himself. April's mother left when she was 1 month old. Apparently, she couldn't cope with being a mother at the age of 23 she just wanted to go to different clubs and party so when mason woken up on that morning to a note that been left on the fridge and his daughter in the cot he knew from that day that he would fight for his little princess.

Leaving his family behind when Mason moved from London to Manchester was the hardest thing he could ever do. his family was the only people he trusted to look after April it's not like they were around the corner anymore. They were 4 hours away.

His mum and dad couldn't always come up to Manchester when it was game time. And that's why Mason is sitting on his sofa the TV playing quietly in the background his daughter playing with her dolls on the floor, his laptop placed on his knees indeed pulled up making the dreaded Job offer a nanny.

mason never wanted this to happen from the day April was born he looked after her, but times are getting hard, and there's only so much his mother or dad could do. Once he finished posting the nanny advertisement on Indeed he closed the lid to his laptop put it beside him on the sofa and looked down at his baby girl who was playing with the bratz hair "Come on my love let's have a bath we have a long day ahead tomorrow." Letting April place her toys on the floor.

picking up the little girl placing her arms around his neck, and kissing him on the cheek Mason smiled walking up the stairs and into the bathroom placing April onto the toilet seat "Daddy's going to get your nightwear from your bedroom stay, here until I get back" April nodded quickly. mason turned around turning the taps onto the bath Letting the water get a bit hot before putting the plug in "All alright my love I won't be long" heading towards her room quickly grabbing her favorite fluffy pajamas from the draws and her nightie that were hung behind the door heading back to the bathroom. Helping April to get undressed and into the bath once he knew she was safe, he sat on the toilet seat watching her play with the bubbles that he put in beforehand and her bath toys. "Alright, my love, let's have a wash and wash your hair." Mason stood up, putting the soap on the sponge that he dipped in the water. and gave her the sponge. He grabbed the shower head off its bracket, turned it on, and started to wash her hair.

Assisting April out of the bath letting her play a little bit more once she finished having her wash placing her on the ground getting the towel from the radiator, and making sure she was dry before getting her in her pajamas "Come on my little love bug let's read a story before going to sleep" grabbing hold of April's hand and taking her Into her room.

Mason tucked his little girl in bed, putting her covers under her chin. " All right, my love, do you want me to read you a story?" Pushing her hair away from her face and kissing the top of her head "No Daddy, not tonight" Mason smiled kissing the top of her head once last time "Goodnight love bug" walking towards the door turning the lights off, and leaving the door ajar so she can see where she was going if she got up in the middle of the night. He went into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. getting undressed into his pajamas, pulling the quilt covers off the bed a bit, getting inside his own bed,letting sleep take over him, and wondering about what the next day will hold.

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allwaswell16 · 2 months

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A fic rec of One Direction fics that take place in the Victorian era as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please let the writers know through kudos and comments! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

~ Louis/Harry ~

🌿 A Taste of Desire by @casuallyhl

(E, 104k, omegaverse) Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

🌿 Victorian Boy by @audreyhheart

(E, 101k, murder mystery) Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much.

🌿 The Rose of Whitechapel by @itsmotivatingcara

(E, 100k, murder mystery) Jack the Ripper au - Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past.

🌿 And down the long and silent street by whimsicule

(M, 86k, hurt/comfort) Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

🌿 Coax the Cold by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 86k, mermaid) When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers.

🌿 Secrets in Winter by @softfonds

(E, 82k, omegaverse) If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

🌿 An Ever Fixed Mark (series) by My_words_fly_up

(E, 66k, sex work) Harry Styles lives quite scandalously in the slums of London and never expected to cross paths with a kind, well-bred gentleman like Louis Tomlinson. But once they meet neither will be the same again.

🌿 these still waters run deep by @levelofcharm

(E, 64k, aristocracy) Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

🌿 an everlasting eclipse by you_explode / @nobodymoves

(M, 63k, adaptation) Anne of Green Gables/Anne With An E AU. In 1891, orphan Harry is adopted by the Teasdales and goes to live on their small farm in Holmes Chapel. In his new life he finds supportive relationships, he finds himself, and eventually, he finds a home.

🌿 saw some things on the other side by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 61k, mystery) Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

🌿 Forever Never Comes by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow

(M, 25k, friends to lovers) Victorian au, where Harry Styles, the youngest son of the Duke of Sutherland, was always a little in love with his childhood friend Louis Tomlinson, the young Earl of Doncaster, though he would never have told him in a million years.

🌿 The Four Seasons After You by neptune rising / @thelesserneptune

(E, 14k, adaptation) Corpse Bride inspired story where, after months of grief and guilt eating away at Harry’s soul, he finds forgiveness and tentative happiness in an advantageous marriage; only, Louis hasn’t quite caught up yet and isn’t ready to let him go so easily, not till death do them part - if that.

🌿 Even Supposing - by @casuallyhl

(M, 14k, established relationship) a Dickensian London AU where Harry and Louis overcome illness, small budgets, and their own stubbornness to give each other an unforgettable first Christmas together.

🌿 You Light Up the Path by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 12k, mermaids) Harry, or so he likes to be called, is the myth and legend himself known as the Staithes Mermaid. No one has laid eyes on him, but everyone loves to tell tall tales.

🌿 lead me out on the moonlit floor by @scrunchyharry

(E, 12k, Christmas) Victorian!AU where Louis is a wealthy lord throwing a masquerade ball for his birthday and Harry is a toymaker who's only confident when he's wearing a mask.

🌿 We Never Said Our Love Was Evergreen by Pumpkinspice_Lou

(E, 9k, kidnapping) A Victorian Masquerade Ball AU where Harry is basically the Phantom of the Opera

🌿 You're Already Home by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 5k, historical fantasy) It's Christmas Eve and Harry's life is normal. Then he finds someone's barred the door to his favourite hiding spot -- the old groundskeeper's cottage -- and suddenly Harry's life isn't normal anymore.

🌿 Unto You by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 3k, winter) Louis is a lamplighter celebrating the saturnalia season in his own way. Harry is heavily pregnant and new in the city. The holiday of Christmas is yet to be created.

🌿 a rose by any other name by delsicle / @eeveedel

(G, 3k, omegaverse) Harry is a sheltered omega who is the pinnacle of good breeding, but the flowers in his family’s garden – and the alpha gardener who keeps them – prove to be his greatest weakness.

🌿 Rapture by @allwaswell16

(E, 3k, vampires) It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night.

🌿 Too Great a Temptation by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 2k, girl direction) Harry and Louis attend a fancy dress ball.

~ Rare Pairs ~

🌿 for years or for hours by narryblossom

(G, 8k, Niall/Harry) a Corpse Bride AU in which Harry wants to marry for love, and does, after The End.

#ficrec #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #hlcreators #hljournal #hltracks #trackinghome #1dsource #yourlarrysource #tracksintheam #hlsource

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jamesdeniscouldnever · 8 months

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Yay! I'm absolutely enthralled by this series, so the inspiration just keeps flowing. Same as the rolan fic Zevlor's hurt/comfort won. I love him. These two made me realize I love teiflings. Gonna scream. This takes place if you failed to save him in act two but its a little AU in the sense that you save him before Orin can...ya know.

The Guardian's Guardian

Summary: Caught in Orin's sordid little web, Zevlor finds himself on the receiving end of some less than pleasant treatment. Hes sure he deserves it for being an oathbreaker and abandoning his fellow tieflings. So why, amongst the pain and torture he endures , does he find his mind seeking comfort that he doesn't deserve in the memory of a friend?

Zevlor couldn't begin to find the words to explain his terror. He was certain he'd simply be turned into an absolute cultist after Ketharic had taken him, nothing special and no one of note. But no. Instead, when Thorm had been killed and the injured Tav had been making their way out of the belly of the beast, they had missed him. At least, he liked to think they missed him. Surely they wouldn't have left him there if they'd known...would they?

He'd been at peace with the idea of dying there, but all that had shattered when a terrifying woman with pale skin that swirled in strange patterns had appeared. She'd smiled so cruelty when she saw him. She had said only one word.

"Perfect." And that was all it took. She'd opened the pod, grabbed him, and in a swirl of ash, they were someplace else. Someplace dark and damp and reeking of blood.

That was almost a week ago. How he'd survived so long he wasn't sure, he'd been on the receiving end of numerous beatings, tortures, and even a flaying since then. He winces to himself as the memory of his own raw nearly-skinned flesh on his left leg causes it to flare in pain once more. Certainly, some God must be keeping him alive for their amusment. Or for his own punishment.

If he'd just fought the absolute harder, he wouldn't be in this mess. His people would be safe. Tav may have had more help in slaying Ketharic.

Tav.

He closes his eyes, feeling the cold stone of the cell floor against his back, and allows himself to think of them. He doesn't deserve the comfort their memory brings. He doesn't deserve to fantasize about them bursting through the door and rescuing him. He doesn't deserve to be worried about them. Certainly they were okay. Far far away from this cultish temple to a filthy God. Far away from him.

That thought brings him more comfort than he was expecting. The idea that they were somewhere safe beyond Orin's reach makes him exhale a breath of quiet relief. A relief he had no right to feel. They weren't his.

He'd been in love with them, no doubt, since the Grove. Their kindness, their leadership, the diffusion of tension among the refugees, and their willingness to help. Help teiflings, no less. A notable trait since the fall of Elturel.

If anyone had been around, he'd have scolded himself for the small smile he allows to creep onto his lips as he thinks of them, their smile, their eyes. It's enough to make him ignore the pain the action brings by reopening the scab on his split lip.

He feels his eyes growing heavy, the tension of pain outweighed by his outright exhaustion. He's almost able to slip into a much needed sleep. Almost.

But the comfort is cut short by the sounds of shouting somewhere above him. It must be loud to traverse the stone of his prison. Perhaps someone had displeased Orin. Perhaps she was making another sacrifice to her awful parentage. Maybe Zevlor would be next.

He doesn't open his eyes. Let them come take him. Let his suffering be over. Let his punishment finally be complete.

But even as the screams and yells die down, they do not come. Even as the whole of the caverns fall silent, they do not come. No, what comes is a frantic voice and the sound of several pairs of boots scraping against the dirt and stones. He is certain now - he has, in fact, died. Died and, through some measure of mercy from the same gods who ignored him, been allowed to see them again.

"Zevlor, please! Where are you? Please, Gods, tell me we weren't too late!" The panic in their voice is enough to rouse him. There shouldn't be such pain after death, such a heartbreaking cry. Unless this is his personal Hell. No, this is not real. He won't play their games anymore. He doesn't respond.

"Zevlor! Gods dammit all! Please! Please answer me!" Tav's voice cries again, closer now. The sounds of clanging doors and cells being ripped open follows them. He sighs in content. Even with such pain laden in it, their voice is like a symphony to him now. A soothing balm to caress his soul. He only wishes it was singing one of the lullabies they'd taught the children or telling one of their stories. But this would do.

The world begins to fade around him, finally letting him go. From deep within his swimming hearing, he hears a cell being yanked open. A desperate cry that sounds as if someone is in pain. A word repeated over and over. He strains as much as he cans to listen-

"-vlor! Zevlor. Please, Zev, please!" A desperate cry. He feels hands on his chest, his neck, then moving to his face. He flinches despite himself, and he hears what sounds like a sob. He tries to open his eyes. Tries to tell the visage of his beloved Tav not to cry, that it will all be over soon, but he can't control his tongue nor his eyes. It's as if they're both turned to rock inside his skull.

The last thing he hears before darkness pulls him down is a fractured sentence.

"Karlah- arry him plea- ave to get out of here!"

After that is dark. He's not sure for how long. He's not sure if he was conscious during it all or not. All he's aware of now is warmth that the cells of the cult of Bhaal had been devoid of.

A crackling sound. A fire. He tries to move his hands, move any part of himself. He's able to feel the twitch of his tail and something soft pressing against his fingertips. A bedroll?

No. A bed. A real bed. The soft dip of mattress under him tells him this. Where in the 9 hells is he?

He struggles his eyes open, the light that meets them a little garish compared to the dark of his previous surroundings. However, they adjust after a moment, and he blinks several times. He's in a room, lavishly decorated, warm, large. He turns his hand and sees several beds, all just as large and soft as his own lining the walls. Curtains hang from the doorway, having been pulled down, presumably for his privacy. He hears voices speaking soft beyong them.

He tries to speak but finds his throat hoarse and painful. He tries to sit up instead but groans out loud in pain as he moves his left leg. Right. Basically skinned alive. But looking down, he notices it's been bandaged, the scent of yarrow and other medicinal herbs wafting from around him.

His yelp seems to have been heard as footsteps rapidly approach the curtains, and a pair of hands yank them apart, a face appearing between them. Tav.

Their eyes are wide, set in both fear and relief, their bottom lip quivers slightly before they swallow and quickly close the space between the curtains and his bed. They don't hesitate to drop to their knees beside him, taking one of his clawed hands in theirs.

"Zev! Oh gods, have mercy, you're awake! You're awake. You're safe. I'm here." Their voice seems to flit through the stages of grief, then relief, then gentle happiness. He doesn't reply, just stares at them with wide eyes of his own.

They simply hold his hand tight and keep repeating the same words to him. As if they're an incantation that will heal his battered body. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm here."

His eyes flit to the curtains, and he sees faces peaking through. Tav's companions. They watch with varying degrees of pity, joy, amusement, or disgust. His looks back to Tav and tries to speak, but only a croak replies. Tav's eyes widen, and they're reaching for the pitcher of water beside the bed before he can even grasp at their hand as it leaves his. They pour a glass and hold it to his lips for him, their other hand cradling the back of his neck as they urge him to drink. He does, and before he even realizes it, he's drained the glass. They pour him another, but he only sips at this one before he finally speaks.

"It's you. You came for me...why? Why would you do that? Why would you put yourself and your friends in danger for me? You could've been hurt! You could have been killed!" Its not until Tav places their hands on his cheeks and hums soothingly that he realizes his voice had been growing in volume. One hand remains on his cheek, and the other moves to stroke through his hair, passing across the bases of his horns. He can't keep himself from sighing and curling in on himself at their touch. Tears blur his vision, and he let's them fall. He's so relieved. Not for himself but for them.

"Zevlor, of course I came for you. I would never have left anyone to Orin's torture, but least of all you. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you." They hushed. His tears continued, and wrecked sobs finally burst forth from his throat.

"But why!? I don't deserve your kindness, your sacrifice, and care! I-I gave in to the absolute! I left my people to die! I broke my oaths, I left innocent children helpess, and now I put you all in danger. I'm a murderer." Zevlor wails. He deserved to die there. He shouldn't be here, he should be a body laying in the pits of Avernus left to-

"Zevlor!" Their voice cuts through again. They're gently pulling his hands away from his arms, where scratches and traces blood are now forming. He'd been hurting himself and hadn't even realized it. "Stop. Zev, your people are safe. I got them out of moonrise, and I returned them to their families. There were a few losses but...I did what I could. Arabella's parents... but that doesn't matter. It isn't your fault. The absolutes hold on people is almost unbreakable, but you did it. You broke it. You aren't a murderer. You're a victim. Please don't hurt yourself over this, I can't bear to see it. I love you too much for it."

Their words are so earnest and spoken with such certainty that he almost misses the end part. His gaze whips up to meet theirs, and he almost cries anew at the look in their eyes. He buries his face in their chest and breakdown down once more. They hold him close and gently rock back and forth with the. They rub his back and stroke his hair and whisper words of encouragement and kindness to him. He takes a deep breath and pulls back from them. He pulls his head back and whimpers.

"I love you. I've loved you since that day in the Grove that you saved Arabella from Kagha. Since you showed Geux how to defend himself or kept Lia and her brothers together. I must have annoyed the others with how much I talked about you after we left there. But I couldn't help myself. You're perfect. You're goodness incarnate. I love you. I need you." His voice sounds foreign to himself. Desperate and teary and full of fear. But that's just the effect Tav has on him. He can be weak in front of them. He can be vulnerable.

Lips press against his before he can even look up again. He let's his eyes slip shut, and he sighs into it, allowing himself to melt into the safety of them. There's no heat behind it. No heavy breaths or searching hands. Just chaste, gentle and caring love. Safety.

They pull away before he's ready but place another kiss against his forehead. They sit on the bed beside him and pull his head against their chest. They whisper sweet nothings to him, promises of care and safety.

"I'm here, you're safe. All is well, everything is going to be okay. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe." They hum into his hair.

He feels something stir within himself, and he makes a decision then and there. He may have broken his oaths, but he's making a new one to himself. Tav, the guardian of the world, the bringer of peace and safety. He's going to protect them with his life. He'll be there for any fight, any pain, any troubles. For the rest of their lives. He will be there. A gaurdian's gaurdian. And this oath, he will not break. No matter what.

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 zevlor #bg3 spoilers #zevlor #tav x zevlor #zevlor x tav #zevlor/tav #tav/zevlor

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theharrowing · 1 year

Text

This Sordid Place 📲 1: We do not sl*t-shame in this house!

Namjoon breaks down and installs Grindr after his friends complain he is “terminally single,” despite never really being into hook ups. Jungkook is an old pro at the hookup app.

Their connection is instant.

📲 Namjoon x Jungkook

📲 word count: 10.4k

📲 strangers to lovers, dating app au, smut, fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+

📲 warnings: use of the word “slut” but not derogatorily; pining; flirting; general anxiety; Jungkook is a confident gay; Namjoon is trying his best; almost juggling two men on grindr (Joonie has options okay); side YoonJin with an appearance of Taehyung.

📲 written for the BTS Found Fest!

📲 thanks to @neoneunnajimin for beta reading!

📲 posted dec. 2022 | read on ao3

INDEX | NEXT

Namjoon stares at his phone, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He has made a Grindr account at the behest of his best friends Yoongi and Seokjin, who complain that he is "terminally single." And now he scrolls through the sea of images, deciding who he deems attractive, nervous that someone may deem him attractive enough to strike up conversation.

Warm breath wafts over Namjoon's cheek and he jumps as he realizes how close Seokjin is sitting, his pointed features and dark brown hair coming into focus in his periphery as the man stares at the wall of profile pictures on Namjoon's phone.

"This is just for fucking," Namjoon mutters sheepishly.

Seokjin chuckles. "Yes, but perhaps you will enjoy fucking someone so much, you'll decide to date them."

"But what if they're...promiscuous," Namjoon says. "How do you...I don't know...stay safe?"

A firm slap across the back of Namjoon's head makes him jump, and he spins quickly to find Yoongi standing behind the sofa with his arms crossed over his chest, and his long, wavy dark brown hair nearly obstructing the glare of his cat-like eyes. "We do not slut-shame in this house, Namjoonah!"

Namjoon clears his throat and feels embarrassed. "No, I know—that's not—fuck, I'm just nervous. I don't usually meet others with the intention of hooking up, and I wasn't thinking."

"You can always ask to see a record of their last test," Seokjin says softly. "And you should get tested, yourself."

"Wear a dong bag if you're worried," Yoongi adds, and Namjoon chuckles.

"Yeah. You're right. Sorry for slut-shaming, hyungs. I didn't mean to."

The hand that slapped Namjoon on the head pats his hair like one would pat a golden retriever for a job well done. Yoongi's voice is lower and more calming than before. "You're a good boy, Joonie."

"You can search for profiles that have 'condomsonly' tagged, too," Seokjin adds.

Namjoon nods and hums. He supposes that is true.

Namjoon's phone buzzes, and he finds a notification in his inbox. With a fortifying exhale, he thumbs over the inbox icon, only to find that someone named Jacks420 has sent a rather impressive but completely unsolicited dick pic. Namjoon quickly fumbles to shut off his screen, then tosses his phone to the table with a loud clatter and slams his eyes shut.

"This cannot—guys, I'm—I hate this. I hate this a lot."

Namjoon's friends chuckle—because, of course, they do—and he peels one eye open to gaze around and glare at them before slamming it back shut. "Glad this is so amusing to you two."

"Oh please," Seokjin says through soft laughter, "as if you've never seen a cock before."

"Yes, but I consented to seeing it!" Namjoon whines. "I didn't—he just—what the fuck!"

"Apps like this are no man's land," Yoongi quips. "No gods, no masters."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. "Great."

While setting up his account, Namjoon settled for a nice smile-to-chest shot, not giving too much of his identity away while still showing off the two assets people tend to mention most: his dimples and his "namtiddies," as his friends so lovingly say.

Notifications pour in, and Namjoon becomes substantially more anxious as his phone vibrates across his worn, brown table. With a sigh, Seokjin picks up Namjoon's phone and shoves it into his hand, and Namjoon reluctantly unlocks his screen, opening his inbox.

Every message is some variation of "Hi," or "Hey," or an image attachment that Namjoon decidedly does not open. He sighs and drops his arm down onto the sofa.

"This is pointless. I can't strike up a conversation from 'Hey.' What do they want from me?"

"You could take the initiative to find someone who seems interesting and do the conversation striking," Yoongi suggests.

As right as Yoongi is, Namjoon hates the thought of it, but he nods and lifts his phone once more, scrolling over the images. Supposedly everyone who appears at the top of the list is nearby, which Namjoon finds equal parts promising and horrifying.

"This one looks cute," Seokjin says as he leans into Namjoon's personal space and points to one of the many squares on the screen. Namjoon taps the image and opens the profile, only to immediately agree with Seokjin's assessment.

User JayKay97 is, in fact, very cute, showing off a smile that is both soft and sharp, and a neck and clavicle that appears to slope down into a toned chest and biceps. Not that Namjoon can really tell what this person looks like, but the hints are nice, and he finds himself wanting to see more.

On his profile, JayKay97 also has a mirror selfie that appears to be taken at a gym with a mask over his mouth. Although it is hard to see the top half of his face—which is conveniently hidden behind wavy, dark brown hair that hangs over his eyes—he can see the rest of JayKay97's arms and torso, flexing for the camera and showing off some very impressive muscles, and one arm covered in dark tattoos.

"Ooh, he works out," Yoongi grumbles over Namjoon's shoulder.

"You two could be gym buddies," Seokjin adds.

"Okay," Namjoon sighs, turning off his phone screen, tired of the two of them peeping in his ears. "Enough. You two have done quite enough, and I have some work to get done."

"Alright, alright," Seokjin responds with his hands raised, as if in surrender. "We get the hint; we'll fuck off. But if anything comes of this, you had better tell us."

"You know hyung loves to gloat," Yoongi mutters, mussing up Namjoon's hair with his hand. "And he will be taking credit for this if all goes well."

Namjoon leans forward to escape Yoongi's playfulness and stands from his brown leather couch, which creaks and groans beneath him. He meets them by the door and hugs them goodbye with a half-hearted wave to show them just how unenthusiastic he is about the entire ordeal.

Then, as soon as his front door is shut, Namjoon quickly unlocks his phone and rounds his couch, plopping himself down with a huff as he opens the app and stares at JayKay97's profile. Something about this guy really appeals to Namjoon, and he can't stop thinking about him—imagining what he should say to strike up a conversation. The gym JayKay97 goes to looks like the same gym Namjoon goes to, but he feels weird opening with that. So instead, he overthinks it until, eventually, he says nothing.

It is around 11 PM when Namjoon finally makes his way to bed. Since bidding his friends farewell and getting started on the work that he should have done hours earlier, he had gotten a lot of vapid messages and decided to disable notifications.

Now, with a deep sigh, Namjoon opens Grindr and navigates to his inbox. He nearly misses it in the sea of nonsense, and when he does see it, he gasps and does a double-take. A message from JayKay97 awaits him, and it was sent two hours earlier. Better still, it opens with more than just a single word, and there doesn't seem to be any photos attached.

JayKay97 Well, hello, BonsaiDaddy94. I love the username. I don't see a "daddykink" tag on your profile, though, so am I correct to assume that it is just a clever way to say you have a lot of plants?

Namjoon chuckles to himself and nibbles on the inside of his lip, turning onto his side as he stares at the screen. He wants to respond, but feels anxiety swirl around, making him dizzy and a bit nauseated.

On one hand, if they have nothing in common, he can just move on—no harm done. But on the other, he would feel pretty bummed if he shot his shot with someone as cute as JayKay97 seems to be, only to fuck it up. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes on the exhale, attempting to find some inner peace.

BonsaiDaddy94 Hey, JayKay97! I do happen to have a lot of plants. And I was just being clever. I suppose it's never too late to discover a new kink, though.

Immediately after hitting send, Namjoon feels embarrassed and mutters, "What am I doing," under his breath. He wonders if JayKay97 will read the message and think he is an idiot. He almost searches naver to find out whether or not one can delete a message that has been sent over Grindr, but then three little dots pop up, and Namjoon feels his heart pound in his chest with anticipation. As soon as a new message appears, Namjoon gasps and holds in his breath.

JayKay97 Wow, you're cute, aren't you? Do you work out, daddy? Do you mind if I call you daddy?

The breath that Namjoon had held in comes out as a scoff, and he reads the message three times, swallowing a lump in his throat as he decides what to say next. He hovers his thumbs over the keyboard, but the three dots pop back up.

JayKay97 By the way, I found you in fresh faces. Is this your first time on the app?

BonsaiDaddy94 This is my first time on the app. And you may call me daddy, though...I'm not sure what I would call you. Maybe I should have searched naver for daddy kink terms before responding.

BonsaiDaddy94 And yes, I do work out.

Namjoon tosses his phone to his bed and sinks low on his pillow, pulling the soft, dark comforter up to his chin. Everything about this feels ridiculous, and yet, he already likes talking to JayKay97. The guy seems charming and charismatic, and Namjoon likes that he leads the conversation.

Feeling antsy about having his notifications turned off, Namjoon reaches around for his phone, hitting his open palm against the mattress several times before finding the device and pulling it to his face. He opens the app to see two more messages from JayKay97, and he smiles hard.

JayKay97 Ooh, an app virgin. To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here for hookups, or are you one of the many fools who come to this sordid place looking for a relationship?

JayKay97 Also, I suppose if you're daddy, I'm baby boy. Baby is fine, too.

One of the many fools who come to this sordid place looking for a relationship. Namjoon hates how the phrasing makes his heart sink—hates how he already feels a connection despite knowing absolutely nothing about this guy. Sure, his profile states weight, height, and body type, but someone could put anything into those fields; there is no guarantee of authenticity.

Namjoon nearly gives up and goes to bed, abandoning the conversation entirely. But then he decides to give honesty a chance. Worst case scenario, he remains as lonely as he already is.

BonsaiDaddy94 I'm not really sure why I am on here, tbh. My friends complain about how "terminally single" I am, (their words,) so three beers and a lot of peer pressure later, here I am. I guess part of me is foolish enough to want a relationship; I've never really done hookups. But I'm open to possibility.

BonsaiDaddy94 What about you, baby boy? What brings you here?

Namjoon types and deletes baby boy several times before deciding to keep it. If, in fact, there is a chance that JayKay97 will want to get to know him after this pathetic revelation, he figures being flirtatious will work in his favor. And as the three little dots pop back up, his anxiety swirls, once again.

JayKay97 I'm here to find a cutie to fuck. Plain and simple. But I guess I am not opposed to the idea of a relationship. Nobody on here really tries to get to know you like that, in my experience. In fact, this is probably the most I have talked to someone without them asking if I am willing to host.

At this, Namjoon feels a wave of disappointment. Of course, there is no reason to; he came to a hookup app and is now being told that the users are just here to look for hookups. So why does he feel let down?

BonsaiDaddy94 Ah. I guess that makes sense. Well, I won't waste your time if you're just looking for a quick fuck. Not that I'm not interested in you; I just like to get to know people a little better before getting to know them like that.

With a sigh, Namjoon drops his arm to the bed and stares at his ceiling. Since he has already jumped over the hurdle of downloading an app for meeting others, he reasons he will have no qualms with also downloading a proper dating app.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. He has already been through enough tonight.

Namjoon doesn't remember falling asleep, and he wakes up with his phone buzzing on his bed, pulling him from a somewhat restless slumber as the light that filters into his room causes him to squint. He has no obligations until the afternoon, but he likes to wake up every morning around 8 AM just to have a full day and not fall into a sad slump. Especially with winter arriving and the days becoming shorter, Namjoon needs to do everything he can to avoid seasonal depression.

Once he is all stretched and yawned out, Namjoon rolls out of bed, sits on the edge of the mattress, and grabs his phone. When he unlocks his screen, Grindr is open, and there are two more messages from JayKay97, sent twenty minutes apart.

JayKay97 Now, now, not so fast. I like your vibe, and if the rest of you is as attractive as your smile and chest, then getting to know you is not wasting my time. But just so we're clear: I will absolutely be trying to get into your pants.

JayKay97 I either scared you off or bored you to sleep. Either way, I hope you have a lovely night, daddy!

Namjoon sets his phone down and gets up to get dressed for the day, throwing on some ripped blue jeans and a burgundy polo. He makes his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and run a comb through his dark brown hair, tugging at strands as he marvels at how it has grown into a bit of a shaggy mullet. Then, he loads up his coffee machine, presses the start button, and returns to his room to retrieve his phone.

For a split moment, Namjoon wonders if it is uncustomary to message someone on Grindr before 9 AM, then decides to take the chance. He has already come this far, and he would hate for JayKay97 to think he was bored to sleep or scared off.

BonsaiDaddy94 Sorry for disappearing, baby boy. You neither scared me off nor bored me to sleep. I suppose I scared myself off? I thought my last message would solidify just how uncool I am to a seasoned Grindr vet such as yourself.

Moments pass as Namjoon stares at the wall ahead, wondering if he is making a mistake. There is more he wants to say to JayKay97—a flirtatious tone that he would like to return. As the coffee machine in the kitchen makes a gurgling sound indicating that it has finished brewing, Namjoon sighs and sends off one more message—

BonsaiDaddy94 Perhaps your disclaimer should scare me away since I am very much still nervous to dip my toe into these waters, but I find myself intrigued by you. And, I would be lying if I said I didn't find your mouth and chest very attractive.

—before abandoning his phone for a fresh cup of coffee and the morning news.

Namjoon knits his brow and cocks his head at Yoongi, whose brow is knit and whose head is cocked. Judging from his expression, there seems to be something that Yoongi finds suspicious, which Namjoon finds obnoxious, and they stare at one another before Namjoon shrugs, and Yoongi shakes his head.

"I don't know, man, you seem...happy." There's an air of disgust in Yoongi's voice that makes Namjoon laugh.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, hyung. I'll reel it in."

"You already met someone, haven't you?" Yoongi says with wide eyes as if he has just unlocked one of the universe's greatest secrets. "Oh my god, the slut-shamer becomes the slut!"

Namjoon clears his throat and glances around, happy to see that there is nobody within earshot of their park bench. It is still late morning, when children are in school, which is why they have chosen this time for their daily walk to get fresh air and pretend that they are well-adjusted adult men whose mental well-beings aren't being crushed more and more with each new leaf that falls, yellow, from the trees, welcoming the crushing cold of winter's approach.

"I have begun to talk to someone," Namjoon admits, voice low as if he is committing a crime. "But we have only chatted some. We haven't even exchanged pics."

"Exchanged pics?" Yoongi parrots, drawing out each word as if they are spoken in some foreign tongue he cannot fathom. He waves his hand in circles, giving up on this matter, and says, "And? Go on."

Namjoon shrugs. "That's all. I haven't checked my messages in a few hours, so I'm not sure where the conversation might be heading. But I admitted to wanting to get to know someone a little before hooking up, and he stated rather brazenly that he is fine with that, but plans to get into my pants. So...things are looking up, I guess."

The grin that tugs on Yoongi's lips sends a chill down Namjoon's spine, forcing him to adjust in his seat; nothing good can come from Yoongi grinning. He pulls out his phone and begins to type, biting his lip, then returns his gaze to Namjoon and says, "Jinnie-hyung is going to be over the fucking moon. Is it the one guy with the gym photo? I'm willing to bet five thousand won it is."

Namjoon clears his throat and smiles sheepishly, regretting his choice to bring it up in the first place. Meanwhile, Yoongi wiggles in his seat as he types away on his phone, presumably to Seokjin. Namjoon is never going to hear the end of this.

JayKay97 A seasoned Grindr vet? What gave it away?

JayKay97 Should we exchange photos? Would that make you too uncomfortable? I figure that, if we are going to take things a little slower and get to know each other a bit better, we should at least find out what the other is working with in case one of us is shallow enough to change our mind.

BonsaiDaddy94 There were a few tells that suggested to me that you're a vet. You have a confidence that I feel comes from practiced usage of a hookup app. And you sent more than one word as a greeting, suggesting you are used to—and likely sick of—the boring one-message greetings. Also, something you said seemed like it was probably app lingo…I believe you said "host."

JayKay97 I'm impressed. You are correct; I am a veteran on this app. I have used it to hook up with several men over the past few months—practicing safe sex each time. Does that bother you?

Namjoon remembers his conversation with Yoongi and Seokjin and chuckles to himself. In this house, we do not slut-shame.

BonsaiDaddy94 It does not bother me.

JayKay97 Wonderful. Shall we exchange photos?

With nervous thumbs, Namjoon opens Instagram and searches his grid for a photo to send to JayKay97. He wants to find one where he looks attractive without being too revealing or flattering—an example of a more casual look that, should they actually date, he would most likely be seen sporting.

BonsaiDaddy94 [Photo attachment of Namjoon wearing a black beanie with his dark hair sticking out from the back, curling slightly on the ends. He has on a light blue button-up baseball jersey, tan khaki pants, and black and white Nike sneakers. His hands are at his chest, palms open and waving, his dark brown eyes are wide and happy, and his mouth is closed but upturned into a smile, which shows his dimples slightly. Next to him is artist Takashi Murakami, and behind him is one of Murakami's art installations.]

As Namjoon gets seated at his desk and logs in to check his email for the evening, his phone lights up. He has since enabled Grindr notifications in the hopes that the thrill of knowing when JayKay97 responds will offset the annoyance of getting messages from others. Luckily, since the first night, the messages have begun to slow substantially. When Namjoon glances at his notification, he is pleased to see it is, in fact, from the man he wishes to hear from.

JayKay97 Um. Daddy. Wow. You are handsome as fuck. I am definitely going to continue to shoot my shot.

BonsaiDaddy94 Flattered ;)

Despite his very outdated and not-at-all cool emoticon-laden response, Namjoon's heart pounds heavily in his chest. Sure, he had been flirted with before, but the photo he sent is one that he hardly considers flattering, and to receive such a thirsty response is quite exhilarating.

The three dots pop up, but rather than receiving text, Namjoon watches as a photo pops up on the screen. His breath hitches, his palms immediately begin to sweat, and Namjoon mutters, "Holy shit," as he lifts his phone to get a better look.

JayKay97 [Photo attachment of JayKay97 that is clearly a selfie taken at a slightly high angle, pointing downward at his face and chest. His dark brown hair is coiffed off his forehead with the exception of a swoop of bangs that hangs over an eyebrow, and the back of his hair peeks out just below his ear—which is adorned with several silver studs. His eyes are wide, dark brown, and gazing slightly off to the side, suggesting that he is looking at his reflection rather than into the camera, and his expression is blank—lips closed with a silver ring through the bottom one, on the side. He wears a long silver chain over a long-sleeve black shirt, and his body is at a slight angle away from the phone.]

JayKay97 I got too impatient to find a photo and shot this selca now. I can send a full-body pic, though, if you prefer.

Namjoon blinks a few times in an attempt to get his brain to boot back up, as he stares at the photo a little longer. JayKay97 is pretty. The kind of pretty that Namjoon finds intimidating. The kind of pretty that he is certain he might do anything for.

BonsaiDaddy94 I'm sorry, my brain has logged off, and I am currently incapable of coherent thought.

JayKay97 Hmm, that message was pretty coherent, but...whatever you say, daddy.

BonsaiDaddy94 You are...dangerously pretty.

Immediately, Namjoon closes his eyes and curses himself for writing that. He scolds himself with a shake of his head and wonders how hard it would be to pack up and move far away from this city to prevent ever having to run into the dangerously pretty man to whom he continues to send embarrassing words.

But then, Namjoon's phone buzzes, and he opens his eyes quickly, eager to read the man's response.

JayKay97 Is that so?

BonsaiDaddy94 I'm embarrassed. Let's pretend I never sent those words.

JayKay97 Not so fast, daddy. I called you handsome as fuck, remember? Elaborate on what's so dangerous.

BonsaiDaddy94 I blurted it out without thinking. Just pretend it never happened.

JayKay97 Your thumbs blurted it out and then pressed send without your eyes noticing? Interesting.

Namjoon sighs and sits back in his leather desk chair with a huff, making it sway slightly from the movement. He enjoys the playful banter with JayKay97 a lot, but he knows he should focus on work instead of chatting so much. He decides to swallow his nervousness and be daring.

BonsaiDaddy94 Don't play coy, baby boy. You must know exactly what I am talking about.

BonsaiDaddy94 But perhaps you would like to discuss it over drinks, instead? Sometime this weekend? My name is Namjoon, by the way.

With the way Namjoon's heart pounds, he could have completed running in a marathon, having just crossed the finish line moments ago. He sets his phone down, but it buzzes immediately, and Namjoon picks it up and smiles at his notification, feeling a swell of excitement burst and bloom in his chest.

JayKay97 Nice to meet you, Namjoon (though, I still like daddy.) I'm Jeongguk (but you can call me baby boy.) Drinks this weekend sound perfect. [Phone number attached.]

“You what?” Yoongi shouts over his pint of beer.

Namjoon ducks his head down, feeling warmth rise up his neck and cheeks. Despite being in a loud pub, he feels anxious about being overheard.

“We haven’t actually made a plan, it’s just tentative. I haven’t sent him a text since he's given me his number, yet. I was going to after work but then you two dragged me out.”

“Text him now!” Seokjin eagerly supplies.

Rather than respond in protest, Namjoon opens his mouth and groans out a long, shaky vowel. He supposed he could text Jeongguk now—nothing is stopping him. And it’s not as if the others will allow him to change the topic until he does.

“Have the two of you exchanged pics yet?” Yoongi asks, using his fingers to indicate quotation marks around the emphasized words.

Namjoon nods and hums, causing both men to jump from their barstools. As if to protect his precious sanity—or what is left of it—Namjoon hugs his phone close to his chest and shakes his head. He has not saved Jeongguk’s photo because it feels like a weird thing to do, and he absolutely does not want the two of them to have access to their chat.

“Is he hot?” Yoongi grumbles with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

All Namjoon can do is scoff and nod, muttering, “Very.”

“Yoongi told me it’s the guy with the gym pic,” Seokjin says, leaning forward with his chin on his hands, elbows on the table.

“I never confirmed—“ Namjoon begins, but Yoongi waves him off.

“Didn’t have to; I saw the look.”

Curse Yoongi and his powers of observation. He has always been able to read Namjoon like a book.

“Text him,” Seokjin urges over his nearly empty beer glass. “Don’t let us stop you.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow and drinks from his just-as-empty glass. With a sigh, Namjoon unlocks his phone, opens Grindr, and copies the number Jeongguk sent over. A glance at his friends shows they’re intently watching him, making him chuckle as he opens his text messaging app and pastes the number into a blank message.

“What are you gonna say to him?” Seokjin asks, leaning over the table.

Namjoon takes a step backward and shakes his head, guarding his precious phone with his life. Then, he takes a deep breath and begins to type.

Namjoon Hey, Jeongguk! It’s Namjoon. Sorry for not messaging sooner. I hope your day has been going well.

“There,” Namjoon says as he sets his phone down with both hands shielding it from his friends. “I sent a message. Can we drop it, now?”

Yoongi shrugs and chugs back the last of his pint, but Seokjin seems unconvinced.

“I want to see the photos you exchanged.”

With a sigh, Namjoon concedes, unlocking his screen and opening Grindr. “I sent the shot of me with Murakami,” he says as he thumbs to their messages and finds the selfie Jeongguk sent. It gives him pause—makes the air in the room shift. He can’t help but stare.

“You sent him a frumpy pic?” Yoongi snickers. “Bold move.”

“I didn’t want to send something too hot,” Namjoon mutters defensively. “What if he thinks that’s all I have to offer? Being hot is something I only have the energy for a few times a month, at best. And anyway, he called me handsome.”

"That's because you are handsome," Seokjin interjects, always ready to come to the defense of any of his friends who have the audacity to downplay their wealth. "Yoongi may call you frumpy, but we all know that for you, frumpy is still an 8.5 out of 10."

Namjoon continues to stare at Jeongguk’s photo while they talk. He wonders what his voice sounds like, how tall he is—wonders what kinds of food he likes to eat and what kinds of things he does for fun. He supposes he could ask, but it feels like so much pressure.

Seokjin clears his throat, making Namjoon jump, then Namjoon tilts his phone toward Seokjin, holding tightly as he attempts to grab it. Seokjin huffs and leans in, crowding Namjoon’s space, and Yoongi rounds the table and appears between them, craning his neck to get a look.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin responds with an emphatic, “Mmhmm!”

“Yes?” Namjoon asks, amused by their reactions.

“He’s very pretty.”

“Super pretty.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says quietly, smiling to himself.

“He has his lip pierced,” Seokjin muses, to which Yoongi grumbles something Namjoon doesn’t catch. He is too busy thinking back to their chat and how flirty it became toward the end. He hopes the several hours of radio silence hasn’t scared Jeongguk away.

As if on cue, Namjoon’s phone vibrates, and before he can retract it and check the notification, Seokjin grabs onto his wrist and stares at the phone with wide eyes.

“Handsome daddy?” Seokjin huffs, amused.

“Wait,” Yoongi mutters, getting onto his toes to get a closer look, “did someone just call our Namjoonah daddy?”

Namjoon clears his throat and tugs his phone away. His ears must be beet red, and he looks off to the side—anywhere but at his friends.

“It’s an inside joke.”

“An inside joke?” Yoongi chides.

“My username is bonsaidaddy94, and he thought it would be cute to—“

“Oh, it’s extremely cute,” Yoongi interrupts, “but what do you call him?”

Having had enough of the conversation, Namjoon turns to the side and opens his messages. Sure enough, there’s a response from Jeongguk.

Jeongguk There’s my handsome daddy. I was worried you had forgotten about me. ):

Handsome daddy. Namjoon knows it is foolish to let the silly nickname affect him, but it does—it affects him quite a bit. What will become of him should Jeongguk choose to use the nickname in person? Will Namjoon live to tell the tale?

Seokjin clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. “We need shots and another pint. You,” he directs at Namjoon, “hold the fort down and continue your conversation. I need details once we return. All of them.”

Once Seokjin and Yoongi walk off, Namjoon leans on his elbow against the sticky bar table and nervously thumbs a response.

Namjoon How could I forget someone as pretty as you, baby boy? Unfortunately, I was just working. And then my friends drug me out to a pub, where I have been asked a million questions about you.

Jeongguk You're still at the pub now?

Namjoon I am...

Jeongguk Interesting.

Namjoon What is interesting?

Jeongguk Grindr says you're only 300 ft away. I bet if I wanted to, I could figure out which pub you're at.

Namjoon shifts in place and looks over his shoulder despite knowing that, realistically, there is no way Jeongguk would be able to suddenly appear behind him. The prospect of being located by a hookup app's GPS is so nerve wracking, despite the small inkling of Namjoon wanting Jeongguk to come find him.

Namjoon Ooh, stalking before the first date? Now that is a surefire way to get into my pants, baby boy.

Jeongguk What a shame I'm too nervous to come meet you and your friends all at once. I guess I'll have to leave the stalking for another time.

The idea of Jeongguk being nervous is something Namjoon can't help but find interesting. Of course, it is only natural to feel nerves when meeting anyone for the first time, but if Jeongguk's main mission is to get into Namjoon's pants, surely he would have no qualms with meeting Namjoon's best friends. Unless Jeongguk banks on possibly seeing them more than once.

Perhaps, Namjoon thinks, he is reading into it too much. It is quite a different thing to be assertive over text and assertive in person. Maybe dangerously pretty Jeongguk, who instantly took to calling Namjoon daddy, is actually shy. The idea makes Namjoon swoon.

Namjoon My baby boy is shy? I never would have guessed.

Seokjin and Yoongi return with a tray full of alcohol, and Namjoon nods noncommittally at them before turning his attention back to his phone. Drinks are placed in front of him, and he absent-mindedly picks up a pint of beer, nearly spilling it on himself as he raises the glass to take a sip.

Jeongguk Why? Because I'm promiscuous?

Jeongguk's message gives Namjoon pause, and he stops moving his drink closer to his lips, hovering the glass just inches away. Suddenly, Namjoon feels a crushing weight on his chest and back, squeezing the air out of him. The last thing Namjoon would want Jeongguk to think is that he is judging him.

It does not help that Namjoon's mind goes completely blank as he stares at his phone in an attempt to think of anything to say. Yoongi approaches and gently takes the beer from Namjoon and sets it on the table, then softly rubs a hand over the small of Namjoon's back. Namjoon blinks rapidly and clears his throat, then lifts his idle hand to his phone—this matter requires two thumbs to navigate.

Namjoon Because you're assertive, forward, and quite flirtatious.

Despite having sent his message mere seconds ago, Namjoon considers more that he could say—that he should say. However, a message comes in before he gets a chance, and it throws him off.

Jeongguk So, what have your friends been asking about me? Are they the friends who peer-pressured you into downloading the app?

Now, Namjoon cannot figure out whether Jeongguk was joking before or if he is simply deflecting after what Namjoon said. He wishes he knew the man better so that he would not have to worry about saying the wrong thing over text—a medium that can be hard to read the tone behind. For now, he decides to roll with it. They can always discuss the topic in person.

Namjoon The very same friends, yes. They more or less begged me to show them your photo. I hope it's okay that I did. And they have been trying to get to know what kind of person you are, but I am trying to save what little I know about you for myself before giving all the goods away to them.

"So...is everything alright?" Yoongi asks from Namjoon's right. His hand has stopped rubbing circles against Namjoon's back.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was just sidetracked by something."

"Okay."

Jeongguk That's cute of them. You're right that we know so little about one another. We should fix that. What do you do for a living, daddy?

Namjoon can't help but chuckle at how forward and cute Jeongguk is. He glances up from his phone long enough to grab his beer, this time taking a nice big gulp of it. Then he sets it down and goes back to typing.

Namjoon I work as a museum and gallery curator. Mostly, I help acquire artwork, store it, show it. I also do guest curation for exhibits in the United States. The photo I sent you is of myself and Takashi Murakami.

Jeongguk Oh, shit, I was so busy looking at you, I didn't even notice his art behind you. That's really fucking cool. I'm impressed, daddy.

"Encouraging him to message the boy was a mistake," Yoongi mutters, to which Namjoon hums and looks up at his friend with an attentive expression. Both men have their heads cocked to the side, and Yoongi is shaking his head. "We were going to do shots, remember?"

"Oh! Right," Namjoon says as he sets his phone down on the sticky table and turns his attention to his hyungs. Seokjin scoots a small glass of clear liquid toward Namjoon, and they all three lift their glasses to the center of the table.

"To Namjoon finally getting laid," Seokjin snickers.

"And to us losing him completely in the process," Yoongi adds.

Namjoon rolls his eyes but meets their shots with his, then turns his head as he gulps back soju. The taste is bittersweet, and the liquid is slightly too cold for comfort. Seokjin takes the liberty of pouring more shots while Namjoon lifts up his phone. He never responded to Jeongguk.

Namjoon Art is definitely my passion, but as someone who has no talent for making it, I stick to turning my appreciation into something I can market. What about you, baby boy? What do you do?

"After these drinks, we're going to call it a night," Yoongi announces. Namjoon turns and raises an eyebrow as he continues. "So you'd better hang out with us before we go."

At this, Namjoon rolls his eyes and pockets his phone. He can handle some time without it—he has done it before.

Or, so he thought.

Namjoon is mid-reaching for his beer when his phone vibrates in his pocket. The urge to pull it out and check the notification is enough to make his hand twitch, but he does his best to stay present with his friends.

They discuss how work has been and what plans they have for the weekend, but all that does is make Namjoon think about how he and Jeongguk still haven't made a solid plan for a first date.

He does his best to participate in the conversation, but his mind drifts. He wonders whether Jeongguk would like to see one of his latest exhibits or if he is more of a bar-on-the-first-date type. Maybe he will want to go out to a restaurant or go to Namjoon's place to cook something together.

The phone in Namjoon’s pocket buzzes, pulling him from his thoughts, and he once again begins to reach for it before remembering his silent promise to his friends. His friends, who are tipsy and in their own world, gazing at one another with stars in their eyes.

Ordinarily, Namjoon would groan and down his drink, whining that this is exactly why hanging out with the two of them is frustrating—that their love is just a big, heavy reminder of how lonely he is. But tonight, he doesn’t mind. His thoughts are so clouded by a pretty boy with a lip ring and big, round eyes. His friends can be gross all they want.

“Shots!” Seokjin calls, and shots they have. And again, and again.

They sing too loudly to some ballads Yoongi selects on the jukebox and finish their beers. And, just as Yoongi promised, once their glasses are empty, they begin their goodbyes and leave for the night—Namjoon getting a cab home, and Yoongi bickering about how well he can drive drunk while Seokjin calls a cab for the two of them, ignoring him. This is a dance the two of them play often, and in the morning, one of them will bus over to retrieve their car; they usually play scissors, rock, paper to determine who goes.

Namjoon clambers into the backseat of the cab and, while the dome lights are still on, he snaps a selfie. He had changed into a white button-up and applied some makeup before going to the museum earlier in the evening to meet with one of the directors, and tonight, he is feeling himself, as the kids say.

Once his phone is unlocked, Namjoon is happy to find a response from Jeongguk but disappointed that there is only one message from him, despite the two vibrations he had felt at the bar. The other message comes from Grindr, and Namjoon opens it out of curiosity.

TaeTae That smile is too sweet for an app like this. But with daddy in the name…you’re sending mixed signals, babe. You intrigue me. Are you a wine-and-dine type?

Namjoon’s heart begins to race. Most of the men on the app have their faces somehow obstructed so that they are difficult to identify, but TaeTae has his face showing, for all the world to see, and he is breathtaking.

With eyes and lips that slope in a soft but almost sad way, despite his rectangular smile, TaeTae is the kind of man artists and poets use as a muse. How deadly, in combination with the slightly whimsical way in which he writes.

BonsaiDaddy94 Is it that obvious that the hookup app isn’t quite my scene? I am the wine-and-dine type. And you?

Namjoon types and sends without giving it much thought. And then he remembers Jeongguk, and his stomach sinks. Of course, Namjoon has done nothing wrong by responding to a message—he assumes Jeongguk is also continuing to message others—but he feels guilty for checking this other man’s message first.

Jeongguk I work part-time as a model while I finish my degree in photography. Seems you and I have similar interests, daddy. (;

Namjoon Seems we do. What kind of modeling do you do?

Jeongguk He lives. D: I thought I had lost you! How are your friends? Will you be out long?

Namjoon Friends are good! They were complaining that I was ignoring them, so I put my phone away. I'm taking a cab home now.

Without allowing himself to second guess, Namjoon sends Jeongguk the selfie he snapped moments ago.

Namjoon [Photo attachment of Namjoon’s face from a straightforward angle. His head is slightly tilted to the side with his jaw resting on his hand, elbow presumably on the car door off-screen. Namjoon doesn’t smile, his parted bangs fall over his forehead, styled neatly but simply, and he has a faint dusting of eyeshadow. There is a small silver hoop in his ear, and the top button of his white button-up is undone.]

Jeongguk Excuse me??? Daddy!!!

Namjoon smiles wide and lets himself revel in Jeongguk’s simple but emphatic reaction.

Namjoon Yes, baby boy?

Jeongguk You’re. You. Your. Makeup???

Namjoon I wear makeup to work, sometimes, yes. I clean up well, huh?

Jeongguk I’m howling and barking like a dog right now; I hope you know that.

Namjoon I’m flattered. ;)

And this time, he really is flattered. This time, Jeongguk’s response feels earned, and it feels good.

Jeongguk Are you sure you don’t do hookups? I don’t live far from that pub. Or we can snuggle, whatever you’re into. I just need my hands on you holy fuck.

Namjoon actually considers it. He’s intoxicated from the alcohol and high on Jeongguk’s praises, and he almost asks for the address. But he wants to stick to his guns and take Jeongguk on a proper date first. Or, at least, make an attempt to.

Namjoon Snuggling does sound nice, but I have an early morning tomorrow, and I am a bit more drunk than I hoped to get tonight. We should solidify a date for this weekend. I’m free tomorrow evening, Saturday, and Sunday, if something works for you.

The cab pulls up to Namjoon’s place, and he clambers out with a thank you, having already paid for the ride with his phone. His phone buzzes, and he smiles as he fishes out his keys to unlock his apartment building. Through the lobby, on his way to the elevator, Namjoon sneaks a glance at his phone, and immediately, he feels overwhelmed by the sudden surge of attractive men messaging him—two feels like a lot, compared to none.

TaeTae I’m busy this weekend, but we should grab dinner and chat Monday if you’re free. I want to know more about this bonsai daddy with pretty lips and deep dimples.

All Namjoon can do is chuckle. He feels like he has entered some new dimension where, suddenly, he is being perceived. Not that people don’t notice Namjoon in his day-to-day life, but nobody is so brazen in their attempts to get to know him.

As he exits the elevator and makes his way to his apartment door, he mulls it over. This TaeTae guy seems nice, but Namjoon really likes Jeongguk. Not to mention, juggling two men at once seems overwhelming.

BonsaiDaddy94 I’m flattered, and I do have some free time on Monday evening, but I am curious what your intentions are. I’m not really into hookups, so I don’t want to disappoint you.

Namjoon keys in the code for his apartment door and slips in, letting the door close behind him. While unbuttoning his shirt, he toes out of his shoes, and, by the time he walks through his living room, past his kitchen, and into his bathroom, his shirt is open and untucked and he is undoing his belt—running on autopilot and ready to go to bed.

He brushes his teeth, wipes the makeup from his face, and moisturizes in slow, lazy movements. Suddenly, the weight of the day, mixed with the newfound excitement, has him feeling heavy and worn out.

Although they hardly know one another, Namjoon wishes Jeongguk would respond so they could make a plan. It has been a long time since Namjoon has actually wanted to get to know another person—to schedule someone into his life and make time for them. Instead, his phone vibrates with enthusiasm from another.

TaeTae My intentions include whatever you’re comfortable with, of course. The idea of wining and dining you with the promise of your body as dessert does entice me to no end, but if you like to take things slow, I am happy to oblige.

Rather than respond, Namjoon undresses and climbs into bed, beneath his forest green comforter, which he pulls up to his chin. He exhales slowly and closes his eyes, and he wonders to himself just what the fuck he should do. Despite the rules he has always had in place for himself, he desperately wants to get laid. Picturing dangerously pretty Jeongguk and breathtaking TaeTae doesn’t help.

And he knows he shouldn’t respond to the Grindr message, but he feels a buzz from the back and forth that they have established, and he finds he can’t help himself.

BonsaiDaddy94 I do prefer to take things slow. Although…perhaps my body will persuade my mind to let go for one night. I am equally intrigued by you, and the sweeter you talk, the more I find my walls beginning to crumble.

When Namjoon wakes up, he has a headache. This is the first indication that he got too drunk the night before and may have said or done something regretful. As he stretches and yawns, he thinks about his conversation with Jeongguk—how he boldly sent a selfie and attempted to make a plan.

And then he thinks about his conversation with the other guy, and his heart jumps into his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Namjoon mutters as he frantically searches his bed for his phone. For once, he must have had the wherewithal to plug it in, and he spins, twisting himself in his comforter, to find it sitting on his nightstand with one message from Jeongguk and two from his new friend.

Jeongguk I would like to see you as soon as possible, so how does tomorrow sound?

Namjoon Good morning, pretty! Tonight sounds perfect. Are you a dinner and drinks kind of guy? Would you like to see one of the galleries I’ve curated? I’m very flexible.

Jeongguk Flexible, hmm? (; Dinner and drinks sound great, but rather than someplace fancy, do you like noodles? There’s a hole-in-the-wall noodle spot near the pub I nearly stalked you at. Is that something you would be into? Not that I'm not into the idea of going to see art, but I may have a problem keeping my eyes off you, and I don't want to waste such a lovely experience.

Namjoon If you’re asking whether I would be interested in meeting you over the best bowl of udon I have ever had, the answer is an emphatic yes. I work from home today, and I should be done around 4, so any time after then is good for me.

Jeongguk You know the spot! Perfect. How does 6 sound?

Finally, a plan for a date has been solidified. Namjoon feels so excited, he rolls onto his back, stares at his ceiling, and smiles. He also wants to meet Jeongguk as soon as possible and is thrilled that the feeling is mutual.

Namjoon Perfect. See you at 6!

It is past noon when Namjoon realizes he never read or responded to the messages from his Grindr friend. With a date in motion with Jeongguk, he almost feels inclined not to acknowledge him. Namjoon can’t remember what they chatted about just before he knocked out, and he isn’t sure he wants to.

But then, in the depths of his mind, he recalls possibly setting up a date with the other guy, and for the second time in a span of four hours, he panics.

“The sweeter you talk, the more I feel my walls beginning to crumble,” Namjoon recites as he reads over his last sent message. “Oh, what the fuck?”

He feels so embarrassed he considers deleting the app from his phone and never looking back. Luckily, his new Grindr friend seems to be taking it in stride.

TaeTae My sweet bonsai father, you are kind and adorable, but I would rather go at the pace you prefer, so, no need to make lofty professions of desire. Should we be so lucky as to fuck, then we shall fuck. But I will be delighted no matter how much or how little I get to have of you.

The second message came nearly an hour later.

TaeTae By the way, you can call me Taehyung.

Taehyung. Namjoon likes the name and is instantly reminded of his pretty, sad smile. Both Jeongguk and Taehyung seem so different in personality, but also similar in the way they initiate conversation and steer it effortlessly. He almost wishes one of them was more boring or annoying than the other so he wouldn't feel so overwhelmed with the task of getting to know them both. But there is a part of him that really wants to get to know them both.

BonsaiDaddy94 Nice to meet you, Taehyung. I'm Namjoon. Bonsai father is a fitting name, too, though. I would hate to stifle your creativity with something as bland as a given name.

Namjoon reads over his cheeky response, feeling pleased with himself. There is a whimsy to Taehyung that makes Namjoon's inner award-winning poet want to come out to play. When three dots pop up, indicating that Taehyung is writing a response, Namjoon feels eager.

TaeTae You are positively splendid, Namjoon. I wonder what it is you do for a living—how you spend your time? What kind of company do you keep? What color is your favorite comforter? Do you really father a bonsai? Does it blossom? Would you like to move this conversation over to text, or does this hookup app, as you call it, suffice? (Just in case...[phone number attached.])

Suddenly, Namjoon feels like he is drowning, but not in an unpleasant way. He is underwater, gazing up at the light reflecting from the sun—beams of sunshine breaking the surface while dots of light and shadow dance and sway atop the gentle waves. He wants to surface—knows he must eventually come up for air and make a choice—but for now, he enjoys the weightlessness of opening up to and flirting with two men who, as of this moment, only live inside his phone.

Namjoon saves Taehyung's number to his contact list, glances at his computer to remind himself that he does actually have responsibilities to take care of for the day, then responds to Taehyung, anyway.

Namjoon Hello, Taehyung. It's Namjoon. As much as I love the blocky, uninviting vibe of the hookup app, this is much more pleasant. To answer your questions: I am a published poet, but I don't much enjoy the pressures of having to produce, simply to make a living, so I work as a museum curator. I spend a lot of my time around art and thinking about art (and talking about art.) My friends are grumpy and quiet, or enthusiastic and loud; a little over the top sometimes, but always respectful and caring. Works of art, in their own regard. My favorite comforter is forest green, and I do father two bonsai. One blossoms every few months, and it makes my heart swell with affection every time. And now I have sent you a novella, wow. Sorry?

Everything feels light and heavy at the same time as Namjoon sets his phone down and attempts to get some work done. And he is successful for a solid hour until his phone vibrates again, and he instantly picks it up to read the message. Luckily, he has already caught up on his emails and has set meetings with several artists he would like to host for upcoming exhibits, so he has a little time to breathe before deciding which item to check from his to-do list next.

Taehyung Namjoon, darling. My god, you are perfection personified. I am foaming at the mouth. Poet and museum curator? I'm a photographer! Small potatoes, for now; I mostly dress my roommate up in our friend's latest fashions and make him pose. I also do landscapes and nature shots to make money here and there, but I have been considering the next steps for really breaking out and making a name for myself. I won't burden you with that, though; you are welcome to see my work, but I do not want you to think that I am using you to get to your power and influence. (So fucking hot that you have power and influence, though, ugh.) And now it is I sending the novella. I refuse to apologize, and so should you.

Taehyung PS. I still haven't seen all of your face. No rush, no pressure. But I am curious. I would be happy to send a bespoke selca just for you in return.

At this moment in time, Namjoon feels at a crossroads, and he wheels himself away from his desk and stands—tall and flexed, for some indiscernible reason, as if steeling himself for battle. Something about Taehyung makes him want to be playful, and he feels dramatic—he wants to lean into the feeling a little.

But he also wants to be straightforward and honest, so he paces around his home office—a small room with a considerably large window that overlooks a narrow street, full from wall to ceiling with art, photos, and other things he enjoys—and he stares at his phone in his hands, deciding what he should do. Taehyung needs to know that he has a date tonight, and that he is unsure about his plans and feelings, overall.

Namjoon I would be happy to both send and receive a selca, but first I think it would be fair to tell you that I have a date tonight with someone, and I am still uncertain about my feelings and intentions with that person. I am trying to stay open to possibilities, hence chatting with you, but I also don't want to lead you on or make you feel deceived.

Despite feeling confident in his diplomacy, Namjoon is worried and continues to pace. Juggling two attractive, interesting men is such a foreign concept to Namjoon, he considers deleting the Grindr app in an effort to save himself the trouble of possibly liking a third person.

Namjoon nearly sits back down at his desk when his phone buzzes, and he feels himself gasp with anticipation. He paces one last time, then takes a seat in his leather computer chair and leans forward with his elbows on his knees as he opens Taehyung's message.

Taehyung You are the sweetest; I could literally die. I hope you enjoy your date tonight and that it is everything you wish for and more! I, too, have a date tonight, but I am out of town for work, so it's more like a hookup. Don't worry; I practice safely and am very discrete (not that I get the vibe that you're judgmental, but since I am pursuing you, I feel you deserve to know.) Should you fall in love during your date, I will have no hard feelings, just let me know, so I'm not left out in the rain, okay?

Namjoon I'm so not used to dating that all of this feels strange but cathartic to talk to someone about. Usually, I meet someone from work—or school, when I was still in school—and then we go from there, exclusive from the jump. App dating is so much different. I think the laid-back nature of it all is as much of a relief as it is terrifying.

Taehyung Sometimes app dating is the opposite of laid-back. But I am laid-back by nature, so you are safe with me. While I find drama to be fascinating and exhilarating at times, I simply do not have the energy.

Namjoon Relatable.

Taehyung Oooh! If you'd like to make my selca wish come true, perhaps you can send me what you plan to wear to the date. Or would that be too weird? I'll do the same; we can compare notes.

The idea of comparing date outfits with someone who Namjoon also has tentative plans to go on a date with feels strange. It also feels delightful, and he accepts. And then, he makes a valiant attempt to get back to work.

The minute 4 PM rolls around, Namjoon is out of his chair and getting into the shower. Yoongi has already attempted to get him to hang out with him, and for once, didn't put up a fight when Namjoon declined. He must be happy that his friend has a date—which, Namjoon thinks, he should be happy about, since all of this was partially his fault, to begin with.

Namjoon showers quickly, then towels off while preemptively stressing about what to wear. They are going to a noodle spot, and he doesn't want to wear something that might risk getting messy, so he decides on black. Namjoon styles his hair simply with his bangs parted and his hair nicely combed. He doesn't add any product, save for a bit of creme to keep any flyaways at bay, and he puts on a nice, simple black long-sleeve tee, tucked into black slacks, with a nice black leather belt.

It is approximately 5:30 PM by the time Namjoon has finished pacing around anxiously, deciding on whether to wear any jewelry and stressing over which denim jacket to bring. He settles on the same small silver hoops he has been wearing lately, which he has left on a wooden tray in the bathroom—a catchall for things he doesn't want to shower with.

Before making his way to gather them, however, he remembers his agreement with Taehyung and snaps a selfie for him. He sits at his desk, opts to make a peace sign, and purses his lips, with the camera slightly to the side and the photo capturing more of one side of his face than the other. Without giving it too much thought—because he will second guess it to death and decide against it if he allows himself to—he sends it off to Taehyung.

It takes approximately twenty seconds for him to receive a response. Namjoon opens his messenger, and immediately, his jaw drops to the floor.

Taehyung [Photo attached of Taehyung standing in front of a mirror with his phone held in front of half of his face. The half that is in view is relaxed—no smile, but no frown—and he appears to be looking into the phone screen rather than into the mirror. His hair is wavy and fluffy, falling over his forehead and sticking out from under his ears in the back. Around his neck are several short, thin necklaces, including one that appears to be a string of pearls. He wears a cornflower blue button-up shirt, powder blue slacks, and a white leather belt. The shirt is unbuttoned and untucked, hanging open to reveal a generous strip of skin from his neck, to his belly button, to his hips.]

Taehyung Namjoon, bonsai father, darling. You are stunning. I hope it's not too rude to say your lips *do things* to me.

Namjoon hardly has a chance to respond to Taehyung's text, still reeling from his photo. The glimpse of skin beneath the pretty blues—he is the one who is stunning. Namjoon shifts in his chair, clears his throat, and stands. He has to get moving if he wants to meet Jeongguk on time, so he leaves his office, shuts off the light, and makes his way to the living room, all while staring at his phone. What does he even say in response to everything that has just inundated his vision?

Finally, after slipping into some black chelsea boots and patting down his pants to ensure he has his wallet and keys, he lifts his phone to respond.

Namjoon You left me speechless. I'm stunning? I'm afraid you are the one who is stunning. Your...everything...does things to me. And now I must attempt to go meet my date and not think about you...wish me luck.

Namjoon isn't quite sure why he adds in that last part; Jeongguk is also quite stunning. But there is a gravitational pull to Taehyung that makes Namjoon want to flirt and be vulnerable in ways he doesn't often allow himself to be.

As soon as Namjoon hits send, his phone lights up with a message from his date, and his heart skips an anticipatory beat.

Jeongguk I'm leaving a bit early, so I'll save us a seat!

Ordinarily, Namjoon would order a cab, just in case he has a little too much to drink, but since Jeongguk says he lives near the noodle spot, he opts to drive. And anyway, if Jeongguk's place is close, and they do hit it off, perhaps it won't be a problem for him to drink, since he won't have to drive home.

Namjoon Sounds good. I'm heading over now! Be there in 10ish.

tags: @btsstan12 @codeinebelle@dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki 📲 this is a limited run fic, but if you would like to be added to the tag list (or all of my tag lists,) please comment or dm!

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#namjoon x jungkook #namkook #btswritersclub #btscarnivalnet #btshoneyhive #namkook fluff #namkook smut #bts fluff #fic: this sordid place

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scribbling-dragon · 2 months

Text

a tree falls (and it is silent)

summary:

…She can still see the island above her. If she looks. It is fading, retreating back into the void, folding into another corner of reality. The island has shrunk to the same size as every other star around it, glimmering in the same taunting, teasing way. Just out of reach, but almost like she could reach out and snatch it up in her hands. She keeps her eyes fixed on it anyway, even as it shrinks to a pinprick of light – as though the moment she looks away she loses all hope of returning.

(ao3 link)

(4,638 words)

[AN: not really sure where this fic went, but it was fun to write! just a tiny little warning for slight body modification? not really sure how else to describe it. so yeah]

Lizzie falls.

And it is not a slow, gradual tilting backwards. It is not something that she can replay second by second in her mind’s eye, to watch where it was that she went wrong; where it was that she misstepped. She wishes it was, almost. That she could point at a singular moment in time and go, there, that is where everything went wrong.

But she can’t.

Instead, she felt something give way. Felt her feet slip beneath her as she stepped, and then stepped again. Out into the open air of the void. She had twisted, a mad scramble to save herself, maybe to drag Scott down with her. So that it would not be in vain.

She had caught fabric, for a singular, heart-stopping moment. Her nails had caught on Scott’s jacket, had ripped at the denim. She can still feel the sensation of it beneath her nails now.

And then Scott had jerked back as though burned, eyes wide as he tore himself free of her clutching, desperate grip. It had torn a few threads loose, threads that she still clutches to her chest now. It is a prize, a monument to her stupidity, the culmination of her stumbling steps that have led her unsteadily to this moment.

Every single moment here has left her lost and floundering. She had staggered upon landing and never regained her footing, even as those around her wobbled before balancing themselves again. They had charged forward and left her in the dust, clutching a few threads to her chest as though that undoes any of the mistakes she’s made.

…She can still see the island above her. If she looks.

It is fading, retreating back into the void, folding into another corner of reality. Maybe Scott is still staring over the edge at her, watching as she plunges into a certain doom. Or, more likely, he turned away the moment it was clear she would not be saving herself. He’s probably retelling the sorry, sordid tale right now, to an audience of sympathetic murmurs, ones that are only glad it is not them.

The island has shrunk to the same size as every other star around it, glimmering in the same taunting, teasing way. Just out of reach, but almost like she could reach out and snatch it up in her hands. She keeps her eyes fixed on it anyway, even as it shrinks to a pinprick of light – as though the moment she looks away she loses all hope of returning. As though she hasn’t already fallen into an inescapable pit.

She was condemned the moment she stepped into this void damned place.

She still keeps staring at their island, even as the other stars – other islands? – glimmer at cheerily at her, attempting to draw her gaze in their direction. She refuses staunchly, watching the island shrink and shrink and shrink. The moment she blinks, the moment her focus wavers even a tiny bit is the moment she passes the point of no return.

How many of those other stars are islands, the same as their own? How many have a dragon curled atop an obsidian pillar, awaiting its next victims?

Lizzie feels a strange tightness in her chest. A breathlessness borne of the lack of air in the void. And yet her chest continues to inflate and deflate, lungs working as they should. The back of her throat tickles, as though something has lodged itself there and is refusing to budge.

She should be long dead, she knows. The lack of air in the void is a swift killer, one that eases you into the darkness of sleep before it finishes you off. A merciful killer.

And yet there is no shadow around the edges of her vision. No darkness creeping over her eyes to obscure the island. To pull the wool over her eyes for the last few moments of her life.

She continues to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breath after breath. Impossibility after impossibility.

It is nonsensical. And yet it continues. Just as she continues to watch the islands above her. Continues to watch her island.

There is a strange calm that surrounds her then, soothes over the aching edges of her mind that continues to worry at the issue of her continued survival. She breathes out, eyes fluttering shut slightly as that relaxation coaxes her eyes into slipping shut. Just a fraction.

It is enough for her to lose focus for that one key moment – the calm is rudely torn from her as she blinks, once, twice, thrice, no longer caring for not blinking as the fateful moment has already passed. Her island blends in amongst the other stars, indiscernible from everything else filling the void.

As she attempts to sit up, and then realises that she is able, the rushing sensation in her ears drops away. She no longer falls, no longer plummets into the open, yawning maw of the void – a seemingly endless depth that should have already closed its jaws around her.

Instead, she…drifts. Saunters vaguely downwards. Hangs on the precipice between something and nothing, teetering back and forth on that unknowable, invisible edge.

Something must push her beyond that edge, must nudge her that final inch over the line as the weightlessness returns for a long moment. It makes her stomach drop out of her body as she falls sharply downwards before…stopping.

She doesn’t slow. Not in the same way as before. This is a sudden, jerking halt, as though something had interrupted her fall.

Lizzie looks around, beyond confused. It was almost as though she had been caught, as though someone had stretched their arms out to stop any further descent, cradling her safely in their embrace.

The void spreads out wide around her, inky darkness reaching into every corner.

There is nothing to catch her out here, where nothingness is all that exists.

That, my dear, is where you are wrong.

She jolts at the sudden voice murmuring beside her ear, quiet as a whisper. She blinks furiously as she whips her head around, wariness swiftly transforming into fear as her surroundings remain featureless.

“Who’s there!” she yells, no longer caring that no true air fills her lungs, and yet she’s able to speak all the same. Able to draw breath from this thin, suffocating air. “Show yourself!”

There is a low chuckle, still quiet. Still barely above a whisper. It is the sound of stars shining high above. The sound of ants scuttling over the bark of a tree: there, but not audible. Something that should not be heard.

My dear, to show myself would be defeating the purpose of my existence, would it not?

“Oh yeah?” She stands, surprises herself a moment with the fact that she is able to stand, before promptly getting over it and continuing to question her sudden companion. “Why’s that? You some nasty creature come to kill me? One of those all-seeing fellas from up there?” She gestures in the vague direction of where she thinks she just fell from.

I am none of those things.

“Then what are you?” The quiet of this new voice lowers her voice. She feels self-conscious yelling while this- this thing speaks calmly, at a level barely above a whisper as though it does not care if it is heard or not.

I am nothingness.

“Well, obviously not.” She scoffs. “If you were nothingness then you wouldn’t be talking to me right now, would you?”

The voice remains silent for a moment after that. As though chewing over her words and carefully considering what she has just said. …And then it continues to remain silent. This silence is thick in the air, laying itself over her shoulders heavily.

She almost thinks that it has taken her advice, that, as a creature of nothingness, it has retreated into itself and becoming nothing at all.

“Wait!” She calls out into the void. Desperate for any response. “I’m…I'm sorry! I didn’t mean it! Please, come back!”

I was never gone.

“Kinda hard to tell that.” Her shoulders slump in relief. The sudden panic that came out of nowhere scared her – it had seized her by the throat, demanding that she call back her strange companion, that she not be alone again. “What with the whole nothingness shtick.”

It is not a shtick.

It sounds offended. Lizzie feels momentarily sheepish, before remembering that she doesn’t know who or what this is, and so she doesn’t owe it anything.

“Then what is it? Something you pull out for parties?”

You know not what you speak of.

“Then enlighten me, won’t you?”

How can I expect you to comprehend the vastness of my being? There’s a pause, and Lizzie almost thinks that the thing would have coughed awkwardly were it a human. No offence.

“Full offence taken.”

Ah, my apologies. It pauses again, and then: I…would something like this help?

“Something like what?” Lizzie raises her eyebrows, glancing around the empty space she’s currently stood in. And then…oh. Hm. She’s…well, she’s not sure how to feel about that, actually.

A crude, rather rickety table is less than a foot from her. The paint is patchy and not complete. It wasn’t one of her finest moments, but she had been in a hurry, had been too full of hopes and dreams, and the belief in her fellow players was far, far too high to care about something like the evenness of paint.

A cake sits atop this table. It is far too big for one person alone, and the table almost seems to groan beneath its weight.

She blinks, and there is a chair right beside the table, turned towards her. This chair is a solid white, sturdily built. It is not something she created. There had been beds, instead. She had imagined a party, each of them with a slice of cake in their hands as they sat on beds. Maybe even crowded several people into one bunk as they laughed like they had the first time around, when everything was better.

She sits down in the chair.

The candle in the cake is lit, and the flame flickers for a moment before blowing out. There is no smoke.

Apologies, a flame does not last well in the Void.

“That’s…fine.”

Unbidden, tears rise to her eyes. They cling to her lashes and make her eyelids stick together slightly as she blinks. She refuses to let them fall, however, because crying in front of some horrifying (?) cosmic entity was not on her to-do list today, and she refuses to add it.

And she can’t stand the feeling of dried tears on her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She says, sat at this party for one. It feels a little miserable, that an entity describing itself as nothingness has thrown her a party. Miserable, but fitting. “I…appreciate it.”

Good. The voice is warm, though still quiet. Perhaps this is the loudest it can be – it is the Void itself after all, Lizzie realises.

Perhaps it was a little idiotic of her not to realise before that this entity beside her, all around her, which described itself as nothingness was the exact void she was currently sat in.

There is a knife for her to cut the cake with, sat next to her hand as though it has been there the entire time. She reaches for it, intent on tasting this cake created by nothingness. She wonders if it will have a flavour.

Well, hello there! Where the Void’s voice had been quiet, barely a whisper, this one is cacophonous, as though someone had yelled right beside her ear. She cannot help but wince at the sound, shrinking backwards.

She leans back so far that the chair topples back, disappearing beneath her back as she sprawls across the ground. When she looks up, her party for one has disappeared.

Really, you could not have found it in yourself to be a little calmer?

And why should I be? You’ve got a guest here, and you didn’t even consider telling me!

Have you considered that there was good reason for that? Look at what you’ve done to the poor dear – she’s startled so terribly that she fell from her chair.

Oh. Hm. Okay then, that’s my bad, I guess.

Silence reigns for a moment, and Lizzie takes the opportunity to push herself back into a sitting position, legs crossed and one elbow resting on her knee. These two arguing entities sounded as though they knew each other – who would have thought there was something so lively in a place of certain death?

Not her, certainly.

Oh, hey. I know this one! Those words are the only warning she gets before something heavy is pressing down upon her, looking over every inch of her being, examining her like a bug pinned beneath a magnifying glass.

‘That one’ as you insist on referring to her is going to collapse beneath the weight of your full attention if you are not careful enough. The Void warns, though its voice is quiet as ever. Lizzie worries, as she feels her skin begin to unravel around her, the layers being peeled back as this second entity looks deeper into her being, that it won’t have heard the quiet sound of the Void.

Then, a moment later, it recedes, and she feels as though she can breathe again.

You were actually a little disappointing, the second entity tells her. I expected something a little better from you – maybe a little more pizazz? Something better than slipping off the edge and into the tender, loving arms of our dear Void right here.

Excuse you? How can you already leap into belittling her, hm? Her death was something tragic, but she did all she could in life.

Still could’ve been better. Her head is beginning to ache at the volume of this entity’s voice. (Thoughts?) C’mon, I expected a little more entertainment from Them, didn’t you? The little things pride Themselves on Their games, and yet They can’t even get everyone to put on a show?

You have done well, the Void assures her. You did the best you could with the hand that was dealt to you – They pick rather obvious favourites. Its voice fills with disdain, disgust worming its way into its words.

Lizzie isn’t sure who They are, but the weight with which it is said, and the disgust with which it is uttered, gives her the idea that They are not someone to get along with. And also apparently someone that picks favourites, however They might do that.

Do you comfort yourself with lies? The second entity demands. Its presence grows heavier again, bearing down on her head and shoulders, almost beginning to crush her into the non-existent ground she sits on. How can you bear to turn and face yourself when you offer meagre comforts through falsehoods and honeyed words?

What has happened, happened. What is done, cannot be undone. As such, why bother over the trivialities of what could have been done better.

“I’m still here,” Lizzie says. Just because it’s almost like these two entities – apparently familiar enough with each other to immediately begin arguing – have forgotten that the subject of their conversation is sitting right there and that she can hear everything being said about her.

We know that. Did you think we forgot?

Somewhat, yes, she doesn’t say. Mainly because that entity has turned its attention towards her again and it feels like staring directly into the sun. She grimaces at the feeling, gritting her teeth until it turns its attention away from her again.

You were disappointing. Lacklustre.

“Gee, thanks.” She’s beginning to dislike this second entity – actually, she’s gone beyond disliking this entity. It is loud and rude, voice giving her a headache and making stars burst behind her eyes with every syllable it enunciates. She wishes it had some kind of physical form so she could grab onto it and strangle it. Her hands itch with the urge, and she curls them into fists; tight enough that there will be crescent-shaped indents if she looks.

Such words are unnecessary. Boundless you may be, but few can achieve the same as you.

I’m not asking for much – like I said, a little more pizazz. A little more something isn’t unreasonable to ask for. They're putting on a show for us, the least They can do is get Their actors performing well.

Not everyone can be outstanding. There is value in being average.

You are insufferable. You’d settle for nothing if you could! You’re such a bore – why must I be stuck with you? All of eternity, and nothing interesting within it!

You are able to watch anything you wish. You do not have to wait for company to return from its wandering journeys, nor watch the condemned fall to their deaths within you. I would say you have it rather well off.

Of course you would. You know nothing of the world.

How could I?

You know of the world. That attention swings back around onto Lizzie, burning intensity. She attempts to stare right back into it, frowning in the vague direction of this thing’s eyes. Would you say you did well? That you were satisfied with what you achieved in the pitiful time you had?

Its voice is mocking. Lizzie’s not stupid, this entity dislikes her for some reason – it has made that very clear since it arrived.

She remains silent. To prove it right is unthinkable; she doesn’t want to give it such satisfaction, not when it’s left her pissed off and angry. She almost wants to bite something. But to prove it wrong is equally impossible. To lie to a seemingly omnipotent entity would be like signing her own death warrant; and who even knows if she could return if killed by an entity like this.

She keeps her jaw locked; mouth shut.

See? The entity seems to take this as an agreement anyway. How can she be satisfied with the hand she was dealt?

Not everyone wants for the impossible.

Ah, but many do – few achieve it, sure, but there is that wishing. That wanting unique only to these creatures with a limited life. Tell me, don’t you want to see how good it could have been? How good you could have been? Its voice turns softer, though it remains loud enough that her ears ache, almost as though its pleading with her, asking her permission for something unknown.

“I…” she looks around, as though there’s someone else for her to look for, to look to. There is nothing but empty void. A chasm around her that only seems to open wider and wider with each passing second. “I guess?”

See? See! It crows, its presence growing overwhelming. Its as though her skin is melting, slowly turning malleable as clay as it slips free of its confines and away from her bones. The feeling is unsettling, not at all helped by the sensation of hands on her arms, pushing at her skin, as though remoulding her. Reshaping the clay of her being.

Those hands brush over her eyes, and the stars disappear.

She panics for a moment, unsure what to do with this sudden darkness – it had been dark before, yes, but there had been the small pinpricks of stars. The little glimmering, far-off sparks that promised some kind of life. She had almost been able to convince herself that if she reached far enough, reached for long enough, that she’d be able to drag herself back to where she should be – pull herself from the pits of the void she had somehow fallen into.

Those hands press into her eyes, deft fingers smoothing out around her eye sockets before forcing her eyes open again.

She squints and winces, shutting her eyes again immediately.

Be more gentle.

I was plenty gentle, the voice scoffs. It’s her causing the issue now.

The bright light of before makes the inside of her eyelids a faint red. There is warmth here, where there had only been nothingness before – it hadn’t been cold, but the lack of warmth had made it seem so.

She tests it by only opening her eyes the tiniest bit, face wrinkled as she grows accustomed to the presence of light once more. It takes a few minutes before she can look around properly, blinking, then blinking again as she processes where she is.

She turns, and her pumpkin is there. It sits comfortably, nestled in the grass and…with a small house poking from the side?

Did you not wish for more allies?

She pauses, before shrugging. This feels like a weird dream, one that she is aware is a dream but is unable to wake from. Knowing you're in a dream means you should be able to control it, right? And yet, nothing she wills into existence appears, nothing changes to fit into her will.

You chased away a potential ally on day one, the entity sighs. There was little to be done from there; you placed your foot on the path of loneliness first.

“That house was only built for a task,” she defends. “And it was ugly.” It was a disgusting thing, something that blocked her from progressing further – from turning her house into a pumpkin. She couldn’t have continued living in a shack like that, even if it kept someone by her side for a little longer.

But…this house spoke of a compromise. Of a discussion and an allyship being struck up.

You got her hair wrong.

Huh, did I?

Those hands are resting against her again, burning her scalp as fingers drag through her hair, teasing out the strands.

Oh, I see what you mean. Hm.

Lizzie runs a hand through her hair. Tries to run a hand through her hair. She lifts her hair up, and it all comes with her hand. She pulls at it, and feels no tugging on her scalp, no individual hairs threatening to break away.

Instead, it’s like someone lay a cloth over her head and glued it down. There are no individual strands, only one thick layer. She freaks out a little at that. She’s like some- some doll with felt glued to its head. She tugs at this felt, maybe a little desperately, attempting to separate it into the fine strands of hair she’s used to.

Look what you’ve done now, you’ve freaked her out. The voice turns patronising. Chill for a second, alright, just…it’s been a minute since I made anything as complex as you. Just be glad I remembered the lungs this time!

That…is ominous. And not at all something she wants to think about.

I appreciate you remembering the lungs this time, the Void says. Listening to the previous one stutter and attempt to inhale was…unpleasant.

It was like someone was trying to force air into a block of wood! She hates this entity. Hates, hates, hates it. Even as it drags a hand through her hair she hates it, even as it falls over her shoulders in a cascade of fine strands, she hates it. Strands that are the same as her own hair, no longer a piece of felt stuck to her head.

Ah, you ruined the hands, too. The Void does not sound surprised, only mildly commenting on all the things this second entity has ruined about her. As though its watching some poorly-made film, commenting on all the shitty practical effects like it adds a certain charm to the movie.

Always a critic, the entity mutters. Why don't you try to make an entire person from scratch? See how well that goes for you.

We have already seen ‘how well’ that goes for me. I am still attempting to recover the pieces, though it will be a few centuries more before there are enough fragments for you to rebuild them.

You’re still working on that? I thought you gave up on that ages ago.

There are too many joints in her fingers. She bends one, and it curls up almost completely. Rolling into a spiral like a snail’s shell. One of the beings – she can’t tell which – tuts softly and uncurls her finger again, smoothing it out and removing the excess joints.

It’s a passion project. I work on it when I feel the urge.

Lizzie feels a wash of fear then. Something that had initially been small enough to ignore, and then forcefully locked away in her chest so she was no longer focusing on it – focusing on the entities in front of her, watching them, making sure that they aren’t casually discussing the best ways to destroy her.

Here, right here, right now, she feels that fear burst free. Like a burst blood vessel as it all pours free from where it had been blocked up. She’s drenched with this fear within moments, left shaking and shivering, too few joints in her hands; her fingers are short and her palms are long, and then her fingers are long and the palms short, as though the entity cannot figure out how to model them.

That feeling of clay is back. But this time there is no darkness, no kind hand covering her eyes to block her sight from the horror of watching her flesh begin to slip free from the bone. The horror of watching a hand-shaped ident press against her elbow, guiding her skin to remain there for a moment longer as it smooths over the mistakes that had been made seconds prior.

She attempts to stumble away, but the hands are all around her, pressing her skin back into place. Holding her together.

Ah, dear. I don't think this was the best idea.

Oh, really? You know, I thought the fast breathing and rabbiting heart was because she was enjoying this.

Don't take such a tone with me, this was your idea in the first place.

I just wanted to show her how much better she could be! Lizzie’s brain begins to fuzz over, words becoming distorted, no longer making sense to her addled mind. Her eyes slip shut all on their own, no longer staring so intently at the remoulding of her skin. If you hadn’t pointed out the inconsistencies then she wouldn’t have noticed! If anything, this is your fault.

Well, alright then. Piece her back together will you? She can rest a little while. With me.

Whatever you say.

The burning hands press close again, before retreating entirely. She doesn’t know what to think. Only that the cool hands that brush over her face are much gentler than the previous pair. They carry the gentle care of a mother, of a childhood friend reunited.

She sighs, and gives into the comfort. Everything burns, and she feels as though she’s been fighting an unknown assailant for hours. Her limbs ache, like her muscles have been twisted back and forth by an unruly hand.

Leave us in peace. I have practice putting people back together…this shouldn’t take too long.

You're going to irritate Them. You’ve interfered with Their games now.

I am certain They will learn how to cope with it. To welcome the Void into that place, They already knew what was being invited.

I'm not helping you when this turns around and bites you in the ass.

Don't be so crude.

Lizzie keeps her eyes shut. Doesn’t have much of a choice with the hand still covering them. Though, if she did choose to open her eyes and resist the calm, she could lay her eyes on the stars again.

Though…she still isn’t sure which star is her own. Which is the one she is meant to return to.

#juno.writes #secret life smp #slsmp #lizzie ldshadowlady #ldshadowlady #life series #trafficblr #traffic series #slsmp fic #slsmp lizzie #trafficfic

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kiwiana-writes · 10 days

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Fic Pride Friday

Thank you to the fabulous @rmd-writes for the tag! As always, though, with 239 fanworks on AO3, this is a beast of a task lmfao.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

This got long (and I'm like... actively trying not to Feel Bad™️ about that), so four fandoms' worth of snippets under the cut!

Tagging: @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise

@dumbpeachjuice @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @whimsymanaged

And, of course, an open tag to whoever wants to play!

Red White & Royal Blue

What a beautiful tone aka introspective rimming:

Henry has touched Alex in a thousand different ways since he shook the hand of a beautiful boy with a yellow ipê-amarelo in his pocket and fell in love, so he doesn’t quite understand why he’s trembling as he rolls them both until Alex is on his back, hair spread out on the pillow, lips parted slightly and eyes filled with trust as Henry settles on top of him. With his arms bracketing Alex’s shoulders, Henry places a hand on Alex’s jaw and pours all the love and pride that’s been coursing through his veins since Alex delivered his speech into a deep kiss, his tongue running along Alex’s bottom lip, coaxing it further open. The noise Alex makes in response is devastating. He’s a live wire, arching up into Henry’s touch in a way that is somehow both entirely nonsexual and an unbelievable turn on. Alex moves like he’s trying to crawl inside Henry’s skin, letting out soft moans and shivering gasps that burrow their way between Henry’s fourth and fifth ribs and carve out a place for themselves there, somewhere only Alex has ever reached.

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers, the coffee shop 5+1 where Alex is so hot it very literally makes Henry stupid:

“How can I do you today?” Bollocksing, buggering fuck. Henry’s going to have to migrate to Tristan Da Cunha. Actually, while that’s the most remote place he knows of, he’s also fairly certain they’re a British Overseas Territory and therefore speak English, which isn’t particularly helpful in his current predicament. He’ll brainstorm, though he expects that the long and sordid history of global British colonisation is really not going to be his friend here. Walking Wet Dream blinks slowly—once, twice—before his face splits into a wide grin. “Tempting fucking offer, sweetheart.” A tongue peeks out to wet a pair of plump lips, which only provides Henry with some extremely vivid ideas for what else might look good between those same lips, and oh Christ, if he actually gets hard underneath this hideous apron he’ll have to lock himself in his own basement. The fact that he doesn’t have a basement is immaterial, really.

A Practical Arrangement, the arranged marriage AU -- tbh I'm proud of ALL of Alex's internal narration about Henry in chapter one but this is a particular favourite:

“I thought Windsor valued courtly manners?” Alex grins widely, tampering down a smirk at the way Henry’s ridiculously chiselled jaw twitches, obviously displeased at the way Alex is going off-script. “As your betrothed, surely you should be showering me with compliments as you greet me?” Henry raises an eyebrow, and looks at Alex in a way that makes him suddenly, viscerally aware of the four inches of height Henry has on him. It’s a height difference that has always put Alex on edge; it never used to be the case, Alex is pretty sure from the vague memories he has of them in their younger years, but between one meeting and the next, suddenly Henry was no longer at his eye level. “As soon as I find something to compliment, I assure you I shall do so.” Alex almost laughs; that was funny. Rude and untrue, but funny. It’s a shocking amount of personality for Henry to display. “Back in Texas, they extol my many virtues, Your Royal Highness,” he drawls, pointedly ignoring June’s scoff. “Do you need me to give you a list?” “I’m sure they do,” Henry says gravely, but there’s a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth that could almost be a smirk. There’s a long pause before he adds: “…in Texas.” Alex’s jaw drops before he can stop it. That absolute fucker.

Kinda think that I might be his type, the Alex and Bea fake dating fic that blew up in a way I wasn't expecting but am forever grateful for; I'm proud of this whole damn fic but this line made me get up and walk away from my computer after writing it lmao:

“Don’t worry, though.” He winks at Bea, tampering down a grin at the way she bites her lip as she realises whatever he’s about to say is at serious risk of making her laugh. “We’re not going to wait until I’m out of school to start popping out great-grandbabies for you. I wanna be papi for real, not just to my little honeypot here, if you know what I mean.” The sharp clatter of Mary’s teacup against her saucer thankfully drowns out the choked wheezing sound from Bea’s throat; Alex only risks glancing at Bea for a moment, just enough to realise she’s fighting for her life not to burst out laughing. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up before he sounds like he’s reading lines from a terribly scripted and vaguely racist porno.

Puck It, the college hockey AU with my favourite analogy I've ever written:

Alex is aware that he might be bisexual in the same way he’s aware that he might be allergic to cats; there have been a few brief interactions to make him think it’s probably true, but so far it hasn’t had any impact on his life, so he hasn’t really had a reason to look into it and find out for sure. Now, faced with Henry’s clavicle and the sudden, vivid mental image of sinking his teeth into it, he’s not sure how theoretical it is anymore.

Handprints in wet cement, the 5+1 celebration of Henry's Oxford Slut Phase that is just so important to me:

“It’s not.” Alex’s fingers flex a little, digging into Henry’s skin. “It’s— you had all these experiences, and sometimes I can’t believe you want to share them all with me. That you’ll just tell me about them, and if it’s something we’re both into, we can just… go for it. It means a lot. You know that, right?” Henry blinks at him. If he’s honest, he’s never really understood Alex’s eagerness to hear about Henry’s uni hookups; Henry himself, while not bothered by Alex’s own past, has never felt any particular need to seek out stories about it either. He’d just assumed it was another facet of Alex’s insatiable need to understand things; he hadn’t realised it was important.

I've carried this song in my mind, the Arthur-from-beyond-the-grave fic, have one of the many MANY passages that made me cry to write lmfao:

You don’t need to find Orion, Arthur wants to tell him. I’m in every constellation, in your heart, in your soul. I’m here. I’m always here. But Henry can’t hear him.

Schitt's Creek

Wander Where They Will, aka the swans fic:

It felt like only a moment later that something woke him, though the pitch-black room made it obvious it had been several hours since he dozed off. It had been so long since he was in such close proximity to other people that David didn’t realise what he was hearing, at first. The gasp that rang out in the silence made his eyes snap open and his body tense up, and there was a thump and a high-pitched, muffled moan before the realisation slammed into him. He shifted in the bed, trying to block out the sounds out of a sense of… privacy, he supposed, or decorum. That must be why his stomach was clenching, so tight he could barely breathe. Patrick, it seemed, approached lovemaking the way David has seen him approach everything else—quiet, determined, methodical. All the noises coming from their corner of the cottage seemed to be Rachel’s; only a rhythmic panting betrayed Patrick’s part in the process. Even at the end, he barely made a sound. David couldn’t help thinking, as silence filled the cottage and pulled him backwards into sleep, that it was a terrible shame; that everyone deserved the kind of pleasure that rushed through them, untamed and uncontrollable.

Femslash February 2021, where I decided one entry needed to not only be a drabble (100 words exactly) like every other day's prompt, but ALSO a sonnet:

A princess resides in a castle fair Who Stevie beholds when sneaking ashore— With aquamarine eyes and golden hair, She’s all that Stevie is so longing for. If she had legs, or the princess a tail, Perhaps Stevie could be part of her world— But fate's harsh currents their union assails, Separating them with an eddy's whirl. So Stevie lingers, and watches, and dreams About a union between sea and land, Wishing it weren't as complex as it seems For them to lie together on the sand. But unbeknownst, a princess dreams, too— Of a raven-haired mermaid, pure and true.

And all the rest's illusion, the fic where Patrick works through his feelings about the word queer and every single comment made me cry:

And that’s really the crux of the issue, because it’s not that he’s uncomfortable in his sexuality. If he was, that would be easier to explain — right from the start, David never put a label onto him. Patrick was the one who’d whispered I’m gay into the sliver of space between them that night at Stevie’s, and David had just given him the same easy smile and nod that Patrick’s sure he would have received if instead his declaration had been I’m bi or I’m pan or I don’t know right now. His discomfort is more of a nagging, deep-seated fear that he’s not entitled to queer; that because he’s never been called a slur or worried about whether or not it was safe to kiss his partner in public or even come out to his parents, the word isn’t his to reclaim.

I haven't met the new me yet, the fic where I just dragged everyone onto the Jake/Rachel train with me by force, no I don't care that they never met in canon:

Despite herself, her eyes keep finding her way back to one of the pool players. He’s tall and well-built, with a close-cropped beard; he carries himself easily, joking with his friend, the flannel shirt stretching across his back as he lines up his next shot. When he stands up after sinking the ball easily, he turns around too quickly for Rachel to pretend she was looking elsewhere and their eyes meet. The smile he gives her isn’t quite cocky, though it’s close; it’s just confident, and confidence has always done something for her. She smiles back before picking up her beer, draining the last of it and trying not to grin around the neck of the bottle when his eyes drop to her throat as she does. She’d forgotten how good it can feel, to flirt with a stranger across a… okay, this isn’t exactly a crowded room, but still. Across a room. She doesn’t make any secret of watching as the guy and his friend finish up the game, the one she’s watching sinking the black easily with several of the stripes still on the table, and he hands his cue to his friend before striding over to the bar and leaning over to get the bartender’s attention.

Meet me out at the end of my rope, aka angstapalooza. The outline @ships-to-sail gave me for the end of chapter three just read "David leaves after possibly the most tender but heart wrenching kiss they’ve ever had, that’s ever been written, ever, in the history of written kissing" and then I had to... write that???

Patrick puts the box down gently before he holds his hand out. When David places the key in his palm Patrick wraps his fingers around David’s, their palms pressed together. Despite everything, it still feels like coming home; before he quite realises what he’s doing he presses Patrick back into the doorframe, his free hand wrapping around Patrick’s neck as he pours all the emotion swirling around inside him into one final kiss. Patrick, for his part, tugs David in close, his fingers winding through David’s hair as he shakes under David’s touch. When David finally pulls away he can see Patrick’s cheeks are wet with tears, and he knows his are too. He doesn’t know if they’re his own or Patrick’s or both. Patrick stares at him, his tone helpless. “You’re the love of my life, David Rose.” David closes his eyes as his resolve almost breaks. When he opens them again, Patrick’s face is blurry and indistinct in front of him as he tries not to let more tears fall. “No one is ever going to love me the way you did.” The words are choked out, but when Patrick opens his mouth to reply David shakes his head to stop him. “But no one ever lied to me like you did, either.”

How much love will you happily take -- I apparently awakened a humiliation kink in multiple people with this one and I will never not be proud of that 🤣

“No, that’s not— it’s not for lack of trying.” David being so kind about this is making it ten times harder to spit the words out and he drops his gaze, picking at Stevie’s faded bedspread so he doesn’t have to see the look in David’s eyes. He can feel the all-too-familiar crackle of humiliation crawling up his spine, knows his embarrassment is clear on his face, and it makes his throat tighten and his stomach clench and his cock twitch and he hates it, loves it, wants to poke at it like a bruise until it consumes him. “It’s been, um, a size issue?” There’s a beat, and then David is placing a gentle finger under his chin and turning Patrick to face him. His face is warm and open and Patrick likes him so much it’s kind of terrifying; he desperately needs this night not to end up another disaster. “That,” David says, voice soft, “is only an issue if we make it an issue. And I don’t plan on making it an issue.”

Wearing glass slippers, I got my Chucks, the Stevie/Alexis tattoo/flower shop AU my beloved:

“Did people send you flowers when your aunt passed away?” Alexis asks pointedly. “Yeah.” She doesn’t say, It was a huge pain in the ass, actually, because I had to throw them all out when they died, but from the look Alexis is giving her at least some of that must show on her face. “Congratulations and commiserations,” she says slowly. “That’s when everyone wants to give flowers: births, deaths, weddings, anniversaries. It’s like, human nature or whatever. There’s something…” she takes a deep breath. “It’s a sign of trust, I think. To be a tiny part of someone’s biggest moments like that. Even if just from the sidelines.” Stevie has tattooed children’s names and wedding bands, handprints and pawprints and important dates. She’s never thought about it quite like that before. “I get that,” she murmurs.

Great Acoustics, aka the cast did a Zoom thing in-character during Covid and had a throwaway line to justify David and Patrick not being in the same room and I just entered a fugue state and wrote porn about it in like an hour:

They make it ten days before their first noise complaint, which is frankly about nine days longer than David expected. They’ve been worse than usual, to be fair, with something as simple as a lockable door apparently now an aphrodisiac to both of them. Patrick goes about twelve shades of red when the official notice is pushed under their door, and then the pillow makes a reappearance. It’s all very fucking hot, actually, seeing buttoned-up, in-control Patrick reduced to a whimpering, begging, uncontrollable mess. Eventually, David manages to convince him that if something must go in his mouth during sex, there are several better options. No, not that. Well, obviously, sometimes that.

A focused moment made, kinkverse part one that I very much intended to be a oneshot lmfao RIP

For a few moments, the only sound is their combined harsh breathing as they recover. Almost before David realises what’s happening he’s being pulled gently to his feet, and then Patrick is framing David’s face in his hands and kissing him soundly. And David’s been kissed a lot during a scene, and a few times before one, but never once has someone kissed him in a sex club after they’ve already come. He lets out a startled but not unhappy yelp and Patrick takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue into David’s now-open mouth, chasing the taste of himself, making them both groan. Finally Patrick releases him with one last, almost chaste, kiss. He drops one hand but leaves the other on David’s cheek, gazing carefully at him, his face soft and open. “I’ve never done that before, with a guy,” Patrick confesses after a moment of silence. David raises an eyebrow, quirks a lip. “The flogging or the blowjob?” “Uh,” Patrick scratches the back of his head as he flushes slightly. “Both? But also, um.” His eyes flicker down to David’s lips and back up, and David gives a soft little Oh of understanding. “Baby dom and baby gay, huh?”

Your heart is keeping time with me, the 50 First Dates AU that I think has the best ending I've ever written? So, uh, spoilers-ish, I guess:

This isn’t a romantic comedy. There will be no miraculous, medically impossible recovery. Every morning for the rest of his life, David will wake up and have to be told that he has a husband he doesn’t recognise; a husband who loves him. But after he’s been told, Patrick will set out to prove it to him, with laughter and music and patient understanding. And because love is so much more than conscious memory, David will go to sleep each night in Patrick’s arms, safe and secure and content. Even though it’s not a film or a fairytale, they will still live happily ever after.

Other

We always walked a very thin line, aka the fic I furiously spite-wrote in three hours after watching Happiest Season lmfao:

When they were little, they were convinced if they practised enough they could develop some sort of psychic link; talk to each other over long distances without tying up the phone lines their dads always used for important business calls. They gave up eventually, but Riley finds herself desperately wishing for the talent now. Come on, Harper. Be braver for her than you were for me. “She’s lying!” The words burst hysterically out of Harper’s mouth, and Riley’s heart sinks.

We knew we were the fortunate ones, because obviously I watched episode 3 of The Last Of Us and immediately started writing, what do you take me for?

He knows that the last four years have been kinder to him than to almost anyone else; he also knows that he doesn’t look like those men in the magazines, the ones he used to drive thirty miles out of his way to buy, shoulders hunched and not making eye contact with the store clerk in case he found himself subjected to judgement — or worse, conversation.

#fic pride friday #kiwiana-writes

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Take These Broken Wings

Dick Winters x Enlisted!Unnamed Female OC/Reader

Trapped behind his desk, Dick finds out the unthinkable has happened to the woman he cares about. Now he has to deal with the consequences; first as her commanding officer and then as the man who loves her.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Sexual Assault, Descriptions of OC/Reader Injuries, Discussion of Retaliatory Violence, Gentleman's Agreement Not To Prosecute, Period Specific Ideas about Honor and Protection of Women, PTSD, Weapons, Language, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Because of the sensitive nature of this fic, I chose to write it in the third person but only a nickname is used so it can be read as a reader fic. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within, particularly the Red Devils in this case!

Special Note: Dearest tag list, I have chosen not to tag any of you because this is so wildly different than my usual fics, I just wasn't sure who would want to read it.

Word Count: 4148

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October 17, 1944 – Schoonderlogt, Holland

It had never been his intention to fall in love with her. With any of the female paratroopers in the 506th, for that matter. But like the slow erosion of a river carving a new path through bare rock, she had ever so gradually hollowed out a place for herself in his heart until all at once he realized he could not live without her. Of course, if one were to ask her, she fell in love with Dick Winters the first day they met in Toccoa, Georgia, sun scorching their skin, blazing his hair copper – or so she liked to remind him often.

His realization had not come until he’d found her halfway up a tree in Normandy, tangled in the lines of her parachute, desperately trying to slice herself free before she was discovered by enemy troops. The sheer panic he had felt as his mind flooded with all the possible ways he could have lost her that night had only served to drive home how deeply he cared for Peaches. Dick didn’t often use the nickname that Nix had bestowed on her; a nickname born of some sordid adventure involving cans of peaches that he’d decided he’d rather not know about. But he did love the way it made her nose crinkle when he slipped it into their stolen moments together. Moments that were becoming harder and harder to find now that he had been placed in charge of 2nd Battalion.

Several pages being laid on his desk by Zielinski tore Dick out of his inner musings and he lifted his pen to add his signature to the line where his Orderly pointed expectantly. Sink had assured him the paperwork would be ‘nothing to sweat’ but Dick was certainly sweating it now. The call of Nixon’s voice as he came up the stairs was a welcome reprieve from the rapidly multiplying stacks of paper on his desk, something that his friend seemed only too happy to point out.

Dick could only feel envy, mixed with trepidation and a certain amount of helplessness, as Heyliger informed him Operation Pegasus was preparing to launch in a matter of hours and he remained trapped in his combination office and bedroom in the attic. As the pair of them made their way down the stairs and out of the requisitioned farmhouse, Dick looked up from his typewriter once more as he heard Nixon’s bright greeting.

“Hey there Peaches, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Very funny Captain. Lieutenant.” He heard her voice reply and did his best not to grin.

“Zielenski, could you go grab a new box of pencils from the storeroom? It’s going to be a long night.” Dick swallowed, doing his best to come up with an excuse for two minutes alone with her, five if he was lucky.

“Yes, sir.” There was a note of confusion in the man’s voice but thankfully he complied, hustling down the stairs.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the door shut followed by the sound of her jump boots scuffing up the worn wooden steps, grinning as she was startled to find him waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

“And here I was thinking I’d surprise you…Who was that?” She glanced back towards the door, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, how’re you feeling about this thing?” He asked softly, taking her hands in his.

“Should be fine, Moose picked mostly people who can swim, the Canadians are nice. That Colonel Dobie sure is handsome.” She teased lightly, lacing her fingers with his.

Despite her teasing tone, Dick still felt a little annoyed at the comment, particularly given the fact that the man was free to swim the river in reconnaissance and join the operation that night while he was a glorified paper pusher.

“Too bad for him I like ‘em tall as a stalk of corn and copper as a penny.” She leaned in to press her lips to his and Dick felt his eyes fall shut, tension that he’d been carrying for hours slowly ebbing from his body.

She pulled back with a soft smile before frowning apologetically. “Sorry my love I got grease paint on you.” She licked her thumb and swiped at his cheek like he was a grubby toddler, and he could not help the broad grin that stretched his features even as he felt his cheeks heat up at the term of endearment she’d only recently begun to use.

“I’ll get it in a moment, Peaches.” He muttered, glancing around to ensure they were still alone before sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close, kissing her soundly. “Be safe out there…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“Oh, like run across a field toward two companies of SS by myself?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he pressed his lips together, still able to hear every word of her displeasure at being left behind for the agonizing seconds it took for the red smoke signal to appear.

“Especially that.” He muttered, clearing his throat and taking a step back as he heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs.

She quickly grabbed her handkerchief and soaked it with water from her canteen, passing it to him so he could scrub at his face, hopefully removing all evidence of their interlude.

“Pencils sir.” Zielenski held out the box proudly and she raised an eyebrow, introducing herself warmly to the Orderly.

“That’ll be all, Sergeant, good luck out there.”

“Thank you sir, appreciate your time.” She replied smoothly, looking completely unaffected while Dick was very aware of the residual heat in his face.

Dick took his time opening the box, watching her back as she slowly descended out of sight until the door closed shut behind her. Sinking into his chair he submitted himself to another few hours of pointing and signing with his Orderly before sending the boy to bed, peering out his window hopefully when a great ruckus arose from one of the barns out back.

Glancing at his watch to confirm it was nearly 0200, he smiled a little to himself as everything seemed to have gone off alright. Rain drops began to sporadically strike the windowpane before the clouds opened into a steady, driving rain. Dick dropped the curtain with a sigh, the room filled with the rhythmic sound of water striking the roof and rolling off the eaves. It was dangerously tempting to lay his head down on his desk and give in to the heaviness in his eyelids, to allow himself to be lulled to sleep. Shaking himself physically, he turned back to yet another report and began striking the keys of his typewriter with a vengeance, hoping to keep himself awake with the racket.

Dick was just spooling a fresh page into place when Nixon was suddenly hurrying up the stairs, followed by Colonel Dobie himself. Both men were wet as drowned rats, but it was the seriousness of their faces that pulled Dick to his feet immediately, securing the pencil from between his teeth into his fist.

“Dick, you remember Colonel Dobie.”

“Yeah…yeah I do…” He replied slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of a sword dangling over their heads as he waited for them to tell him what was going on.

“Terribly sorry to barge in at such a late hour but I wanted to inform you of this incident personally. Well, incidents more precisely. It appears that one of our men, a Holman from Yorkshire, has been severely beaten by a couple of your men from Easy in retaliation for his attack on one of your female soldiers.”

Dick nodded once as he processed the news, heartrate picking up immediately. There were a total of twenty-seven women in 2nd Battalion, but given that it had been only Easy involved in Pegasus, that narrowed it down to a possible nine, of which just a handful had been chosen for the operation. Dick merely had to glance at Nixon to confirm his worst fear. Peaches.

He didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pencil in his hand had grown until the wooden object snapped in two.

“I am willing to consider the matter settled and in need of no further action. The man in question will be returned to England and assigned to some menial duty once he recovers from his injuries.” Dobie continued.

“That will take some time?” Dick asked calmly, despite the searing rage he felt rushing through him.

“Your men were thorough, Captain.” The Colonel replied, grimly.

Dick stood there a moment, eyeing an ink stain that had seeped into the wooden desk top while he was refilling his pen, considering. A beating and unpleasant assignment as punishment for heaven knows what the man had inflicted on her. But to demand more formal proceedings would immediately require testimonies and punishments for the men who had taken it upon themselves to defend her honor. He closed his eyes a moment, vision immediately flooded with her smiling face on one of the blissful outings they had enjoyed during their furlough in England. Forcefully setting the image aside, despite the way it wrenched at his heart to do so, he nodded again. If only to save her further pain.

“Agreed.” Dick offered his hand, Colonel Dobie sealing their agreement with a firm handshake.

Dobie turned to shake Nixon’s hand as well before seeing himself out, Dick waiting until he heard the door close before he spoke again. Two questions on the tip of his tongue, two men inside him, warring for dominance. To his dismay, he had to allow the Battalion’s commanding officer to speak first.

“Who are our vigilantes?”

“Martin and Randleman.” Nixon replied, sitting on one of the folding chairs at the small table in the corner with a heavy sigh. “Moose has them downstairs if you want to talk to them.”

“Yeah. Show them up.”

Nixon leveraged himself out of the chair and was halfway across the attic before he suddenly turned back. “She put that can of peaches in Parkes’ footlocker.”

Dick eyed his friend in confusion, the information seeming utterly irrelevant to their current situation until he suddenly remembered one of Sobel’s impromptu barracks inspections back in Toccoa.

“That dumb bastard wouldn’t leave the women in her squad alone, so she planted it there to get him in trouble – never expected him to get thrown out entirely.” Nixon sighed heavily.

“Where is she?” Dick asked quickly, the words almost melding together in his haste to get them out of his mouth.

“Johnny thinks she’s holed up in the supply barn, I’ll find out.” Nixon replied with a frown and Dick nodded silently, muscles of his jaw clenching almost painfully as he clung to the last vestiges of his focus.

He tossed the broken halves of the pencil onto the desk, frowning at the mess of lead on his palm and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, frown deepening at the smudges of grease paint there from her face. He clenched the fabric between his fingers as Moose entered the office followed by a hard-faced Martin and a typically laidback Randleman.

“What happened?” He asked plainly, eyeing them expectantly.

Moose stood off to the side, watching Martin and Randleman exchange a look.

“Don’t all talk at once…” Dick prodded calmly, and Martin turned back to him.

“Bull and I were on our way out of the celebration, wanted to beat the rain and get back to our quarters – didn’t work out. Ran into Peaches as we got around the corner of the building. She looked like hell, roughed up, wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“She just ran, not like her at all, sir.” Randleman chimed in.

“And then that bastard from the Devils, or whatever they call themselves, came around the corner looking all pleased with himself. Adjusting his pants.”

“Knuckles busted up.” Came Randleman’s addition once more.

“Anyway,” Martin continued after a sharp nod of agreement, “it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Dick exhaled a slow, measured breath. “I can appreciate why you both did what you did. Next time, and we can only hope we never have to have this conversation again, bring him to Moose, to me. We have systems in place, alright?”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All that said…well done.” Dick said with quiet emphasis, letting his pride and gratitude burn brightly in his gaze. “And you’re both on latrine duty for the next two weeks.” He tacked on because he really had no choice but to punish them.

A pair of smirking salutes was the only response before Moose ushered them out. Dick waited until the count of twenty before sliding the suspenders of his OD pants onto his shoulders, shrugging into his jacket and clapping on his helmet. Grabbing his M1 and flashlight, he quickly made his way down the stairs and out into the persistent deluge toward the supply barn, nearly slamming into Nixon on the way.

“Follow me.” His friend nodded and continued to lead the way, nodding to Liebgott who was standing guard at the door, soaked to the skin.

“Joe.” Dick greeted him, noting the way he had his collar turned up obscuring half his face. The way his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

It easily could have been in an attempt to protect himself against the elements, but Dick also knew Liebgott was the sort of man to never let anything go unanswered and if he was standing out here in the rain, he was surely more involved than anyone was letting on.

“Peaches is in there, sir. Doc Roe tried to help her, she wouldn’t let him touch her. Thought I’d make sure no one bothered her until she was ready.”

“Good thinking.” Dick swallowed.

He ought to press further, ferret out the truth of Liebgott’s involvement, but standing just outside where she was hiding, the other half of him was very much in charge now – wanting nothing more than to throw the door open and charge in. But by the sounds of it, that approach would be quite unwelcome.

“Why don’t you go warm up for a bit, we’ll take a turn.” Nixon said to Liebgott who looked between the pair of them before nodding in return.

“Thanks, sir.” He agreed, glancing back toward the barn once before jogging off into the night.

Dick waited until they were well and truly alone before slowly opening the door, stepping into the dim space, sliding his helmet from his head. The sound of footsteps retreating into the far corner behind crates of supplies drew his attention and he took a slow breath, calling her name softly.

“It’s me. Dick. I’m here to check on you.”

There was a soft, smothered sound and he clenched his fists, keeping his progress gradual and measured, trying not to make any sudden movements or noises to startle her. As he reached the rear of the barn, he rounded a stack of crates and his heart clenched painfully as his eyes fell on her wedged between a few bundles of blankets and sacks of something it was too dark to read the labels of. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, M1 tucked into the crook of her elbow as she eyed him warily in the dark.

Her normally tidy hair was in disarray, and the side of her face that he could see sported a gash across her eyebrow. He took another step closer, the air shuddering from his lungs as she flinched away, pressing tightly into the wall behind her, revealing her split lower lip, the swelling along her left cheekbone, the barely-dried tear tracks on her face.

Dick had never seen her shy away from anything since the day they’d met – not the obstacle course, the rifle range, Currahee, or jumping out of a C-47. For his proximity to garner such a reaction from her felt very much as though she had torn his heart from his breast and stomped it beneath her heel.

Sinking slowly into a crouch, he swallowed before speaking just above a whisper. “Peaches…”

The look of disgust, whether it was at the nickname or at herself – perhaps both, mixed with horror that crossed her face had Dick seriously considering if he had enough time to find Holman before his trip back to England and land a few blows himself. He gently corrected it with her name, teeth grinding together audibly in his skull as she turned her head to the side revealing small knicks at her throat. He’d held her at knife point.

“They’ve already found him. Some of the boys took justice into their own hands, but his superiors know now too.” He tried to reassure her, let her know he was no longer out there, no longer a threat to her.

Dick’s eyes dropped to follow the movement of her fingers as she picked at the torn ends of her nails, several cuts visible on her hands as well. Knowing her she’d probably put up a hell of a fight.

“P–” He stopped himself before he accidentally used the offensive nickname again. “…please you’re hurt. Can I clean you up?” He asked, voice trembling with the emotions he was desperately trying to keep at bay for her sake as he shifted forward onto his knees.

She shook her head violently in response, hugging her limbs tighter to her body, which hadn’t even seemed a possibility until it was done. Dick swallowed painfully, carefully laying his rifle and helmet down on the wooden floor beside him, sitting back on his heels.

“I love you.” He blinked rapidly at the gathering dampness in his eyelashes. “No matter what’s happened, I will always love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She eyed him skeptically, no words passing between them for a long while. The sound of the persistent rain outside pounding against the roof filled the barn, drowning out the sound of their breathing, until she opened her mouth to speak at last.

“I froze.” She whispered, tone thick with self-loathing as she released her grip on her M1, laying it down beside his before sealing her palm over her mouth.

She began to shake with sobs so ferocious that no sound passed her throat, rendering the smothering effect of her hand unnecessary. Dick felt his heart shatter as he automatically reached for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and soothe some of her pain. Her repeated aversion to his touch, however, came flooding back and he froze, arms outstretched and aching to hold her, but wanting to respect her wishes.

The feeling of her body colliding with his chest as she launched herself into his arms punched the air from his lungs for several reasons, nearly sending him toppling over backwards with the force of it. Dick’s arms quickly gathered her onto his lap, one hand rubbing along her spine as her strangled sobs soaked his jacket, her hands clutching at him in return.

“You survived, my love.” He whispered against her hair, deciding he really ought to call her that in kind. It was only fitting for it was exactly how he felt. “You did what you had to do to survive in that moment. Please forgive yourself.”

He felt her shift against his sternum, the shudders wracking her body gradually slowing as she took deeper and deeper breaths, sniffling and wiping at her face carefully.

“Who did you have to yell at?” She murmured wetly, peering up at him cautiously.

“Martin and Randleman. Fairly certain Liebgott is somehow involved as well.” Dick replied softly, fighting back the urge to stroke her face. One step at a time – being allowed to hold her would more than suffice for now.

She sniffed. “Johnny must have figured it out first. I couldn’t even come up with a plausible lie I just…ran away from him outside the party…” Her eyes lowered in shame before she sat up slowly, Dick biting back a frown at the barely concealed wince that crossed her features.

“Nix is outside keeping watch. Can I take you back to CP? Get you cleaned up?” He swallowed, really wanting her to allow Roe to look her over but doubting that would be an option.

She looked to him, eyes suddenly wide with the terror of realization. “Oh god Dick, what if I catch something or…wind up pregnant…oh fuck…” Her face began to crumple, and Dick swallowed, quickly cupping her uninjured cheek hoping to startle her out of that train of thought.

As she jumped and looked to him sharply, he apologized gently. “My love, we don’t know if any of those things will happen. Hopefully they won’t, but no matter what comes next, we’re going to face it together.”

“But Dick I’m–”

“Don’t go and say something melodramatic, now. You’re the woman I love and something horrible has been done to you. It doesn’t change who you are to me.” He replied firmly, swallowing as she stared at him startled for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Now I’m taking you to CP and we’re getting you cleaned up, ok?”

“Should I salute you, Captain?” She raised an eyebrow before wincing and restoring her face to a neutral expression.

He felt his cheeks redden, a sure sign that things would some day return back to normal. That the woman he loved was still with him, she just needed a lot of care right now and he was more than happy to provide it. “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant.” He replied and tried not to smirk as she scoffed slightly in surprise before shifting to her feet slowly.

Dick passed her rifle to her before grabbing his own, rising to his feet and sliding his helmet on his head. He offered his hand to her, swallowing back his sigh of relief as she laced her battered fingers through his and followed him out through the maze of supplies to where Nixon was still waiting in the rain.

“Christ, Peaches…” He breathed when she came into view and Dick shot him a sharp look, trying, too late, to stop him using the nickname.

“Son-of-a-bitch ruined the nickname, Nix. I trust you to come up with a new one.” She sighed, sounding positively exhausted, and Nixon nodded quickly in reply.

“Noted. You sure you’re alright?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“No. But someday, maybe.” She replied honestly and Nixon nodded empathetically as Dick squeezed her hand gently.

“Let’s get out of this rain.” He led the three of them back into the farmhouse, taking her straight to the washroom where he filled the basin with water. “Help or no?”

She paused a moment, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror left behind by the home’s original owners and Dick waited patiently until she turned back to him. “I can do it.” She replied softly and he nodded, closing the door to wait in the hall.

Nixon shuffled by carrying his pillow and Dick raised an eyebrow. “Give her my bed, I’ll take your crappy little cot.” He muttered, making his way to the attic before he even had the chance to reply.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall, thoroughly spent by the events of the day, knowing he’d have to be up in just a few hours to face the rest of the paperwork on his desk.

“Dick?” Her soft voice startled him, making him realize he’d actually fallen asleep standing up, for just a moment.

Her lips twitched slightly with a hint of amusement, and he smiled slightly in return, nodding as she looked more herself despite the still-fresh injuries.

“This way.” He offered his hand and led her towards Nixon’s room, gesturing at the bed. “Gift from Lew.”

Her face softened, eyes glistening suddenly, reminding Dick just how fragile she still was. “Where is he sleeping?”

“Attic.”

“Then you need a bed too…” She replied as she crawled onto the mattress, sighing at the softness of the bedding.

“Oh, the floor is fine I…”

“Please hold me.” Her voice was small, her request simple and one that he did not need to hear twice to honor.

He unlaced his boots and removed his outer layers before crawling in with her, letting her curl up against him before sliding his arm around her carefully. “Comfortable?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“Very.” She replied sleepily and he allowed himself to drift, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, letting sleep nibble at the edges of his consciousness.

“Dick?” She whispered and he snuffled awake quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Does it smell like pee in here?”

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

Band of Brothers Masterlist

#dick winters x reader #dick winters x oc #dick winters imagines #dick winters imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #tw sa implied #tw assault #tw sa

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nametakensff · 2 months

Text

Happiness (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Final part of my little three fic series - here is the follow up to 'Revelation' and...it's a monster. 17.4K. If you actually manage to stick with it all then I commend you <3

K/im angrily confronts H/arry about his inappropriate conduct. H/arry reluctantly reveals why. Fucking ensues

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, past M/F, hinted past M/M if you squint, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, manually induced sneezes, rapid sneezes, mentions of dust allergy sneezes, sexual fantasies, masturbation, hand jobs, dry humping, frotting, finger sucking, mentions of anal sex, mentions of blow jobs, some mild mess, spray, sneezing on someone, licking spray off fingers (sorry lmao), edging, (brief) orgasm denial, elements of domination/submission, some voyeurism/exhibitionism, verbal teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, embarrassment/humiliation, graphic descriptions of semen, crying a little during/after sex (guess who), K/im and H/arry like each other a lot more than either of them realised

CW: (unintentionally perceived) public masturbation, drug and alcohol mentions, potential heart attack mentions, potential priapism mentions, bullet wound mentions, self-hatred, H/arry is still a mess, internalised homophobia, H/arry experiences a lot of shame re: the fetish and describes himself with degrading language, K/im is perhaps a little too forward initially, mentions of dead bodies (in a murder investigation / gallows humour way), mentions of potential STDs (K/im is just being cautious)

Notes:

Takes place in the canon game timeline so again, please don't read if you don't want spoilers!

For the sake of the fic, the bed in the coastal shack is a proper single large enough for both of them to lie on and the room has a working sink. I had to let these men clean themselves up

K/im should not be doing this with a concussion but. It's my fic, so

EXTREMELY NSFW - Minors DNI!

It has been at least five days since you first touched yourself to the thought of Lieutenant Kitsuragi sneezing. You have touched yourself in a similar fashion every night since – up until a bullet to the thigh and your subsequent fevered unconsciousness prevented you from doing so. You did not mean to make a habit of it, but the orgasmic release the thoughts ultimately lead to is almost as addictive as any drink or drug. The fact that the Lieutenant has sneezed multiple times each day in your presence has made resisting your nighttime jerk-fests damn near impossible.

The fantasies have evolved into an increasingly varied (and sordid) collection of scenarios. Your favourite is the one starring Kim as your butler, burying his face into a feather duster to alleviate his allergic misery by inducing an endless series of sneezes. Naturally, you play the role of the voyeuristic employer, watching the scene unfold from your grand office chair and stroking your cock until you cum all over the hardwood surface of the desk that Kim has just finished cleaning. It is incredibly self-indulgent and fantastical, which naturally makes you cum with the force of a firehose. Every morning it is a little more difficult to look the Lieutenant in the eye. He is completely innocent to your sins, and you are a filthy pervert.

You still have your cold. Now that you have returned to the fishing village with the fierce seaside air whipping at your face, your nose runs without cease. You have been using an endless supply of Frittt brand pocket tissues, having abused Kim’s loaned handkerchief so much so that not an inch of fabric has been left unsoiled. Your nostrils are tingling, threatening to flare with every laboured snuffle.

It really isn’t a terrible cold – but it appears to be a persistent one. You’ve certainly sneezed far more from previous illnesses. One cold in your thirties left you bedbound and sneezing almost like clockwork – you had noticeable abs, then. You remember this, and you remember thinking to yourself that the torso-crunching sneezes that barrelled out of you were just as effective as any targeted exercise.

The persistence is one thing. The suggestible nature of your cold sneezes on the Lieutenant is another. You had both been good-natured about this admittedly comical routine, in which you try not to sneeze, fail, and sneeze anyway – followed immediately by Kim in a near-identical fashion. Today has been a difficult day, however – you are drawing closer to the end of your investigation, and you are both exhausted. Objectively absurd though it may be, neither of you can any longer find much amusement in these twin responses. Neither of you bless each other. The most excruciating (meaning: cock-teasing) thing of all is that Kim has abandoned any attempt at holding back. He is more and more frequently sneezing openly, or in the general direction of his fist – a lazy covering at best, doing little more than dousing his gloves in a delicate burst of spray.

Actually, there is something that arouses you more. As Kim continues to sneeze, his immaculate composure begins to falter. You are not referring to the ways the sneezing overpowers him. It is more so the fact that following each sneeze, the Lieutenant has started to moan. Quiet, shaky sighs at first – now full-blown groans of exhaustion - and what you hope is an element of indulgence at the post-sneeze sensation of relief. They sound practically orgasmic to your one-track mind.

Try as you might, every time the Lieutenant sneezes and sighs, you grow hard. It is perhaps more accurate to state that you have spent more time hard than soft. You wonder if this is enough for you to start worrying about a potential case of priapism. It is rather impressive – at your age and with the recent blood loss you experienced. Perhaps you ought to embrace this as a display of virile masculinity.

Either way, you have very little way of masking this unfortunate physical response. You shuffle awkwardly – you have also tried tucking your cock upwards and into the waistband of your trousers. You are almost one hundred percent positive that Kim has seen you pawing at your responsive genitals more than once but seems to be intent on ignoring it. You understand. You’re not sure how you would address the situation were you in his position. You ought to be more embarrassed but the triple combination of illness, drug withdrawal and injury saps you of fucks left to give.

You have no time to stew in your own thoughts. You are here to ask Lilienne if you can borrow her boat to get to the Islet. You manage to do so and almost leave the interaction unscathed. Almost.

“HAAAAEEEISHHHH!! EISHHHHHhHhuu!!”

The tickle once again renders you helpless and you sneeze twice – loud enough to send a nearby seagull sky bound. You turn away from Lilienne just in time to spare her an unfortunate baptism. The post-sneeze ecstasy leaves the skin of your forearms breaking out in goosebumps, hidden by the sleeves of your Disco blazer. It takes all of your remaining composure to fight off a full-body shiver. You straighten up sheepishly and wipe the result of your sneeze out of your moustache with a crumpled tissue. A blush is creeping over your face. Making a disgusting spectacle of yourself in front of a woman you have attempted at least four times over the past couple of days to ask out on a date (to no avail) does nothing for your morale.

“Bless you, officer!”

You mutter a small thank you from behind the tissue. If your dick hadn’t already been hardening in anticipation of Kim’s reciprocal reaction, that enthusiastic blessing would have done the job. Speaking of the Lieutenant – Lilienne has barely finished addressing you when he spins around – gracefully, controlled and completely balanced, unlike your own frantic whiplash motion – and sneezes thrice uncovered into the cold sea air.

“Hhp’Tsschhh! hHD’Tschh!! Hh! HahHD’Tzshiew!! Ahh, mon dieu…”

They sound like they feel incredible. Before you can do anything to avoid it, you are mentally constructing a detailed visual of the sneezes that the Lieutenant’s expert timing and manners had prevented you from witnessing. What do you expect after committing every sneeze you have glimpsed to memory to then masturbate to with vigorous abandon? Your prick is like iron between your legs. Lilienne turns to Kim with a look of surprise.

“And bless you too, officer! I don’t like the sound of that.”

Whatever Kim is saying to her in response, you miss. Your focus is lasered in on the tip of his nose, moving slightly side to side as he tends to his nostrils with a neat blue handkerchief. You want to be holding that handkerchief for him. Better yet, you wish it was your own hand wiping his nostrils clean. Thought after lewd thought overpowers you. You are painfully hard.

You should really rearrange things down there before Lilienne notices your erection to end all erections. You cup yourself as subtly as you can manage – you’re not sure what you’ll be able to achieve stood mere feet away from the two of them. The waistband trick requires two hands – maybe if you were to turn around?

Before you get a chance to try, Lieutenant Kitsuragi has fixed his eyes on you. You freeze in your tracks, as if paralysed by his gaze. A distinct feeling of combined shame and guilt overcomes you, not unlike the way a child feels when caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Except you are not a child – you are a 44-year-old man, with his hand on his cock. His eyes flash down to your crotch almost imperceptibly before returning to your face, darting about as if in attempt to locate any visual cue that may implicate whether you have indeed gone batshit insane. It is likely a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity as you watch the subtle shifting of his facial features through a spectrum of confusion, shock, disbelief, shock again, and finally – rage.

This anger is unlike anything you have seen pass over the Lieutenant’s face in your week together. It sends a spear of utter self-hatred straight through you. You really have reached an all-time low, Harry-boy.

Lilienne appears not to have noticed the intense stare-off between the two of you – likely because it has lasted approximately 1.5 seconds and is broken by Kim thanking Lilienne for her cooperation and asking that she excuse the pair of you for a moment. His gloved hand reaches out and grips your bicep, hard enough to hurt. Anxiety overwhelms you – he is mad mad.

He marches you the short distant to the shack you have been staying in, shoves you through the door and follows behind you. He does not slam the door, although you can make out enough tension in his slender frame to see that he would very much like to do so. The screech of the rusty hinges is more than enough to amplify your anxiety. He turns to face you, and you shrink in on yourself, feeling naked and exposed within the shooting range of his ire. Your legs are weak – particularly the one in which a bullet had been embedded. You sit on the edge of the small bed and watch him watching you. He looks for a moment like he may be too angry to speak. At last, he opens his mouth.

“What the fuck is the matter with you??”

The Lieutenant’s thick accent and heightened emotions intensify the remark. You are sweating. Shame practically radiates off of you. You’ve truly done it now. You say nothing in response to him, hanging your head in misery. He continues.

“I have been nothing but supportive of your unconventional methods of policing. For all the outrageous things you have said and done, you have genuinely done some excellent work. I have given you the benefit of the doubt for your drug problems, the amnesia, your emotional outbursts - but public masturbation? In front of a female citizen? You really are a piece of work.”

Your face burns. Every word aches, cutting into you like a blade and whittling you down into a hollow receptacle of disgrace.

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t masturbating!” These words tumble out of your mouth before you have a moment to reconsider. The Lieutenant glares at you, clearly not buying it, but he makes no move to cut you off. Your mouth is dry and your hands are shaking. You open your mouth again.

“I was trying to…relieve some pressure. I wanted to hide it. I didn’t mean for you - or Lilienne - to see...”

Your voice sounds reedy, pathetic – incriminating. Maybe if you could stop sweating like a pig, you could actually convince Kim that you are not a sex pest. Shockingly, something in your expression as you look up at him with pleading, frightened eyes convinces him to believe you. He blinks owlishly, then reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He sighs, a deeply exhausted sound – it seems to physically deflate him, as if the tumultuous anger trickles out of him with the exhale. You watch, clutching your hands together nervously, as he removes his glasses all together and drags a hand down over his face. It rests on his mouth for a few moments longer, and then he is putting his glasses on and looking at you with a mixture of exasperation and pity. His eyes are the first to dart away from your exchanged glance. He clears his throat. You wait.

“I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but…Listen, detective, do you-? Need some time to yourself? I’ve noticed you’ve been tense. I thought it might have been your injury, but I suppose I was wrong. At this point…” He hesitates, clasping his hands behind his back. “At this point, having a moment to relieve yourself might actually be pertinent to the progression of the investigation.”

It is your turn to blink, dumbfounded at what you have just heard. Is Lieutenant Kitsuragi actually suggesting you should jerk off? And that your jerking off is of utilitarian necessity? You should confirm this.

“You want me to whack off so that I can focus on the case?”

He looks pained by your turn of phrase; it is much harder to feign professionalism when his own suggestion is bounced back at him in cruder, less obfuscating language. He nods all the same and clears his throat.

“If you think it will help, I will excuse myself and be back in-” He glances at his sports watch. “Twenty minutes.”

Wow. Twenty minutes is probably a whole nineteen minutes too generous given your current state of rampant and unforgiving arousal. The way the Lieutenant falters indicates, however, that he is doubtful of your capability to achieve orgasm even once. You can’t really blame him. He did admit to thinking you were well into your fifties. You nod your head.

“You’re unwell, and injured – I don’t think it would do you any good to continue working this case when you’re also so – distracted.”

He is actively skirting around the issue and choosing his words carefully. It doesn’t change the fact that he is recommending that you pleasure yourself whilst he awkwardly stands outside and waits for you to finish. This makes you visibly cringe. Your own embarrassment only fuels the Lieutenant’s. He clears his throat again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He takes your silence as an indication of consent.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it, officer.”

You watch helplessly as he turns to make an exit. Before the Lieutenant is even able to grasp the door handle, however, you hear a frantic intake of breath. Fuck. There is no mistaking the sound of the Lieutenant fuelling up for a sneeze – but this time it occurs with no prompting on your part. He is clearly very sensitive today.

“hHupt’TSSCH’uu!! Merde…”

You watch it all go down – the way his slender frame shudders, shoulders jumping as he is temporarily unbalanced by the voracity of his own release. It isn’t especially loud, but you can tell that it is powerful. You bite your lip. Do not moan. I repeat – do not. Moan.

You moan. It seems violently loud in the small room. Both of you freeze in response. If you didn’t want the ground to swallow you up before, you do now. Despite the humiliation, the utter mortification of it all, your cock is leaking through the fabric of your trousers. Maybe Kim, still facing away from you, will think you have already started working on yourself, and will simply step outside and pretend he doesn’t share the same planet as you for another twenty minutes. Crisis averted.

Luck is not on your side. The Lieutenant turns around. He is looking at you as though studying a particularly challenging crossword puzzle. Were he a dog, his head would have been tipped inquisitively to one side. You are sweating bullets.

“You know, detective…” He starts, and you do know. It is over. You know he has put two and two together. In a way, it is surprising he hadn’t clocked on sooner, but you imagine this is due to his general acceptance of your sporadic and unpredictable behaviour as a rule of thumb.

“If it didn’t sound so ridiculous, I would think…no.”

He turns to leave again. This should be an auspicious turn of events for you, but for whatever reason, you feel disappointed. Burdened. You realise you want the relief of exposure, like a sinner spilling his guts in confessional. You should keep your mouth shut and wank your miserable cock in peace.

“You’re right.” You groan. You do not look at him as he turns to face you. “I’m sorry.”

Was that worth it, Harry? Was it really worth it to confess? You can only wait for his response in silence. You aren’t breathing. You’re convinced that if you breathe, it will scare him away.

Since you are not looking at the Lieutenant, you do not see the expression of contemplative fondness on his face, nor the sparkle of curiosity in his eyes. He is taking in the sight of you, curled in on yourself like a naughty child. You hold yourself rigid as he starts to speak.

“So you mean to say – that when I sneeze…?”

Just hearing that word enunciated in his soft, enquiring tone is enough to trigger another rush of blood to the face. It is a miracle there is enough left north of your belt to do so. You whimper, which only makes you blush harder, and nod your head in way of response. This is pure torture.

“Hm.” The small sound that leaves the Lieutenant is a cross between a huff of laughter and a hum of consideration. Your eyes swivel up to meet his own. You had expected disgust, reproach – not amusement. He is smiling ever so slightly – the corners of his mouth are turned up as he takes you in, arms crossed over his chest. He no longer radiates waves of irritation and confusion. The man before you exudes confidence and control. Your cock throbs shamefully and deposits another glob of precum into your underwear. You open your mouth to speak, but words fail you.

“You really are an interesting man, detective. I’ve never even heard of this particular fétiche before.” His words must trigger a sudden realisation in him. A look recognition passes over his features, and you know he is connecting the dots – looking back at all your behaviour this past week and re-contextualising it. He snaps a thumb and forefinger together. “This makes perfect sense.”

His scholarly enthusiasm is somehow unsettling to you, as if you are a specimen he is examining. You now regret disclosing this sordid piece of information. What had you been expecting, really? For him to put on a show for you, like one of your sick little fantasies? Stupid. You hang your head.

“Yes, I’m a huuuuge pervert, Kim. Now please leave me alone to my shame.”

Oh god, are you going to cry? You’re actually going to cry, aren’t you?

“I never said that, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” His tone is suddenly overwhelmingly gentle. It only makes your eyes prickle harder with tears, threatening to overflow. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He means it, too. He sounds incredibly regretful, perhaps even a little pained. You can’t look at him, but his palpable remorse at unintentionally beating you when you are down seems to open the floodgates. You feel the reluctant confession blurting out of you before you’re even entirely sure of what you’re going to say.

“I forgot about it, like everything else. Until I didn’t. Until you…” You wind your hand through the air.

“Sneezed?” Kim fills in helpfully, though you wish he hadn’t. It goes straight to your cock.

“…Well, I suppose in a strange way I ought to be flattered.”

You do look at him now, and see him smiling at you supportively. He looks a little apprehensive – but who wouldn’t in this ridiculous situation. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. A single tear runs down your cheek as you blink. You’re about to say something really, really stupid.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

God, Harry. Stop. Stop now.

“Thinking about my – my sexuality. And what it means. And you told me you’re a member of the ‘homosexual underground’. I – I think I might be too.”

The Lieutenant looks back at you, wide-eyed. You need to abort this. Kill him. Kill yourself. Anything that stops you in your tracks.

“I mean, I might be a partial member. I like women. I…there was…someone. She smelled like apricots and – oh, god-!”

A wave of sadness engulfs you. You start to sob, uncontrollably, like a little boy, and cradle your head in your hands. Wow. You really nailed it, Harry. You sure don’t do anything in half measures. You told him his sneezing gets you hard, that you have an inexplicable man-crush on him, and you even threw in an ex-woman-person reference to spice it up, all before crying! You should write a book on how to be the biggest fuck up known to man.

The bed dips as Kim comes and sits beside you. He rests a tentative hand on your shoulder. It is awkwardly limp – he is uncomfortable with physical displays of affection. Something tells you he has not touched somebody conciliatorily in a long time, likely by choice. But he is trying, and that is more than you could have ever expected you deserve. You cry a little harder.

“Harry,” he sighs. “You’re overwhelmed right now. Don’t force yourself to think.”

Ordinarily, he would have followed this with some comment about focusing on the case over personal matters. That he doesn’t shows you how much empathy he is affording you in this moment of distress.

Your crying eventually begins to taper off into little gulps and hiccups as the Lieutenant rubs tiny, tentative circles into your shoulder. Incredibly, your dick has barely softened.

“I’m –! Sorry-!” You gasp out. It sounds pitiful, almost hysterical. Kim just continues to rub your shoulder until you run out of steam entirely, before handing you an opened pack of tissues to clean up your face. As you do so, he takes the opportunity to speak.

“As far as sexual fetishes go, detective, this one is pretty tame. Harmless. A little unsanitary, maybe, but not without a certain appeal.”

You pause in your ministrations. He notices and seems suddenly ashamed by his own forwardness. He clears his throat and retracts his hand.

“Khm. Anyway – as for the homosexual underground – or bisexual underground, as the case may be for you…It certainly isn’t a crying matter. It can, at times, even be fun.”

Ooh, the Lieutenant’s got jokes. You appreciate this reassurance. The crying has left you wiped out and extra sniffly. You have to blow your nose in four different tissues before the congestion subsides. Kim doesn’t flinch at the gurgling sounds you produce.

“I’m going to leave you alone for a while, like I said.” Kim utters after a couple of moments of silence.

As the Lieutenant stands, a foreboding sensation of fear washes over you. You do not want to be alone right now. Before you can stop yourself, you are reaching out at lightning speed and gripping his wrist with one huge paw, halting his departure. Kim freezes and looks down at you. You stare back up at him. His face shifts through a series of emotions before solidifying into an impassive mask.

“Officer. You need to let go.”

There is not contempt in his tone, but his voice is firm and commanding. You are compelled to release him. You do not stop looking up at him. You have no idea what kind of face you are making, but it is apparently making it very hard for him to withdraw the way he had intended. His face is relaxed, but his eyes are burning.

He is the first to break eye contact with you. He strides towards the door and opens it in one swift motion, hesitating for just a moment to look back over his shoulder at you, and then he is gone. The door closes behind him with a decisive click.

Well. That was horrible. You are dejected and alone. You have driven the Lieutenant away, finally. Rejection stings in your throat and swollen sinuses. And you are still. Fucking. Hard. The brief respite of a mind-numbing orgasm might give you fifteen to thirty seconds of ecstasy before the pain sets back in. At this point, bereft of narcotics and alcohol, you will take it.

You flip yourself onto your back, pushing your head into the flimsy pillow and opening your fly with fumbling hands. You manage not to injure yourself as you pull your throbbing cock out of your underwear. It is a deep shade of red, almost nearing purple in your desperation, and even as you wrap your fingers around it in a familiar grip, it drools clear liquid from the sensitive head. You cannot help yourself. Now that you have started stroking and pulling, rubbing the copious precum all over your length, you cannot stop. The shame and the sadness recede at the pure animalistic pleasure of it all. Your head falls back and you moan. One of your hands reaches up to squeeze a nipple through the cotton of your shirt, and you gasp.

It will not take you long. You feel the heated pressure building inside of you, your cock twitching as you caress it in all the ways you like best. Pure, mindless masturbation. You do not want to think thoughts, but you are about to. They skim the surface of your consciousness – your fantasies, some memories. They blur together in a miasma, barely comprehensible the way you dart back and forth between them, but they are turning you on all the same. You are so, so close. Your mouth tips open in a pre-orgasmic moan.

The door of the shack slams open, and the shock nearly makes you orgasm on the spot. The Lieutenant is cursing and closing the door behind him, making sure to lock it. You push yourself up and fumble your dick back into your underwear, hissing as you attempt to close the zip of your fly. It is impossible, so you hold your hands sheepishly in front of your crotch instead. Kim watches you, an intense expression of – need? Desire? Surely that isn’t the case. You can barely think straight. You swallow, head spinning.

“Kim, what-?”

Your words set the Lieutenant’s in motion. He all but lunges at you, pushing you back on the bed and partially straddling you. Your hands fumble to grip at his waist, steadying yourself as the bedframe creaks violently at the activity. It occurs to you for a split-second that the elderly washerwoman outside may be able to hear the ruckus you have been making from where she sits tending to her clothes – she may be blind, but she is certainly not deaf. You banish the thought with a rapid blink of your eyes.

You look up at Kim in sheer disbelief. He is breathing heavily – not nearly as heavily as yourself, almost panting on the brink of orgasm – but heavily, nonetheless. His hands grip your shoulders firmly, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth whilst his eyes rove over your face. And then he is leaning forward and kissing you.

For a moment, your mind short circuits. Not in a million – no, a billion-trillion – years, did you think the past week had been leading up to this moment. The Lieutenant’s lips are wonderfully soft as he works them against your own. It takes a couple of seconds for you to relax, shocked as you are, but then it is electric and instinctual and you are moaning against him, yanking his pelvis down against your own. You open your mouth and his tongue slips in immediately, and then it is even better. You both groan in tandem, as if neither of you can believe how good it feels. The kiss is like a practiced dance – you both know when to bite, when to suck, when to pull back and when to dive deeper. It is simultaneously saccharine and downright fucking filthy. You cannot believe the pair of you haven’t tried this before.

Kim breaks the kiss, sucking on your tongue before pulling back with a lewd pop – you chase him but he holds you in place by your chin.

“Do you want this?”

His eyes dart nervously back and forth behind the thick lenses of his glasses, slightly foggy where your activities have steamed them up. You lunge forward, intending to show him just how much you want this with another kiss, but he manages to hold you back. He is deceptively strong.

“I need to hear you say that you want this.”

He sounds so, so desperate. You realise right then and there that you are a fool for him.

“I want it.” You breathe out, and before you have even finished he is kissing you again. Your head reels, and you feel yourself beginning to tip back onto the bed. Kim goes with you, kneeling with a leg on each side of your torso. He presses the length of his body against your own, and you feel his hardness pressing against the soft flesh of your gut. Your hands travel up and down his back, frantically, squeezing his ass one moment and gripping his shoulders the next. Your cock pulses and pulses between your legs.

And then you feel it. The tickle. You have ignored it for far too long. All that crying and snorting has left you vulnerable to future attacks. All it takes is for one poorly timed deep breath through your nose as Kim explores your molars with his tongue, and you know you cannot fight it. You yank your head back, eyes beading with tears and face cringing in pre-sneeze agony. The resulting sneeze is going to be monstrous – more so than usual. Your lungs suck in a desperate inhale, chest expanding against Kim’s and raising him a good inch higher above you. He seems to understand all at once, angling his face as far away from your own as he can.

You manage through sheer willpower to tilt your head in the opposite direction and over the side of the bed. It tears out of you in a cloud of spray - an angry, irritated explosion.

“IIIIEEESSSSSHHHHTTTtt!!!”

Your hands squeeze reflexively at Kim’s hips. The intensity of the outburst shakes the both of you and the creaking bedframe. Fortunately, you have not pulled any muscles as you awkwardly crane yourself away. The Lieutenant scrambles for purchase atop you, reaching out to steady himself with one hand on the wall.

Your head has barely flopped back onto the pillow before you are cringing with a second, even deeper breath. Your nostrils flare wide in preparation, and you do the whole thing all over again.

“HHHAEEEEEESSSSSCCHHHHHhhh!!!”

You do not have enough energy to be embarrassed by the roaring, desperate nature of them. It felt so fucking good to let it all out. The tickle must have been brewing for some time and you had simply been too distracted to realise. You groan a little, reaching up with one hand to rub your tingling nostrils on the skin of your wrist. You mutter an apology under your breath before angling upwards, pressing your lips to the Lieutenant’s and resuming the kiss.

When he pulls back mere seconds later, you are terrified that you have disgusted him with your indulgent display. And then you remember.

Kim sits back, resting his ass on your pelvis and nudging up against your cock. You gasp as he shifts, clutching his hips hard enough to leave bruises. He calms your squirming with a hand to your chest, holding you down on the mattress. His expression is deeply irritated as his own tickle begins to crest – one eye squints against it, and his mouth drops open to take in gentle hitching breaths. Your hips give an involuntary thrust, jostling him slightly above you. The head of your cock, clothed only in your sticky underwear, ruts against him.

Your entire world narrows down to watching Lieutenant Kitsuragi’s building sneeze. You realise you are involuntarily holding your breath, eyes roving from the flare of his nostrils to his creasing forehead to the way his tongue presses just so behind his bottom teeth. He has raised his free hand loosely before his face. Your cock twitches as he fans his face once, twice, and the mere suggestion of it seems to be enough to have him gasping one last time, nostrils flared to capacity, before he is jerking above you.

“hHDT’TSZCHhhh! AhhDTt’TZsCHh’uu!!”

The bed shakes beneath you as he rocks forward twice. Your entire body feels like a live wire of sensation as you watch him through unblinking eyes. Your fantasies were erotic, but being able to actually feel the Lieutenant’s body strain and tremble as the ticklish urge overwhelms him is something else; the unguarded, desperate expressions as he lets loose are painfully arousing. You do not make out any visible spray but you can feel, from behind the pathetic semi-covering of his hand, each burst of air across your collar bone and neck. You shiver in ecstasy.

The Lieutenant pauses for a moment and leans back again, preparing for a third sneeze. You take advantage of his shifting to free yourself from under the press of his palm, pushing yourself up on your elbows and leaning closer to him. You want to feel the next sneeze on your face. It really seems like it is going to happen, too; Kim is so overwhelmed by the tickle in his nose that he appears to look straight past you, focusing all of his concentration on the sensation as it builds, and builds. He shivers, a delicious little trembling motion that you feel travel through him and down to your own hips, before gasping one last time – an audible, desperate “Hahh-!”

At the very last moment, he tilts his face away from your own, raising the back of his hand in front of his face with his palm towards you. It is a poor attempt at shielding you from his sneeze – you can still make out every minute detail of his face as his features draw tight. It is the slight downwards tilting of his head that spares you any real contact, but the proximity and poor covering means that you can see the fine aerosol that bursts from his mouth and nose as the uncharacteristically harsh sneeze overwhelms him.

“hHUPT’TZSCHhh’uuu!! Nnn…”

The cloud of spray glitters briefly in the air beside you before dissipating just as suddenly. Your hips buck again and you cannot help the guttural moan that pulls itself out of you. His own little moan of relief drives you insane. You wish he hadn’t turned away, but you say nothing – the last thing you want is to spook him. One wrong move and you might wake up trembling in the throes of a nocturnal emission. It is starting to feel very much like one of those kinds of dreams.

But ohh, that third sneeze had been wet. As well as leaving the Lieutenant visibly shaken, it has left a tantalising sheen of dampness on his bottom lip. As Kim blinks, taking a moment to recover, you reach out to swipe across the surface of the moistened skin, drying his mouth and transferring the wetness to your thumb. You hesitate for a moment. The Lieutenant is watching you silently, one hand still outstretched and pressed against the wall, a little taken aback by this unpredictable action. Maybe you should apologise.

Fuck it. You lick your thumb clean, moaning a little in both arousal and shame at what you have just allowed yourself to do. It was a stupid thing to do. If Kim walks out of this room with immediate effect and refuses to work with you any longer, you have only yourself to blame. This time, for sure, you have taken things too far. You brace yourself, awaiting the Lieutenant’s reaction. You force yourself to lock eyes with him.

You were not expecting to see an even more intense look of desire boring back into you. You watch as Kim removes his gloves before using his own forefinger to finish what you started, wiping away any residual spray.

“You really do like this, don’t you?”

There is a hint of amusement in this question, which is not really a question at all but a damning statement. It does not sound manipulative or sadistic, however; he seems to be genuinely enjoying your lascivious responses.

“Sorry, god, sorry,” You mutter anyway. Once again, his enthusiasm has had an adverse effect on your own sudden brazenness. You do not know how to do this. The dreamlike haze of arousal has up to this point protected you from the sobering reality that you are now engaging in sneezing fetish sex activities. With a man. With Precinct 57’s Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. Your life has been full of ‘what the fuck’ moments, but this has to be waaay up there, man. This was so much easier in your fantasies where you alone had control.

Kim shakes his head. His smile is heated, but kind.

“Don’t be.” He murmurs. “It’s intriguing. You’re intriguing, Harry.”

He reaches towards your face as he speaks. Your mouth is already hanging slightly open in gormless disarray, so it is with little resistance that he slips the middle and forefinger of his right hand – yes, Harry-boy, the very same one he used to tend to his mess – between your teeth and onto your tongue. You start sucking on them almost immediately, flushing with pleasure at the sensation and the compliment. Kim’s breath hitches and he moans, a deeply satisfied purr of a sound that goes straight to your throbbing cock. Your underwear is now drenched, sticking to the head of your cock in the aftermath of his most recent nasal display. You are painfully hard and entirely desperate, sucking on those fingers like they’re the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Ahh, detective…” Kim sighs. His voice is low and thick with arousal of his own. You shift underneath him so that he is no longer straddling you with a leg on either side, moving backwards slightly and manoeuvring one of your thighs – the uninjured one - between his own. He goes eagerly, enthusiastically. You press up and between his legs with purpose.

There is no lack of certainty as he bucks back down onto your leg – Lieutenant Kitsuragi is hard, and he is rubbing that hardness against you whilst you suck on his fingers. You have no idea how you have managed to pull this off, but there is no point in overthinking it – especially when every drop of blood in your body feels as though it has pooled exclusively between your legs. You clamp a hand down around his wrist for leverage and start to increase the intensity of your oral stimulation. Your head bobs slightly as you suck the digits in and out of your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips of Kim’s fingers. His breath catches, and your eyes dart up to his face. Your cock twitches at the sight of his glittering brown eyes, heavy lidded and pupils blown as he follows the motions of your ministrations.

A swell of pride fills your chest. You realise that all you’ve ever really wanted since meeting the Lieutenant is for him to like you. He has stood by you despite the fact that you’re – well, you. And he actually does seem to like you, as inexplicable as this may be. You intrigue him. He said so himself. You don’t want to disappoint him – you want to make him feel good. Allowing yourself to acknowledge this desire for Kim outside of your own one-sided, pornographic fantasies fills you with a burning determination to do just that. Operation ‘Make Kim Orgasm’. Fuck the case, fuck this stupid murder, fuck police work – this is what you were made for. If that sounds dramatic, then so be it. You’re a dramatic kind of guy.

Kim rolls his hips against you as you press your tongue between his fingers, taking just the tips back into your mouth as you pull back up and suck hard.

“You’re a tease.” He says this in approval. You moan, and the hum this produces seems to please him very much.

A moment later, you regretfully pull back, another sneeze teasing your sensitive sinuses. This frequency and persistence would be irritating under ordinary circumstances, but with the promise of triggering a sneeze (or three) from the Lieutenant, you embrace it. You take a deep breath through flaring nostrils to stoke the subtle itch into an all-encompassing tickle. It is so effective that you sneeze immediately, on that inhalation alone.

“AEESSSSCHHHHHhhh!!! Hh…”

It shakes you so violently that you slump back against the pillow, bereft of all energy to remain partially upright any longer. Your back was starting to ache anyway. Your hands return to the Lieutenant’s hips as you look up at him expectantly.

“À tes souhaits,” he offers, even as a look of distinct irritation begins to cloud his features. You moan, and your cock jumps in your pants.

You only have to wait a matter of seconds before Kim’s breath begins to hitch. An irritatingly strong gust of wind from outside causes the entire shack to creak. You strain your ears in a valiant attempt to drink in every little inhalation over the sound of it.

What the Lieutenant says next could have been taken directly from one of your dirty little fantasies. As you gaze at him, your own breath hitching for notably more dick-related reasons, he raises a loosely-curled fist up to his face – or rather, just beneath it, leaving you plenty of room to watch – and begins to speak.

“Hh-! Ohh, Harry, you’re going to m-make me-! Hhdt-!!”

You almost cum on the spot. By sheer willpower you manage to hold back. Your forehead beads with sweat as Kim inhales definitively, bucking forward with four shuddering sneezes, supporting himself as before with a hand to the wall. You are certain if he had not done so he would have been thoroughly unbalanced.

“hhdt’Tszchhu! hHUpT’Tschu! HDT’Tzsshh! hH-!! Ahh’TSshh’uu! Ahh, mon dieu…”

You do not miss a single detail, intent on committing this painfully erotic performance to memory. The way his fine eyebrows draw together, contorting his brow in desperation. The way his nostrils flare with each contraction to almost double their resting size. The way his jaw flexes as his teeth clench together. It is a sight to behold, and you lose yourself in it.

You have been unable to keep your hips from bucking upwards, rubbing yourself against the surface of the Lieutenant’s thigh. He blinks, looking utterly drained for a brief moment, and it is one of the cutest things you have ever seen. No grown man has any right being that adorable. Once he has recovered, he presses his thigh firmly between your legs, binding your balls up and against your cock. You gasp, and he smiles, rutting against you.

“Excuse me.” He sniffles as you writhe. “That felt wonderful, I must admit.”

Fuck. You really must be dreaming. He has taken to this like a duck to water. How can he possibly know exactly what to say, and when? It is just as good as you imagined it could be – no, it is better. He is playing you like a god damn fiddle.

The Lieutenant shifts atop you, extracting his slender thigh from between the squeezing grip of your own as you dry hump him like your life depends on it. Your resistance forces him to pinch the meatiest section of your uninjured thigh – you jerk in shocked pain and release his leg as intended. He rubs the tender skin through your trousers, then squeezes into the space between you and the wall, lying on his side next to your supine form and swinging his right leg over your thighs. Your arm instinctively reaches under him to encircle his back.

“Sorry.” He apologises, smiling at the small frown on your face. “I’ll make it up to you.”

And just like that, he is reaching past your open zipper and into waistband of your underwear to grip your cock. You whine his name, embarrassingly loud and high-pitched. Your captured shaft throbs and leaks onto his fingers. His hand reaches up to collect the moisture, pulling back your foreskin ever so gently – and then he is pumping you in a steady rhythm. It is intentionally slow; you are close, and he knows this.

“Tu as une bite énorme…” You hear him mutter. Your chest swells with masculine pride. That’s right, baby. You are huge.

But holy fucking fuck, this feels – it feels – it’s so good. You wonder if he does this often – whether he touches himself just like this, or if this particular technique is reserved for other members of the homosexual underground. You groan, your head pressing back into the pillow and allowing him to work you. The skilful motions of his hand slowly build the pleasure until it sends small waves of ecstasy through your extremities, like miniature orgasms in their own right. When you do cum, it is going to be mind blowing. Your hand claws at the fabric of his bomber jacket, the other clutching the bedsheets.

“Kim…” His name rumbles out of you, a warning of the explosion to come.

Suddenly, his fingers encircle the base of your cock in a cruel, tight O. Your orgasm is halted in its tracks. Your cock throbs valiantly against its bondage, trembling as though in hope that the mimicry of orgasmic convulsions will trigger the real event – but no dice. A strangled groan tears its way out of you.

“Nooo…! Why…! You said you’d make it up to me-!”

You turn your head to face him. The look you flash him with your baleful green eyes would put the cutest puppy dog in the world to shame. They are glossy, wet with tears of betrayal. He looks at you fondly, but you can tell he is enjoying toying with you like this. Kinky bastard. You should have known.

“There’s no rush.” His voice is a seductive drawl. “I don’t want you to finish yet, Harry. I want to ask you some things.”

He is serious. The ring of his fingers does not loosen in the slightest. You sigh. You’re the questions guy, not him. You don’t much like the idea of an active interrogation whilst your swollen dick quivers dejectedly in his grip, but the promise of eventual orgasm softens the blow. You will humour him.

“Do your own sneezes turn you on? Do you remember that from before?”

Okay, wow. Straight to the meat and potatoes of the issue. Your cock twitches to hear the word ‘sneeze’ in his lilted accent again. You look to the ceiling for a moment of silent contemplation.

“I’m – not sure. They feel nice.” Your eyes swivel back to the Lieutenant’s face. “I like the effect they have on you more.”

Kim is softly biting his bottom lip. His eyes look heavy and heated – you imagine he might look the same after several glasses of wine. Except he’s somehow drunk on you – on this insane coupling.

“I can see that.” He shifts slightly, pulling himself partially atop you. He releases your cock from the grip of his right hand for the briefest of moments before replacing it with his left. His right hand begins to roll your balls in their sack, tugging at them expertly. You don’t doubt you could come from this sensation alone if he would only release your cock.

“You poor thing…” he murmurs against your cheek. “I must have been torturing you all this time.”

Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying and filthy.

“Kim, please-! Fuck…”

You could go insane. You cannot remember the last time you have been so intensely turned on for so long without the release of orgasm. Your entire body is an exposed nerve ending. Kim just sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the dimple on your chin.

“Tell me what you like about it. Explain it to me. Try your best.”

He isn’t going to let you cum until you divulge this information to him. You could easily overpower him if you wanted – you are a hulking beast of a man compared to his compact frame. You could flip him over and rut against his ass like a caveman. But you won’t. You will do as he asks. You swallow audibly.

“I like – thinking about the way it feels, for you. About the t-tickle,” You are blushing like a maniac, tripping over your words. You cannot look him in the eye. “…And how good it must feel for you when you finally sneeze.” You pause, screwing your eyes shut in mortification.

“Go on.” Kim encourages you, making his way to your earlobe and nibbling on the sensitive flesh.

“I like the faces – and the noises – you make. When you lose control.” You swallow again. “You’re so put together. It’s a…nice contrast.”

It is simultaneously humiliating and invigorating, hearing in your own voice a comprehensive explanation and breakdown of your sexual deviancy. Kim pulls back from your ear and rests his cheek on your shoulder, fingers still plucking lazily at your sack.

“You know, I’m not all that put together.” He smiles. “I have my moments.”

Lies. He’s the most put together man that was ever put together. Granted, the amnesia hasn’t left you with much of a frame of reference for this, but still.

“I’m not very put together right now, or when I barged in here knowing you would be – touching yourself.”

He actually looks a little bashful when admitting to that. It’s cute. You kiss the tip of his nose.

“Could have fooled me. You quite literally have me by the balls.”

Kim smirks and squeezes your sack with considerable pressure. Your eyes roll back into your head with a throaty groan of appreciation.

You cannot take much more of this – this constant thrumming of arousal. You could have orgasmed any number of times by now, but either through your own or Kim’s suppression, you have not. You want to cum. You need to cum. You want the Lieutenant to cum, too. You want him to know how badly you want it. Say something, or you’ll go mad with desire.

“I want to make you cum. I want to fuck you ‘til you scream my name, and then I want to fill you with my cum while your writhe on my cock.”

Umm…Okay, then. Good god, Harry. You’ve only just had your first homosexual kiss. Reel it in.

Luckily, this pornographic confession seems to have been an entirely appropriate thing to say. The Lieutenant looks at you with a downright predatory expression of hunger. Your cock gives a frightened little twitch.

“We don’t have time for that,” His voice practically rumbles, both in your ear and vibrating against your palm where it rests on his back, sending a heated shiver through you. “But we can definitely do something else.”

He moves to sit back up, but it is poorly timed with an emerging tickle in your nose. You frantically pin him against your chest in a sudden bear hug – he initially squirms in your grip before the rise and fall of your torso against his own clues him in to the fact that you are going to sneeze yet again. He relaxes against you, pressing his face into your neck. The frames of his glasses dig in a little uncomfortably, but the closeness is thrilling and intimate.

You do not have time to enjoy the feeling of the Lieutenant draped over you – the sneeze rushes out of you, shaking the bed, and you, and Kim. You try to aim it so that your spray doesn’t just rain down on you both, but also angle it up enough that you aren’t sneezing all over Kim’s jacket. You imagine he would be less than thrilled if you did. You manage to avoid making a mess but the fabric of his jacket still ripples with the force of your release.

“EEEISSSHHHHHUuu!!”

Luckily, it is just the one - it leaves you trembling in equal parts exhaustion and hedonistic pleasure. The motion of your body bucking against the Lieutenant’s felt especially nice in this position. You loosen your arms and wait for Kim to pull away. You are confused when he doesn’t do so immediately, and then the sound of a wavering inhale freezes you in place. All sensation in your body seems to subside apart from the heated skin of your neck where the Lieutenant’s breath hitches, preparing to sneeze. You feel the tip of his nose pressing against your jugular, his glasses digging into your jaw. Time seems to stand still as Kim’s ribcage expands under your hands, and then he is shuddering against you, smothering his sneezes against the column of your throat.

“HH’Dtsshh! Hh’Mptschh!! NGx’tsshh!!”

You arch your back, gasping, each little sneeze sending a shivering wave of warmth through you. It is one thing to watch Kim sneeze, but to feel him sneeze against you, pressed as close as he is – your brain feels as though it is short-circuiting.

He gently shakes your arms off and sits up, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He casts you a sheepish, almost embarrassed look that lets you know he had not intended to sneeze against you, but one glance at the dumb, almost drunken expression on your face and he looks a lot less sorry.

“Pardon,” he mutters, reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket. You watch as he takes out - a condom. Wait - he carries condoms with him on police investigations? Perhaps he carries them everywhere he goes. You should be more prepared yourself, quite honestly.

He rips the packet open skilfully with his teeth. You think he is going to slide the condom down your own length – it won’t fit, you want to say - but the sight of the Lieutenant opening his fly with one hand in expert timing and whipping out his cock leaves the words dead in your throat.

You stare at Kim’s erection. It’s not as big as your own, but it’s definitely a decent size. It’s pretty, too – a nice thickness, a neat head, curving a little off to one side. It’s fucking beautiful, actually. Your mouth waters at the sight of it resting in his loose grip. He watches you watch him, pumping the length of it a few times before teasing the head, making himself gasp. Your own neglected dick spits a jet of precum onto your lower stomach.

You reach greedily for his cock, but he gently slaps your hand away. When he rolls the condom down his length, panic hits you like a freight train. Is he going to fuck you? In the arse? Oh, god. You want him to fuck you up the arse. You think you might want that more than you want to fuck him up the arse. You gape at him, fingers flexing and eyes roaming his face.

“Listen, Kim, I- I’ve never done this before, and don’t get me wrong I – I want to, but I’m not – I don’t think I can-!” Kim silences you with a finger to the lips.

“Harry, I just said we don’t have time for that.” He laughs a little, and your entire body slumps back onto the bed as every muscle relaxes at once.

“Ohhh, thank god…” You hear yourself mutter, like a total asshole. Kim just laughs.

But then what is the condom for? Your brows furrow in confusion. He picks up on this immediately and sighs, still massaging his cock in a leisurely fashion.

“This is just a precaution, detective. I mean no offense, but I’m not sure I can trust your sexual history in light of the amnesia and unpredictable behaviour.”

It’s a totally fair point, but you still don’t entirely understand the point of it if you’re just giving each other hand jobs. Don’t ask. You have a feeling it’ll all make sense in a moment. You look up at Kim, and whatever expression you’re making seems to melt him, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss on your chin. He seems to really like the dimple there.

“Don’t worry. This is going to feel great, I promise.”

Kim shifts on top of you, hovering above you with a hand planted either side of your head. He pushes your shirt up over the expanse of your stomach then aligns your hips together until – fuckkkk. You toss your head back in pleasure. The Lieutenant begins to thrust against you, reaching between you for a moment to smear your wetness all over his sheathed cock, and you are sliding together with the most delicious friction. You buck up against Kim, arrhythmically at first before finding the perfect complimentary motion to his own thrusts. Nothing could have prepared you for how good it feels to have his cock sliding up against your own. Your toes are curling in an instant, and you are making embarrassing little mewling sounds.

Kim leans closer, hovering above you on deceptively strong arms. Your hands grip his jacket as his breath tickles your ear.

“I think I’m starting to understand, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor,” he murmurs, drinking in the sound of your groans. “The way you shuddered against me when you sneezed – it’s always wonderful to feel the physical result of somebody losing control. A good sneeze is like an orgasm in its own right.”

Ohh, fuck. He’s too good at this. Or maybe you’re just easy? Either way, your balls are starting to draw up and you can feel the pressure building as your cock gives a heavy, pre-orgasmic throb against Kim’s. And still he talks.

“Just now, you said you wanted me to fuck you. I can do that. I can make it so that it’s all you think about. You’ll dream about it every night, and wake up wishing my cock was inside you…”

He purrs into your ear, a continuous stream of dirty promises, and you’re imagining it all, imaging him fucking you, then you fucking him, images flood your mind and your cock is throbbing and everything tenses before –

Release. Pulsing, gyrating release. The pleasure is monumental – all you can do is submit to it, washing over you in waves and pulling a shuddering moan out of you. Your weakened heart flutters as the sheer magnitude of sensation incapacitates you. You had been denied for too long, and now it seems as though the orgasm is actively trying to kill you out of revenge. You do not care. It feels so, so good. The best you’ve had since god knows when. It feels like it could go on for an eternity. In reality, it is over in a matter of seconds, but when it finally releases you, twitching and gasping in the aftermath, you feel almost reborn.

As you wind down, you are aware of Kim murmuring gentle words of encouragement and praise. You feel him kiss your cheek. He is handling you carefully, like you are a delicate flower and not a muscular slab of a man. You are enjoying it immensely. You let yourself be soothed, sinking into the mattress as the afterglow leaves you floaty and relaxed.

It dawns on you, as you come back to earth, that Kim is no longer thrusting against you. Well, he is a little, but only minutely, barely enough for you to make out. He has shifted his hips slightly so that he is no longer pressing directly against your sensitive cock, but against your hip bone. His cock is rock solid against you, and you realise in a sudden wave of shame and disappointment that he hasn’t had an orgasm of his own.

“You didn’t cum,” You manage.

“No.” Kim confirms, resting his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. He seems to like it there. You like that he seems to like it there. “I’ll need a little more time than that.”

You wince. You were so turned on and came so hard you barely had time to reflect on the fact that your orgasm had taken a whopping 40 seconds to crest from the moment Kim’s dick slid up against your own. You’re not even a minute man. Teenage boys last longer than you. You are unable to prevent yourself from letting out a pained, reedy whine as these thoughts consume you.

“S’rry…” You mutter, and to make it all worse, a couple of tears begin to spill down the sides of your face and into the burning shells of your ears. You focus on a patch of discolouration on the ceiling and attempt to astral project your body out of there. It does not work.

Kim pushes himself upwards and positions himself in a seated straddle above you. You offer no resistance. You do not look at him until he forces you to do so with a firm grip on your chin, pulling your face towards him. Even then your stubborn eyes only swivel to look at him once he compels you with an authoritative “Harry.”

He is looking at you fondly. You’re not sure how much more you can take of his relative kindness. It’s probably just the post-orgasm loopiness and raised temperature, but you swear you can make out the faint glow of a halo around his head.

“Don’t apologise. You held out for a very long time – an impressively long time, given how worked up you were.” He gets up off the bed then, taking the few steps over to the small basin and wetting the washrag lying beside it. You turn your head to watch and see that his erection hangs insistently in front of him, though it has wilted a little. The surface of the condom is slippery, covered in your semen and pre-cum.

“This was never about me, anyway. I got…carried away.”

He sounds…pained. You wonder if he is feeling a regret similar to that of an unsuccessful one-night stand, once the orgasm has cleared his mind. Only he hasn’t even had an orgasm. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest, not only for him but faint memories of various drunken affairs. You have a feeling a lot of women have slammed the door of your apartment behind them, their own orgasms neglected as you lay there in selfish completion. Fuck. Say something before you ruin things even more.

“I like when you get carried away. I want you to get carried away.” You push yourself with no small amount of effort to sit up against the wall, legs swung over the side of the bed.

You watch Kim’s profile. He says nothing, but he’s smiling. He slips the condom off of himself and flicks it into the nearby bin. You watch with a sinking heart as he tucks his half-hard cock back into his underwear. It feels like rejection. This is totally harshing the mellow of your earth-shattering orgasm, man. He turns with the washcloth in hand, takes one look at your face and smiles at you with such naked adoration you almost swoon with it.

“What’s that look for?”

You shrug, eyes darting around like a desperately guilty dog.

“Officer.” You look back at him. “We are still in the middle of an ongoing murder investigation.”

He is such a square. How he can be this level-headed and persistent whilst he’s still at half-mast is beyond you. You snort out of your nose like a petulant child. That was a bad idea – your forgot that you have a cold. You scramble around you looking for a tissue, but before you find one Kim is cleaning up your mess with the washcloth. Your ears burn. Having your nose wiped for you like a child should not be this arousing, but it is. Kim folds the washcloth and works downwards, cleaning the semen from your skin and the trail of hair that covers the length of your torso.

“Don’t look so disappointed.” His face is so close to yours. “If you still mean everything you’ve said when we’ve closed this case…” He whispers against your mouth. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You lunge forward too quickly and awkwardly crash your teeth against his own. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, sinking to his knees in front of you and craning his neck upwards to maintain contact. You lean forward, clutching his shoulders with flexing fingers. He is such a good kisser. He does amazing things with his tongue whilst his hand still works on scrubbing your torso clean, working its way to your crotch, and –

Kim breaks the kiss and looks down your body. He is wearing an expression of utter disbelief, which you would find incredibly amusing if it wasn’t aimed at your person.

“What? What’s wrong??” You ask in horror, clutching his shoulders tighter.

He doesn’t answer you. He reaches one hand between your legs. You cannot help the obtrusively loud moan of pleasure that rakes its way out of you as he squeezes your cock.

“Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” He says despairingly. “You’re still hard.”

You look down. The swollen head of your cock peers back up at you, twitching happily within the constraints of Kim’s fingers. Huh.

“Oh. Uhh. So I am.”

The look of bemusement Kim flashes you is objectively too funny for you to not grin back at him, so you do. He raises an eyebrow.

“Is this normal for you? Do you remember?”

“I’m. I’m gonna say no.”

“No, you don’t remember, or no, this is not normal?”

“Yes.”

The Lieutenant blinks. He sighs heavily, releasing your cock. It throbs angrily at the sudden absence of his expert fingers. If a cock could pout, yours would.

“Harry.” He places his palms on each of your thighs, making sure to keep his touch light on your injured leg. “The entire reason I suggested you take care of things is because I thought it would provide you with some relief and mental clarity.”

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem angry – maybe a little concerned. You get the distinct impression that he is beginning to think you may actually have a medical issue of some kind. Your regard your stubborn erection. It doesn’t hurt – you hadn’t even noticed its persistence because you are still enjoying the buzz of your afterglow. Are you still aroused? You ought to test that. You picture Kim leaning down and sneezing all over your crotch. When your cock gives a heavy throb in response to this thought, drooling more clear liquid down your shaft, you relax. You’re not suffering the early stages of priapism; you’re just insanely horny.

Kim has been watching you think. He also watches your cock bob in the air with poorly feigned disinterest. You think, despite it all, he is secretly happy with this outcome. Perhaps a little flattered that he has managed to work you into this rabid state despite the multiple factors of injury, illness and drug withdrawals working against you. You are hyperaware of the grip of his hands on your thighs. He has very nice hands - angular and masculine, but delicate in their motions in a way your own huge paws are not. You should tell him to get to work with those hands of his.

“It’ll go down soon?” You offer instead.

Spoilsport.

Kim looks up at you like he doesn’t believe you in the slightest, because he doesn’t.

“Humour me, officer. When might that be?”

You shrug noncommittally. He sighs again, eyeing your cock. It twitches a little under the scrutinization.

“Do you need to have another orgasm?” He asks you. It is a sincere, almost clinical question for which he would like a straightforward answer, almost like a physician consulting with a patient. That doesn’t stop your hips from squirming in response.

“I…don’t know if I can.” You admit.

And you mean it. Earlier this week you may have suffered a genuine heart attack. You were shot in the leg just over 48 hours ago. Another orgasm of that magnitude may kill you. You ponder this a moment longer. There are definitely worse ways to go, and you trust Kim to take good care of your corpse should your petite mort just become…mort. The Lieutenant is patiently watching you, still crouched in front of you. You could do worse that Kim Kitsuragi, Harry-boy. Just blow your load like a man and enjoy the ride.

“…Fuck it. Sure.”

You stroke your cock experimentally. It feels as intense as if you’d never come in the first place – the only evidence to the contrary being the floaty, rejuvenated feeling your previous orgasm bestowed upon you. Once you start touching yourself you can’t stop. You groan and tip your head back against the wall. Yeah. This probably won’t take long either.

You realise after a moment of passionate self love that Kim has made no move to either offer a helping hand or leave you to handle yourself alone. He’s watching you work yourself with naked interest, eyes heavy-lidded and bright. When you groan in response to your own teasing fingers rubbing gently over your frenulum, you hear his own moan of appreciation and feel the flexing of his fingers on your legs. It is his own sigh of arousal that seems to break him out of this intense observation. He stands up, and you look up at him, meeting his heated gaze with your own.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He says, pushing his glasses up his nose but otherwise unmoving. His own erection tents the front of his cargo pants.

“Don’t go.” You say. “Stay.”

He smiles down at you. It makes your breath hitch.

“You want me to watch?”

“I think you want me to want you to watch.”

“I want to get back to the murder investigation.” He teases.

“Please. Don’t talk about murder right now. I’ll never cum that way.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He smiles at you. He is finding some enjoyment in this – standing over you while you masturbate yourself furiously. You find yourself enjoying it as well – so much so that it takes you a moment to take offense.

“I’m not! – not that fucking weird, damn.” You mutter. He just laughs.

“I want to make you cum.” You offer after several beats of silence. He fidgets in response, a small movement that would have otherwise signalled a routine shifting of weight from one leg to another, were it not for the obscene tent in his trousers.

“You should focus on yourself.” He breathes out, sounding almost as out of breath as you.

“What does it – look like I’m doing?” You get out between moans.

You’re getting close. It feels good to stroke yourself with your own practised hand, but you can’t help but feel like you need more. The Lieutenant is the entire reason you are in this position in the first place, and now he’s not even touching you. His sneezing was the catalyst for a whole new world of never-ending arousal and homosexual revelations.

You should ask him to sneeze for you. The thought is simultaneously thrilling and mortifying. It is one thing for Kim to barge into the room and start kissing you, and sneezing all over you because he can’t help it – yet another thing entirely for you to request his active participation. Perhaps you don’t need to ask. All you need to do is sneeze again, and it will certainly trigger a reaction of his own. You sniffle experimentally, but all you get for your efforts is an uncomfortable burning sensation. It is just your luck that the second you actively want to sneeze, you cannot. Fuck.

Why do you find yourself hesitating like this? You couldn’t have imagined a more positive response from the Lieutenant before. He called you intriguing. He dirty-talked you. He rubbed your dicks together and compared sneezing to orgasm. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

You regard the Lieutenant. Sexually charged energy practically oozes from him as he stands before you. His pupils are blown and his body bows towards you with a subconscious desire for closeness. All physical signs, not least his solid cock, point towards his want for sex with you, and yet – he’s just standing there. Watching. It occurs to you that he is potentially holding himself back now because his uncharacteristically enthusiastic advances have spooked him into a form of cowed paralysis. For a rigid professional like the Lieutenant, niche fetish sex with a fellow police officer is a huge deviation from his usual composed behaviour.

You take this all into consideration, and open your mouth to speak.

“I want you to sneeze for me. Please, Kim. I’m desperate for it.”

Your voice is steady, if not a little strained, but you have said it. It is out in the open. Your face heats in anticipation, heart fluttering in your chest, and your arousal seems to amplify at the thrill of voicing these most erotic desires out loud. Kim makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and you are worried for a moment that he is going to bolt out of the door, but then he is stepping closer, standing between your legs and cradling your cheek in his palm.

“Okay.” He smiles at you, and the relief is overwhelming. He looks excited– it is as if he had been waiting for you to put into words what you really wanted from him. You have a feeling that you had been dead on the money about the source of his reluctance. He had taken too much control of you, far too quickly. He didn’t want to look desperate, or lecherous in his handling of you, even though you went easily, enthusiastically. He had said you could do whatever you wanted to him – granted, he had meant this for a time in the future when you had more blood in your brain than your dick, but. Either way. Perhaps all you had to do was use your fucking words.

The Lieutenant is suddenly glancing round the expanse of the shack as if looking for something. When you ask him what he is doing, he looks at you as if it is obvious.

“I can’t just sneeze on command, but there doesn’t appear to be anything dusty in here for me to use. Isobel is clearly a fastidious cleaner.”

That last part expresses a deep respect for the old woman’s neatness despite her visual impairment. He says it so matter of factly that it takes a moment for the sheer eroticism of what came before to wash over you. Your cock drools down your knuckles at the thought of Kim willingly inducing an allergic reaction in himself, proposing he do so as if it is the most normal thing in the world. You picture him again with a feather duster, teasing his flaring nostrils until he cannot take anymore. He seems pleased with your immediate physical reaction, running his hand through your hair. You thank this morning’s Harry for the decision to shower despite the pain in your leg.

“Don’t you need to sneeze? That’s as effective a method as any.”

You sniffle again, but it is the same result as before – which is to say, nothing at all.

“Fuck…” You tilt your head back against the wall in disappointment. Perhaps you had better let this idea go and just think about tits or something.

You remember then, in a flash of foggy memories, a certain fool proof method for inducing a sneeze. A small, twisted piece of coated wire – the kind you might use to seal an open bag of food. You remember using it, tickling yourself into a relieving, shuddering sneeze when the urge refused to crest without external encouragement. God. Maybe you like your own sneezes more than you previously thought. You feel another stubborn memory, just on the periphery of your consciousness that refuses to reveal itself to you. Nevertheless, you have a hunch – no, a suspicion - that you are not the only person upon whom you have used that little tool. This confuses you. You had been so convinced this was a secret you had never shared with anybody, but now you are not so sure. But who? It wasn’t…her, at least. You decide to bury this troubling thought before you develop a headache or start to cry.

Anyway. This tool. You have a feeling. A feeling that in the lining of your blazer, through a small rip of the fabric…You reach inside, and moments later, you are staring at the small twist of wire pinched between your thumb and forefinger. The Pavlovian elevation of your heartbeat at the sight of it only confirms its intended usage.

“Umm. I think this should work.” You hold the small tool up to the Lieutenant, your expression a confusing amalgamation of sheepishness and excitement.

He takes the tool off you and brings it closer to his face, squinting a little at it through his glasses before a look of recognition spreads across his features. His lips quirk up into one of his small smiles. You swallow audibly.

“I’m assuming this is intended for internal stimulation?” His smile widens as you nod, squeezing your cock for good measure. “Very resourceful, detective.”

He twirls the small piece of wire between his fingers as if testing his grip. You are giddy with anticipation, practically vibrating with it. Kim uses his knee on the outside of your leg to push it inwards – you instinctively move your legs closer together, out of the wide spread you had adopted as you slumped back against the wall. He hums in appreciation at your quick understanding before kneeling in a partial straddle atop you, knees pressing into the mattress. It squeaks in protest anew at your combined weight, but neither of you pay it any mind.

Kim rests his left hand on your shoulder, twirling the wire between thumb and forefinger of his right and watching your reaction. You swallow thickly.

“Please,” You whine. “’M so close…”

“Okay.” He leans forward to kiss you for a moment, and you almost reach up to pull him back into it before you remember that more kissing means less sneezing. “But if you’re still hard after this, I’m driving you to the hospital.”

He isn’t joking. You nod obediently, trying your best to look innocent and failing spectacularly. Kim hesitates for the briefest moment, as if it dawns on him how ridiculous his current position is – how every decision and success he has undertaken in his career and life in general has led up to this bizarre turn of events – before slipping the tool into his slightly flared right nostril.

Almost immediately, he is pulling back with a look of pained irritation, but it is not the kind either of you were looking for. He coughs a little before rubbing at his nose frantically with the heel of his palm, eyes scrunched shut.

“Kim - shit, are you okay?” You ask him, concern overriding the way your cock twitches at the sight of him roughly manhandling his nose.

“Ahh, sorry, sorry,” The Lieutenant apologises, slowing the motion of his hand. He lowers it again and smiles bashfully at you, eyes watering ever so slightly. He looks so cute in the moment you barely suppress the urge to gnaw on his glasses.

“I think I was a little overzealous. I didn’t expect that sensation.” He moves the tool back into his nostril, trying again.

You watch in fascination, eyes roving over his face, taking in every little detail as he tickles his nose for you. His nostrils are your favourite thing to watch, predictably. They are incredibly expressive, and the shape of them lends to a wonderful flare. Each little twist and thrust of the tool triggers another series of uncontrollable twitching. The eroticism of this moment cannot be understated – you feel so good, so unbelievably turned on that your hand has paused on your cock for fear you will come before he has even succeeded in initiating a build-up.

Suddenly, the Lieutenant’s breath catches. You hold your own involuntarily, as if any sudden movement will scare his budding sneeze away. Your eyes wander from his flaring nostrils to his furrowed brows to his mouth as it falls open. His tongue cups itself, pressing slightly against his full lip. You briefly imagine the feeling of that tongue wrapped around your cock as he sucks it down. You resist touching yourself, intent on enjoying every moment of this. The second you do it is game over.

“Oohh, I think-!” Kim manages to gasp out before the sneezes are tearing their way out of him – a desperate little triple that leaves him shivering in your lap.

“hHUPT’Tschh’uu!! Hhdt’Tszschhh’uu! hHADT’TSCHhhtt!!”

He aims them at your chest, but mostly catches your neck and chin with the light spray. Your skin feels electric with sensation. You swallow your groans to avoid drowning out the sound of his releases, cock throbbing heavily with each one. It is hard to imagine that you could be more turned on than in this current moment, especially as Kim sighs heavily, orgasmically when he has finished.

“Ahh, my god. That felt so good.”

It doesn’t matter if he is only saying it for your benefit, or if it really is the case – you’d put money on both – and you allow yourself to groan openly at last. Your free hand reaches up to clutch at the front of his shirt, more to tether yourself to him than anything else.

“Did you like that?” He purrs, knowing full fucking well that you’ve probably never liked anything else quite so much in your life.

“Yesss…” You manage, hesitating for a moment before offering a “B-bless you” that you stumble over as if it is the naughtiest, dirtiest phrase known to man.

“Thank you.”

He sighs emphatically, delighted to see you squirm and blush. The Lieutenant rests the hand still clutching the inducing tool on top of your own where you are crumpling his meticulously ironed shirt into a wrinkled mess. He leans forward, holding his face just in front of your own. He sniffles, then smiles smugly at the flicker of your eyes to his flaring nostrils.

“Harry.”

You murmur an affirmative, unable to do much more as his deep brown eyes seem to stare into your soul. It makes you feel a little drunk – the fun, relaxing part before the anger and shame sends you into a spiral of self-destruction.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself?”

The Lieutenant could read a phone directory aloud and that voice would probably still have the same effect on you. Soft, but deep and commanding. It sends shivers down your spine. Before you can answer him, he is murmuring against your lips again.

“Touch yourself for me. Be a good boy.”

You can be his good boy. His best boy. You sigh against him, fingers moving to firmly encircle your cock before his words even fully sink in.

“Yes,” you breathe out, beginning to stroke yourself obediently. Your other hand releases the front of his shirt and moves to grip his waist instead.

“Good.” He smiles, leaning back once more, hand gripping your shoulder firmly whilst the other slips the tool back into his waiting nostril. “Here’s your reward.”

You watch in what can only be described as adoration as the Lieutenant starts to tickle his nose again. You are trying to hold out, keeping the squeezing rhythm on your cock as slow as you can manage, but the longer you touch yourself the harder it is to do so. A few moments later, Kim’s nostrils give a definitive twitch. You hear him suck in a shuddering breath. This time was much faster – he is figuring out the best spots to tease in an impressive display of aptitude.

The Lieutenant’s face freezes in pre-sneeze agony for a beat, and then he is tilting forward with another round of sneezes, hand squeezing your shoulder tight.

“hHPT’Tsschh!! HdDDZT’Tzshieww!! ‘TSCHhh’uu!!....HAHd’tsschht!!

These, too, were aimed in the general vicinity of your upper torso, though the last one – a straggler – seems to catch him off guard. You feel the delicate spray that bursts out with it settling over your left cheek, some on your lips. You shamelessly lick them clean. It wasn’t a particularly messy affair, hardly even wet enough for you to feel it, but a thrill rushes through you all the same. Kim doesn’t notice, pausing for a moment to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles and scrunching his eyes shut as he does so. It is both endearing and erotic that he makes no effort to hide just how much these sneezes tickle and tease.

“Bless you-!” You all but growl at him.

“Thank you, detective.”

He is enjoying this immensely, which only makes it better. You doubt, despite the lax and forgiving nature with which he has approached some of your more…unpredictable behaviours, that he is the kind of man who does anything in bed that he does not want to. He wears his arousal well – he doesn’t blush so much as he seems to glow, radiant and healthy.

“This is fun.” He admits, out of the blue, returning the tool to his nose. “I wonder why I’ve never thought to try this before.”

Because you’re not a huge fucking pervert, you do not say. You imagine he finds a certain appeal in having some power over when he gets to sneeze. He can enjoy the release when the reflex is triggered by his own hand and following his own decision to do so. It is an entirely different ball game to when his allergies or suggestibility render him helpless in environments he cannot control. Now he has an opportunity to indulge in the sensation – and it certainly does no harm that he is reducing a large man like yourself to a quivering mess whilst doing so.

Before you realise it, your muscles begin to tighten in pre-orgasmic tension. Your hand is stroking your cock mercilessly, doing everything it can to drive you closer and closer to climax. It is working on autopilot, for which you are grateful – you don’t want to miss a moment of this thinking about anything that isn’t the Lieutenant.

“Kim…” You whine. You mean to say more – that you’re close, you’re going to cum, something to that effect. You don’t manage to, but the desperation with which you utter his name is enough for the Lieutenant to understand.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He murmurs, rubbing his thumb in small circles against your clavicle.

You sure fucking are. Your hand is a blur over your crotch, your frantic efforts almost sending vibrations throughout the protesting bed frame. You try not to think too much about the expressions you’re making. Kim has already been witness to your O face and certainly doesn’t seem to have been deterred by whatever he saw. He’s watching you with a hungry look even now, working his own face into a different but not dissimilar mask of desperation to your own.

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder especially hard, thumb digging into bone and muscle.

“I think – if I -!”

He is trying in desperation to communicate something between hitching breaths, but it is futile. He inhales hugely, audibly gasping at the intensity of the tickle he has inflicted upon himself. He makes no effort to remove the tool this time.

“AhHH’TSchhTt!!-‘TSSChhh!-‘TSSh’uu!! – god, I-! AESSCH’uu! Hhp’Tzshieww!*

A wave of heat consumes you, the eroticism of the moment almost unbearable. You realise that Kim has found a sweet spot and deduced that simply holding the tool in place will result in an endless barrage of sneezes. Your cock throbs, drooling down your knuckles as you caress and squeeze yourself stupid. The hand resting on Kim’s waist grips him more firmly, a kind of anchorage, though for whose benefit you are not entirely sure.

“IhHd’TSsch’uu!! aAHDd’TszchhT!!-TTSChh’uu-ttschht!! Fuck, it’s so -! HahDD’TZSCHHhht!!”

The bed shakes under your combined efforts. You moan loudly, wantonly, almost out of your mind with desire. You wish you could shut yourself up – not out of any kind of embarrassment or shame. You’re beyond that now. But your own noisy exclamations are beginning to drown out the sound of Kim’s relentless sneezing. They have been increasing steadily in pitch as his body fights to mollify the tickle. There is no relief to be found, however – as long as he presses that little piece of wire against his sensitive spot, he will sneeze ceaselessly.

“Hupt’CHShh’iew! Hhdt’CHhhssh!! Hh-!! HhGG’TSzsch’uu!! TZSSCHh’iew!! Hhd’TZSCHshhtt!!”

They have been spraying your chest, neck and face indiscriminately, as it is all the Lieutenant can do to keep himself upright and find enough air to breathe between each convulsion. That most recent sneeze is also the most productive yet. You blink reflexively against the spray misting over your cheeks and nose, tangibly more wet than the preceding baptisms you have received. Kim’s pink, flaring nostrils are beginning to glitter with moisture. You almost feel envious that it has taken him such an intense series of sneezes to develop a bona fide runny nose. You can only imagine the mess you would have made by this point.

Unable to clean himself up throughout the continuous onslaught, you notice the tiniest string of saliva drips from the Lieutenant’s bottom lip. You want to lick it off, but all you’re capable of in the moment is fucking your own fist and moaning low and loud like a cat in heat. Your orgasm is mere moments away – it is building so intensely that your earlier fears of simply cumming yourself to death reemerge. You couldn’t stop the frantic motions of masturbation if you tried, however. You are a wanking machine, operating purely on animalistic impulses.

The Lieutenant, it appears, has reached his limitations. He looks dizzy and breathless, glasses askew and eyes streaming in irritation. He removes the tool from his nostril and drops it between you, realising much the same as you have – the cruel little press of that wire would have made him sneeze and sneeze until he passed out.

He clutches your shoulders with both hands now. You stare, utterly and totally enraptured, as his breath hitches towards yet another release. Removing the direct source of irritation seems to have stoked some kind of residual tickle – and by the absolutely miserable twist of his features, it is perhaps the most intense of them all. Your cock shudders with the first pulse of your orgasm.

My god, you might die. You might actually die, you think, as the steadily cresting pleasure curls your toes and begins to pulse through you in luxurious waves. It is so overwhelming that you are unable to make any noise at all. You manage to watch through unblinking eyes as Kim tips forward with a punishing double.

“hHAhdt’TSZCHhh’uuu!! HhHDT’TSZSChhst!!”

They spray across your chin and neck, deliciously wrenching and wet. The Lieutenant gasps, head shaking almost imperceptibly as the tickle grinds vindictively against his sinuses – one final ‘fuck you’ - before he is lurching forward with a definitive, body-crunching explosion.

“hhHAHPT’TTZSSCHHhtt’iewww!!!”

It is the loudest and wettest sneeze you have ever heard from him. More importantly is the fact that he has managed to aim it down his body, chin squeezing against his collar bone. It drenches your cock in a teasing cloud of spray, the cooling sensation of it settling onto the delicate skin and elevating your orgasm beyond anything you thought imaginable. You are reeling with it, trembling pitifully.

Completely without means to control your own shuddering, you are helpless to fight it as your head drops back against the wall, thunking hard enough that there is pain even through the tremendous pleasure. You feel Kim slip a hand between your skull and the wall, cradling it protectively as you continue to shiver. The jarring movement seems to have triggered you to find your voice again and you moan stupidly, eyelashes aflutter.

Unlike your first orgasm, when the pleasure finally releases you this time, you slump as though dead. You have never come so close to losing consciousness from orgasm; you didn’t know it was something you were physically capable of (falling asleep immediately after the fact or passing out from drugs not-withstanding). Your breathing finally regains some semblance of consistency. Your eyes fell closed at some point and you make no move to open them. As you twitch with the occasional aftershock, wilting dick in hand, you feel Kim disembarking and hear him moving round. Your lascivious cock gives a few appreciative twitches at the sound of him blowing his nose.

“Harry. Harrier.” Kim calls your name softly from above, and you realise that you have started to doze.

“Mmf.” You grunt. You wish he would leave you to your peaceful oblivion.

A sudden cool sensation against your face makes you jolt slightly, eyes fluttering open. You look up at Kim, who is watching you with undisguised fondness and amusement, pressing a damp cloth to your cheek.

“Hi.” You manage.

“Hello.” Kim replies, before moving the cloth over your face and neck with a mechanical efficiency.

You grunt a little in indignation at being jostled here and there. You imagine this is what a milk drunk kitten being groomed by a fastidious and overbearing mother cat would feel like. Kim ignores your protests, wiping your dick clean with several quick strokes.

“Sorry.” He slows down just a little when you hiss and jerk as he works over the head of your cock, rubbing the over sensitised skin with tender care.

Your sticky hand is the last to be cleaned. You offer a lazy smirk as he wrinkles his nose at the sheer amount of mess you have made. The cloth, which you realise had been one of his many clean handkerchiefs, is tossed into the bin without a second thought. When you continue to sit there, arms hanging loosely at your sides, he clears his throat and looks pointedly at your crotch. Oh, right. You tuck your cock away, finally and blessedly flaccid.

“Do you normally make such a production of orgasm?” Kim asks in faux irritation, pulling his gloves back on.

You know he liked what he saw – he just likes to tease you. You ignore him, unable to formulate a witty or biting remark in response. Your brain is still jelly. Evidently your legs are, too – the second you try to stand, they are buckling under you. Kim steadies you, supporting your weight as best he can, until you are able to stand on your own. You swoon a little from the sudden rush of blood.

“You okay?” He asks, patting your back as you wash your hands in the basin.

“Fuck, man. I’m better than okay. I’m the living embodiment of Disco, baby.”

You giggle a little, loopy from the rush of endorphins. Your head also feels about a thousand times clearer, your morale at an all-time high – which gives you all the confidence you need to follow through on what you have been dying to do for days.

You turn to Kim, some variation of ‘The Expression’ plastered onto your face. With one fell swoop, you are scooping him up and depositing him roughly onto the bed, pulling a startled and rather undignified squawk out of him. Before he has time to stand up, you lower your mass over him, pressing a thigh between his legs and up against his cock and balls. The moan that escapes him is an unexpected and embarrassing to him as it is intoxicating and motivating to you. His hands reach up to grip your shoulders.

“You’re hard.” You mutter, before leaning forward and pressing a series of kisses to the exposed column of the Lieutenant’s neck.

“Astute observation, detective,” he breathes out, using his grip to pull you closer and arching himself up against you.

“I still want to make you cum. Will you let me now?” You nose along his jawline, careful to avoid pressing too hard and ruining the moment with a poorly timed sneeze. He shudders and bucks up against your leg, squeezing his thighs around it.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

That’s as clear an affirmation as you’ve ever heard. You reach between his legs, balancing over him on one arm. As nice as it felt for the position to be reversed, you can’t deny that your present arrangement is reaffirming to your masculinity. You spit into your hand, then manoeuvre his rock-solid cock out of his pants and hold it for a moment in your palm, getting a feel for the weight and thickness of it. You look down the lengths of your bodies in appreciation at the pretty head, beaded with moisture. You swipe over it with your thumb, spreading the wetness around and pulling a shaky sigh out Kim in response.

Before you can begin to stroke the Lieutenant, he is gripping your chin with one hand and forcing you to look at him.

“One thing before you start.” His brown eyes burn into your own. “If you ever pick me up like that again, I’m breaking both your arms.”

He is only half joking. He appreciates your wanton displays of virile masculinity, but he does not appreciate being caught off guard and thrown around like a toy. You nod within his grip, and he releases you, pulling your face to the crook of his neck and moaning in appreciation as your hand starts to pump him. He temporarily lets go of your shoulder to reach down and pull his t-shirt up to his nipples before resuming his hold, gripping you almost possessively.

“Is that an appropriate way to speak to your superior officer, Lieutenant?” You tease. There are times that you are especially grateful for the heavy timbre of your voice, and now is one of them.

You work your way over Kim’s neck with tiny kisses. His jugular flutters under your lips with each frantic beat of his heart.

“I believe it’s warranted when you’ve made your superior officer orgasm twice by sneezing on his person.” He murmurs, intoxicatingly breathless, into your ear, making you shudder involuntarily. You feel the smile on his lips as he nibbles gently on your ear lobe. Oh, god. He’s a monster. He’s going to eat you alive, and you’ll happily let him.

“God. You can’t be doing that. I’m serious, Kim, you’ll make me hard again.”

You don’t want him to stop. You want to lie there and let him tease every inch of your body. But this is no longer about you. You are overflowing with endorphins and post-orgasmic rejuvenation, and it is the Lieutenant who has brought you to such a state. He deserves your total and undivided attention.

It feels wonderful to stroke his cock, and you seem to be very good at it, if Kim’s increasingly enthusiastic moans and gasps are of any indication. His skin is velvety soft in your calloused palm, and everything feels perfect and grounded and right. A sudden wave of emotion overcomes you as you realise this is the happiest you have been in a very long time. You blink the traitorous tears away before they threaten to fall, but there is still a lump in your throat. You’re beginning to suspect you are just a regular sex crier.

“I can hear you thinking,” Kim gasps out.

You lift your head out of the crook of his neck to look into his face. He looks amazing like this, as though he can barely believe how good it feels, eyebrows furrowed and teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“I’m thinking about you.” You murmur, pressing your thigh even harder against his balls and squeezing his cock with a purposefully slow upstroke. He writhes under you, and the half-strangled sob he makes as his hands scramble for purchase on your blazer is possibly the best sound you have ever heard in your life (sneezing aside).

“Harry-! Plus fort, comme ça…!”

You obey, increasing the force of your grip as you squeeze him, a steady and punishing rhythm. His closed-mouth groan of approval spurs you on.

“I meant it all. Everything I said. And I’ll still mean it tomorrow, and the day after that.” You know this, with the strongest sense of clarity you have experienced since the start of your amnesia. “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. Do you want that?”

You omit the ‘do you want me’ part.

“Fuck…” Kim mutters. “Fuck, yesss.”

Your heart is overflowing. You feel hope, real genuine hope, for a better future. One where maybe you don’t hate yourself, and happiness isn’t something reserved for the rest of the world while you stand on the periphery looking in. You watch his face, his head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. He grits his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in ecstasy. He’s done for. Push him over the edge.

“I want you to cum all over yourself. Make a mess for me, Kim.”

The Lieutenant gasps, tossing his head back as his entire body tenses underneath you. His cock spits in your grasp, painting his torso with white stripes of pleasure. He is certainly making a mess; the sight makes your mouth water. You rub him through it, drinking in his soft whines and hitching breaths. You’re impressed by the amount of semen that spurts out of him – you wonder if he is as disciplined with his orgasms as with his cigarettes. Maybe he’s in the middle of a dry spell. Or maybe you’re just that good. It is probably an amalgamation of all three reasons.

You stroke him until he reaches down to tap on your wrist, signalling over-stimulation. Your movements cease and you loosen your grip, cradling his twitching cock like a delicate treasure. Your eyes haven’t left his face. The serene look of satisfied blankness makes him look youthful and handsome. Your heart aches to look at him, but it’s a sweet, gnawing agony that you would rather endure.

When he opens his eyes to glance at you, a shy little smile playing on his lips, you are unable to stop yourself from leaning forward and pressing your foreheads together. The frames of his glasses dig into your face, but you do not care. Still, you make a mental note to do this again sans spectacles. He reaches up to wrap both arms around your shoulders. He is much more affectionate post-orgasm than you would have expected, but you have learned a great deal of things about him today that have equally surprised and delighted you.

“Good?”

“Very,” He presses a small kiss against the side of your mouth. “I need a moment. Fuck.”

You cannot help it. You beam like a moron. You can add ‘Sex God’ and/or ‘Certified Orgasm Donor’ to your extensive list of talents. Let yourself have this moment before you must return to the cruel world of responsibilities and capital. You lower yourself onto Kim, soft gut resting against lithe stomach, closing the gap between the two of you entirely. You remember the copious semen a moment too late.

“You’ll ruin your shirt.” Kim protests weakly, but his heart is not in it. He sounds half-asleep.

“Whatever. I have a spare.”

Several spares, actually. A veritable wardrobe of bold fashion statements just waiting to be made as you limp around Martinaise.

The pair of you lie there in satisfaction until the threat of impending sleep urges Kim to shove your uncooperative mass off of him. You sigh, sitting up on the bed and removing your blazer and shirt. You use a dry section of the shirt’s fabric to clean Kim’s torso and cock before it is unceremoniously balled up and tossed in the bin, alongside the equally as tarnished washcloth and handkerchief. Sorry, Isobel. The room is muggy with the smell of your sex.

You look through your things for another shirt, pulling yourself together, and in time Kim stands and rights himself too. He wets (and wastes) another handkerchief going over his cock. The pair of you dress and clean in relative silence.

“Well.” You offer up to the air after several minutes, wincing only a little as you lean carelessly on your bad leg.

“Well.” The Lieutenant echoes.

The two of you wear matching expressions of smugness. That was some ground-shaking sex, and you both know it. You don’t need to say anything – following a successful conclusion to the murder investigation, this will happen again. It will probably even happen again following an unsuccessful outcome, unless that outcome entails significant maiming and/or death.

The Lieutenant lets you lead the way, and as you step out into the waning afternoon sunlight, the world seems just a little bit brighter.

#the sheer number of CWs lol #lmk if there's anything else I ought to mention - I tried to cover it all #this is extremely self-indulgent and got away from me but I hope some of you get something out of it!#RIP to everyone in the fishing village subjected to the noises coming out of that shack #nametakenfic #d/isco e/lysium #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fet #snz kink #snz fucker #snzblr #sneeze fucker

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noxturnalpascal · 5 months

Text

PLENTY OF TIME

(HB x Tommy) (3.8K of new story)

CrackFic based on the @gracieispunk HBF!Joel series (that I am FUCKING OBSESSED with). HB (reader's husband) x Tommy Miller

**CHECK OUT THE NEWEST STORY IN THE HBF-VERSE FAKE BLOOD**

The moodboard represents MY head-canons and ONLY MY head-canons. Picture HB however you want!! (not you @strang3lov3 or @sr-lrn)

A/N & Warnings: I have some more of my own personal head-canons at the bottom of this fic. You can read them before, or after, or not at all. Please be aware this is MLM (Unprotected PinA, Oral M to M, come swallowing). If that isn’t your thing don’t read. I have never written MLM before so please be gentle with me. I appreciate your kindness.

Approved (and encouraged by) Gracie, but this IS NOT CANON

….(yet)

So this sordid little tale takes place during JEALOUS (please read that first). I’m not sure if Gracie meant to leave HB and Tommy alone in that hotel room for HOURS….. But somewhere deep inside her mind palace (lurking along the back corridors of the White Lotus)...... HB made sure that’s exactly what happened.

TEXT IN PINK IS PART OF JEALOUS - WRITTEN BY @gracieispunk

Your husband -HB- took Joel, Tommy, and all the guys, on a business trip for an architecture seminar.

Of course they didn’t have to come, but he insisted.

He who currently stands at the bar with Tommy, absolutely shit faced.

Joel’s other work friends hover around with the women they brought with them on the trip. Whether it’s their wives, girlfriends, or someone they met last week. Everyone is relaxed, despite the music thumping loud. Chatting and casually drinking beers, none of them as drunk as HB - who’s the only one who has to be up in less than 6 hours.

You stand in a short floral dress, your elbow perched on the table you’re seated at, your head in your hand. You pout as you sip your beer, because you rather be up in your hotel room with your book.

You try not to pout more as you watch Joel grind into another woman while they dance.

HB had drunkenly kissed you earlier and Joel wasn’t happy to witness that. Finding his revenge in one of the wives friends, who had supposedly been brought just for him.

He put the moves on her fast, laughing, and winking - and making you extremely jealous over a man that was indeed not your husband.

Joel looks over at you as he dances with her, raising his brows as his hands wander up the sides of her thighs like they do yours. You watch his hands and you can almost feel him on your legs instead.

It makes your stomach turn but you can’t stop watching. That is until Tommy gets your attention. He’s lugging a drunk HB over his shoulder.

“Think I’m gonna tuck this one in,” Tommy yells over the music.

You smile and nod before turning to HB who can’t even keep his eyes from rolling. You hold his face in your hand and completely miss the look of contempt Joel gives you, when he sees.

You lightly smack HB’s face and there’s hardly any response. You nod to Tommy to take him away and put him to bed.

Tommy drags HB into the elevator, the young couples already in it making room for them at the back. The other couples get off on the 3rd floor and Tommy shuffles HB off his shoulder for the remainder of the ride. HB stands up straight and stretches his back, all pretense gone, popping his neck and lowly groaning in the process.

“Took you long enough,” Tommy mutters. “Thought we were gonna be down there all fuckin’ night.” He crosses his arms, clearly pissed off.

“Relax, would ya?” HB reaches his hand to squeeze Tommy’s shoulder, lingering his touch. “Had to wait for the right time to get outta there.”

Tommy scoffs as the elevator dings, signaling the top floor arrival. HB squeezes Tommy’s shoulder harder and uses the grip to guide him out of the elevator and down the hall towards his room.

Once inside, HB stops just outside the bathroom and toes off his shoes. Tommy walks further into the large suite and sits down on the bed, shuffling off his shoes and socks and then moving quickly to unbutton his shirt. HB approaches him and grabs his hands, stalling his movements.

“Quit rushin’. I promise we’ve got time.”

“How can you be so sure?” Tommy looks up at him, brow still furrowed in frustration. HB runs his thumb across Tommy’s chin, sliding his palm across his stubbled-cheek and back into the hair on the side of his head, tugging lightly as he drags his fingers through it.

HB places his palms on top of Tommy’s thighs and lowers himself between the other man’s spread legs. Once on his knees he continues the slow unbuttoning of Tommy’s shirt, leaning forward to intermittently place gentle kisses on the edge of Tommy’s jaw. Tommy closes his eyes and breathes deeply, tension in his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Everyone’s pretty preoccupied,” he hums, not revealing any of his secrets. He knows Tommy was expecting more alone time together tonight, but he had to put the work in to make sure they would remain uninterrupted. He also knows that the kisses he laid all over his beautiful young wife’s face hours ago began a chain reaction.

He sat back and watched the dominoes fall, planted at the bar with Tommy all night pretending to get drunker and drunker. Watching Joel grope his little date (that HB had insisted be invited), and observing the way his own wife’s mood grew more and more sour. Finally, when she and Joel couldn’t keep their eyes off each other, he knew that he and Tommy wouldn’t be missed.

His buttons undone, Tommy pushes the shirt off his shoulders and yanks the cuffs over his hands, tossing the shirt towards the foot of the bed. Impatiently, he grabs at his undershirt with one hand and it joins the other clothes on the floor. He reaches for HB’s already-loosened tie but his hand is slapped away.

HB pushes his hand flat on Tommy’s chest, guiding him to lay back on the mattress. He reaches for Tommy’s belt and in one fluid motion the buckle is undone, a swift jerk releases it from the loops on Tommy’s khakis. Tommy groans in anticipation, making HB smirk.

Tommy bucks his hips off the bed in anticipation, reaching down in his impatience to undo his own button and fly. They don’t get as much time like this together as they want, so they're often both eager, rushing to make each other come as quickly as possible with hands and mouths.

Not tonight. Tonight HB wants to take his time.

He runs his hands up Tommy’s torso and then back down to his hips, curling his hands into his trousers and pulling down. Tommy plants his feet on the ground and pushes his pelvis to the sky, allowing more freedom for HB to remove his pants and underwear together. As HB pulls them down Tommy’s legs he hooks his fingers in his socks as well, leaving Tommy completely bare.

Tommy throws his arm over his face, groaning again as the cold air from the room hits his flushed, leaking cock. Wasting no more time, HB leans forward, grabbing Tommy’s dick firmly at the base, and begins swirling his tongue around the foreskin-covered head.

After a few circles with his tongue he closes his lips around it, suckling gently and bobbing his head very slightly up and down. He begins to firmly but slowly pump his hand up and down the shaft, his grip gliding smoothly as Tommy’s velvety skin slides up and down underneath his fist.

Ignoring Tommy’s increasing mewls of pleasure, HB returns to running his tongue along the head, slipping his tongue under the skin. He glides it around the ridge and swipes it across the slit, licking up the precome steadily leaking out. Tommy seems to grow even harder under his attention, his cock now dark red and straining towards the sky.

HB gently pulls his fist down the shaft, dragging on the skin to reveal more of the head. The sensitive underside of Tommy’s cock now exposed, HB sticks his tongue out of his mouth and gently taps that part of Tommy’s cock against it. The soft, wet slapping noises are barely audible over Tommy’s whines.

HB shifts his body, ignoring his own painfully hardening cock in favor of paying attention to the gorgeous man laid out in front of him. Still gripping the shaft, he alternates rubbing the frenulum side to side with his tongue, and taking him into his mouth and closing his lips around him. Each time he takes Tommy into his mouth he swallows him down further.

With his free hand HB guides Tommy’s one thigh up, resting his foot on the edge of the bed. Tommy moves his other leg up on his own, opening himself up wide for HB between his legs. Not stopping what his right hand and mouth are doing, HB cups Tommy’s balls with his left hand, gently rolling them, applying light pressure to them, and tugging them ever so slightly.

Tommy’s arm is still laid across his face, working to muffle his moans. HB reaches up with his left hand and pushes Tommy’s arm off his face. He stretches to touch Tommy’s face, dragging his fingers down over his nose and slipping his index finger into Tommy’s mouth. Tommy begins to suck on HB’s finger, mimicking the rolling tongue movements he feels being done to him.

When Tommy releases HB’s finger he brings it back down to the apex of Tommy’s legs. HB removes his mouth from Tommy’s cock and lowers his mouth to his balls. He begins to lick each one thoroughly before beginning to gently suckle at them, alternating back and forth. Eventually he takes one at a time into his mouth, rolling his tongue over them and letting them bob around gently inside.

When Tommy’s balls are in HB’s mouth, lifted and out of the way, HB takes his spit-slicked finger and begins sliding it along the space behind Tommy’s balls. Tommy scrabbles to grab a pillow and covers his face with it just as a loud, wanton moan releases from his mouth. HB lets a low moan out himself, vibrating Tommy’s balls in his mouth, sending him further into ecstasy.

HB continues his ministrations, moving his finger back just a bit further and pressing against the tight ring of muscle. He dips his head down and begins to lap his tongue wetly along the area he just trailed his finger, letting Tommy’s noises guide him. Lazily pumping his fist over Tommy’s dick, he draws swirls and circles with the tip of his tongue along Tommy’s perineum and over his puckered hole.

Tommy is now incoherently babbling into the pillow nonstop as HB flicks his tongue back and forth, up and down. HB is waiting and he knows he won’t have to wait much longer. Almost as if on cue, Tommy throws the pillow off his face and keens the word please, his eyes scrunched closed and his face contorted as if in pain.

HB raises his face up and grips Tommy’s cock extra firm, making Tommy sit up on his elbows and suck a breath through his teeth. His eyes meet HB’s and then HB growls out just loud enough for Tommy to hear over his own panting breaths.

“Give it to me.”

Tommy’s head lolls back.

“I wanna taste it,” HB adds before he opens wide and swallows Tommy’s cock down to the base.

Tommy’s hand immediately flies to the back of HB’s head, threading through his silver hair. HB pushes his finger against Tommy’s tight hole, inserting his finger to the halfway point. HB begins to swallow, knowing the sensations on Tommy’s over-sensitive cockhead are going to send him over the edge.

He can feel Tommy’s balls tighten up and he pushes his finger in knuckle deep as Tommy’s cock begins to throb, releasing his hot spend down HB’s throat. HB can hear Tommy’s muffled groans as he swallows down everything Tommy is giving him. HB hums, coaxing him through it all until Tommy stops convulsing and then he gently pulls his finger out from Tommy’s clamping grip.

He pulls his mouth off Tommy’s softening dick, and wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his arm, still fully clothed. He stands up, his tall figure towering over the bed.

Tommy sits up and begins to hastily undo HB’s trousers, once the zipper is unzipped he quickly moves on and begins to pluck the buttons undone going up his shirt. HB clutches Tommy’s hands in his own once again, stopping him. He shakes his head slightly, releasing Tommy’s hands before stepping back and resuming the unbuttoning himself, but slower.

“I already told ya, we got plenty of time.”

Now he draws it out on purpose, lazily drawing his tie down his chest, letting the skinny end pull from the knot, tugging it from his neck. He delicately eases his now open shirt off his shoulders, dragging it down his toned arms. Plucking the cuffs over his fists he walks over to the chair in the corner, making a show of gently laying the shirt and tie over the back of the seat. His trousers follow, folded over the chair as well.

Tommy rolls his eyes but HB isn’t finished, as he walks around the room in only his underwear and socks, bending over to retrieve Tommy’s discarded clothes one by one. He gives them the same treatment, shaking them out and folding them over the back of the chair with his own.

He goes back to Tommy, sitting at the edge of the bed again, and shuffles in close between the man’s legs, pressing his covered erection up against Tommy’s cheek. Tommy wraps his hands around the back of HB’s thighs, squeezing the flesh there and pulling him tighter to his face.

Tommy reaches down and takes HB’s socks off one by one, discarding them where he stands. Then he reaches up to the waistband of HB’s boxer briefs and hooks his fingers in, pulling them down torturously slowly, while tilting his head back and keeping eye contact with a grinning HB. Tommy leaves them to pool at HB’s feet and turns his attention back to HB’s cock in his face.

HB watches Tommy’s face, always so expressive when he looks at his cock. HB is significantly longer than average, not overly girthy, but proportional. He keeps his pubic hair trimmed short and his balls and ass waxed clean. He’s been told by several lovers how impressive it all looks, including by Tommy (and by his wife back when they started dating).

Tommy grips HB’s ass and pushes him forward, mouth open to receive his huge straining erection. HB would love to push it deep into Tommy’s warm, wet, waiting mouth. But instead he stills his forward movement, pushing back against Tommy’s gripping hands. Tommy looks up immediately, concern etched across his face.

“I have something else in mind,” HB whispers, taking Tommy’s face in his hands.

Tommy’s brows knit together. HB reaches over to the nightstand and opens the drawer, pulling out a small bottle of Astroglide. Tommy’s eyes widen when they land on the small, purple-capped bottle. He scrunches his brows and groans.

“I don’t think we have-”

Shhh Shhhhhh, HB silences him with a finger over his lips. “Don’t you worry about anyone but us.”

HB grabs one of Tommy’s hands off his bare ass and squirts some of the lube into his palm. He guides Tommy’s hand to him and lets him spread it over his shaft, smoothly jerking his long-ignored cock. His eyes close and his head falls forward at the sensation of finally having attention paid to him, dark and dripping, straining for relief.

HB revels in the attention for a moment. He lets Tommy tug firmly on him, plant kisses along his hip, grab handfuls of his ass with his other hand. He spends so much time in his own head, so much time on pleasing his clients, so much time planning his next project. When he does get to blow off steam he tends to do so in a selfish, spectacular, explosive fashion.

This trip was supposed to be just him, attending a conference as the keynote speaker. He would have been making and watching presentations all day, schmoozing with bigger firms at the hotel bar, and answering the same goddamn questions over and over. His wife, who he knew was proud of him, asked to come along and help celebrate him. Maybe part of her was trying to rekindle their long-lost closeness.

But once the idea was in his head to make this trip more personal than professional, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to invite Tommy, only a little ashamed to admit that he would rather have him there than his wife. Once Tommy was on the guest list he knew he had to bring his wife, and of course, his wife’s ‘secret’ boyfriend - his best friend Joel. And then, knowing it couldn’t be just this awkward little foursome, he invited the rest of Joel’s crew and their partners along as well.

Why not? He had the fuckin’ money to pay for it all. When he told his wife he invited everyone she actually looked almost disappointed for a moment, a little wave of hurt flashing across her face. But he shrugged it off, knowing that having Joel there would be a comfort to her. Although he did feel a tiny pang of guilt when he told the other guys to have their wives bring a girl for Joel, especially knowing Joel really only had eyes for one girl - his girl.

But he needed the distraction. He needed attention paid elsewhere. He needed this.

This time alone with Tommy, time that they never got back home.

HB opens his eyes and guides Tommy to lay down on the bed again, this time laying over him, kissing his mouth, wet and wanting. They make out like that for a bit, rough stubble scraping against each other’s chins, Tommy’s one hand still moving up and down HB’s cock, HB’s hands tugging and pulling at Tommy’s shoulders and hips, fighting to pull him closer.

When HB pulls back they’re both panting and Tommy’s pupils are blown wide, desire painted on his face.

“Have you done this a lot?” Tommy whispers, breathless. He swallows past the lump in his throat, visibly nervous. They both know this is his first time.

“No,” HB lies. “Not a lot.”

It had been years, since before he got married, that he’d been with a man in this way. And he’d never fucked his wife like this, even though he thinks she might have wanted him to at one point. So he doesn’t feel like a complete shit when he tells Tommy this lie. The lie will soothe him. The lie will put him at ease. The lie will get him in faster.

HB stands up and encourages Tommy’s legs up on the bed again, spreading him open further with a gentle push on his knees. He grabs the bottle and dribbles lube onto Tommy’s dick, which is getting hard again already, watching it drip down his balls and towards his ass crack.

Tommy lifts his feet and moves his knees towards his head to open himself up even more, breathing deeply and holding back whines. Tossing the bottle aside, HB begins to massage the back of Tommy’s thighs, smoothing his hands over Tommy’s hips, pelvis, and cock, which hardens further under his touch. Gathering the lube, he massages Tommy’s balls, his ass, and dips his digits towards his end-goal.

Making sure his thumb is lubed up, he presses against Tommy’s taut hole once again, rubbing circles around it in tandem. He grabs at Tommy’s hands, encouraging the man to jerk his own dick while HB continues his attention lower.

“How does this feel?” HB asks, already aware of the answer.

Tommy manages a feeble whine in response, something that sounds like a drawn out yeah.

“Are you okay?”

Tommy’s head nods quickly, eyes clamped shut.

HB pushes his thumb in slowly, feeling Tommy try to relax and enjoy the sensation. HB begins to ease his thumb in and out while he slowly rolls the fingers of his other hand around the crown of his own cock. Watching Tommy laid out like a buffet, jerking his own dick with both hands and getting finger-fucked has HB ready to come just like this.

But he has plans to follow through on.

HB takes his thumb out and moves forward, replacing it at Tommy’s entrance with his cock. He meets Tommy’s eyes and sees his look of apprehension.

“Are you good?”

“Yeah. Just… N-nervous,” Tommy stutters out.

“We’ll go slow,” HB affirms, bending down to plant kisses on Tommy’s knees in the air.

HB guides himself forward, pushing on one of Tommy’s cheeks with his free hand to spread him, watching as the head enters him. Tommy makes an effort to breathe slowly and relax his body. They’ve talked about how good this can feel and Tommy has put his trust in HB for this moment.

HB stops with just the tip in and takes some deep breaths himself. He wants to make this last.

“Can you take more?” HB asks. Tommy nods in response. “Hey, talk to me.”

“Yeah,” Tommy pants. He continues brokenly, “It feels… good… keep going… please.”

HB rocks his hips forward genty, pushing himself in another couple inches. Before Tommy has ample time to react HB pulls back, watching the other man’s changing facial expressions. He slowly eases himself in and out, one hand still on his dick, the other now resting on Tommy’s knee, pushing it gently down towards his chest.

HB is quiet, much less vocal than he usually is, and Tommy is quieter beneath him than he was during the blow job. Thank god for that, HB thinks, because if Tommy was moaning like that now it would be over for him. HB is clutching tight to his own resolve, trying so desperately not to end this early. He’s been waiting for this moment for months and it feels so fucking good, he wants it to last forever.

“Keep touching yourself,” HB orders, “I wanna feel you come again.”

Tommy lets a low whine escape from his lips. HB watches Tommy’s movements over his own cock increase in tempo and vigor. Tommy loves it when HB takes control, loves it when he uses his vast experience to show him new pleasures, loves it when he talks dirty.

HB continues to gently saw in and out, both hands now on Tommy’s knees, careful to limit himself to only thrusting about a third of his length inside. He doesn’t want to hurt Tommy and he knows this is enough, this is hitting Tommy in all the right places. Tommy is going to come from this, and then - finally - he can come.

He’s selfish in a lot of ways, but he’s never been called a selfish lover.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” HB moans out, “Feels like this tight little hole was made just for me.”

That’s apparently all Tommy needed because HB can feel it before Tommy has a chance to even announce it. Tommy cries out and clamps down on HB, who pushes himself in as far as he dares to. Tommy’s cock begins to release ropes of come, hitting both of their chests and one spurt reaching up to stick to HB’s chin.

HB can’t hold on any longer, he grabs his dick in his fist to stop himself from pushing forward into Tommy’s tense opening. He groans loudly as he comes, filling Tommy up, listening to him sigh as he feels HB’s hot release. When HB has finished, he slowly pulls out, watching his spend leak out of Tommy onto the sheets.

It doesn’t matter if the sheets are dirty, he’s sure his wife won’t be coming back here to sleep on them tonight.

He pulls Tommy up and drags him to the shower where they both spend a long time under the hot spray of water, washing each other, kissing, and laughing. At one point Tommy gets nervous that they’re going to be interrupted, trying to speed up the shower so he can leave. HB shushes him once again.

“Aren’t you worried she’s gonna come in here and catch us?”

HB chuckles. The thought of his wife catching him, given her own activities, doesn’t worry him at all. But Tommy doesn’t know about what she’s been up to with Joel. He actually wonders if part of her would be relieved to see it, if it would make her feel justified in her own infidelity. Would she leave him? Would he want her to?

“You don’t think they’re gonna notice I’ve been up here so long?” Tommy asks, still nervous.

“I don’t think they noticed,” HB soothes him. Unable to tell him why, he makes up a lie. “I bet everyone is so drunk right now they’re all passed out in their rooms.”

“But this is her room-”

HB interrupts Tommy with a tongue in his mouth, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing the breath out of him.

Finally, just over two hours after they came into the room, Tommy is fully dressed, adjusting his belt, and kissing HB goodbye as he heads out the door. It’s almost 2am and HB has to be up in less than four hours for tomorrow’s schedule. He doesn’t mind, he can pound coffee all day if he needs to, maybe sneak in a nap.

It was worth it.

You spend more hours making small talk with the women and watching Joel dance with one of them. Aggressively getting bolder with each song. At one point he lowers himself behind her and runs his mouth along her bare legs, all while holding eye contact with you.

Your stomach burns and you raise yourself from the table. Paying your tab at the bar and wandering out into the empty halls of the hotel

You’re walking away with your arms crossed, when you hear running footsteps on the shitty abstract carpet.

“Heading to bed so early?” He huffs.

You don’t turn around. You know he was pissed at you for a kiss, to the man whom you’re married to, that you couldn’t control.

His eyes meet yours and you blink up at him. Your mind wanting to stay furious with him for turning this into a huge joke and your body wanting to give into him - like always.

You open your mouth and go to speak, but the elevator doors open and Tommy goes to step out, before getting startled.

“Oh, shit,” he huffs on impulse, and you can’t help but step farther away from Joel.

Joel, who only pivots on his heel towards Tommy and furrows his brows.

“Y’put that old fart to bed?” He asks.

Tommy steps out and around you both. Giving you a suspicious look, before his eyes flicker back to Joel’s

“Uh, yeah - m’headin’…” he points with his thumb, back down the hall, towards the bar.

“Back in there,” his sentence trails off and Joel slaps his arm twice with an over exaggerated smile, before following you into the elevator.

“Great, just gonna make sure this one gets to her room okay.”

Tommy gives you both another strange look as the elevator doors close. You don’t bother looking him in the eye.

After the elevator doors have fully closed and he sees the box of light begin to lift off the floor, Tommy huffs a loud sigh of relief. He thought for sure he just got caught. He thinks both of them must have been quite drunk to not realize how long he’d been gone, just like HB said. He runs a hand through his still-wet hair, then nervously adjusts his belt again before he heads back to the bar to close out his tab.

This was a labor of love and I had lots of help along the way. I want to thank @gracieispunk for her permission and encouragement first and foremost. (I really do love you girl.) This was SO fun to write and I hope I did her characters justice because I love them so much and her writing means A LOT to me. I also want to thank everyone who offered me advice and support in the writing of this piece, which I took way too seriously lolol. This is the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written (BY FAR) and it’s the first time I’ve ever written mlm. I am nervous and I really hope I did it some justice but I apologize if I didn’t do it well. BIG thank you to @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog who gave me the idea to mimic some of the scenes that hbf and his reader have done. And thank yous to the following creative people for helping me with beta reading and workshoping various parts of this absolute cock-fest: @theywhowriteandknowthings @bonezone44 @hiddenbabynyc @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @clawdee @ievutebebe

My own personal head-canons (not based on facts or encouraged by anyone - just some background I had in my head while I wrote this non-canon story) *not required reading - only read if you’re interested.

I head-canon HB as Timothy Olyphant. In my mind reader is 28/29, Tommy is 34/35, Joel is 39/40, HB is 48/49. Reader & HB have been married about 5 years.

I don’t think that HB knows everything that goes on, but I do like to think that - being an architect-bro and a pretty high-tech dude, he has cameras in the house - potentially ones that his wife doesn’t know about. So, he knows 100% for sure that she and Joel have their thing going on. He’s not really upset about it.

HB refuses to pin himself down with a label, sexually, but in my mind his appetite is varied and he goes through phases (His wife thinks he's straight). When they met he thought she was beautiful, smart, and kind. They had a fun relationship, good sex, and she was impressed by him, made him feel good. Most importantly, his mother liked her, and since his mother was ill at the time, he proposed and married her after a whirlwind romance. His mother has since passed away.

Unfortunately (or fortunately?) for his wife - after the first couple years of their marriage he started to lose interest (sexually). It's kind of a sugar daddy vibe going on and since he's pretty self-absorbed, he has no qualms about keeping a pretty young thing on his arm. He’s not a serial cheater by any means but he is currently having a secret fling with his best friend’s brother - Tommy Miller (who is newly bi). This is relatively new and it’s not the reason why he’s doing it - but he justifies this affair with the knowledge that she and Joel were fucking each other first.

He likes his wife, cares about her, finds her attractive, and enjoys fucking her from time to time (he's certainly not gonna say no to getting off if she initiates). He’s not a bad guy, but he’s definitely selfish and prefers to remain emotionally unavailable. He doesn’t treat her badly but he very rarely treats her with the care and attention she deserves (I didn't say he was a good guy, but he could be worse).

Part of him is unaware of all the selfish ways he acts (narcissist) , but the part of him that does know how shitty he’s acting is soothed by the fact that he knows his best friend is taking care of her. Not even just in a sexual sense, part of him knows that Joel cares about her and looks out for her (aka is obsessed with her).

#HB x Tommy Miller #hbf!joel #hbf!joel universe #gracieispunk #so much ass #mlm

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