#Slash Beast Stage

[ultramantr1gger]

seems like blast man blasted your consciousness

yeah he fucking did

listen to it btw^^^

#goes so hard #this and fuse mans stage #\\slash beast #|hyper key|

[theharrowing]

Denim & Strawberry

When Yoongi gets invited to watch his crush perform, he has no idea what to expect. Jimin stripping on stage and singing a sultry little number while tugging on his hair is definitely not what Yoongi had in mind, but who is he to complain?

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show." Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

🍓 Yoongi x Jimin

🍓 word count: 19.6k 🙈

🍓 friends to lovers, burlesque au, porn without plot, tooth-rotting fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+

🍓 warnings: top yoongi, bottom jimin. jimin has pink hair and yoongi has a half-up top-knot. this is more or less porn with very little plot. recreational drug use (weed smoking.) jimin performing burlesque and singing while being a flirt. light hair pulling. the burgundy suit from jimin's filter performance, and his kitty gang jacket, and cute lingerie. a hint of jealous/possessive behavior. bickering as a form of flirting. the tiniest hint of sub/dom vibes. safe word establishment. teasing & light humiliation. a little begging. use of good boy and slutty. jimin is shy at times but also a brat and yoongi fights the urge to tame him. a lot of drool, spit, lube, and cum. dirty talk. so much god damn praising. anal (plug, play, eating, fingering, sex.) messy blow job. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. yoongi loves to discuss boundaries & check in. lots of heaven/angel comparisons but only because yoongi is a sucker for how ethereal jimin is (it's not that deep.) too many positions (what was i thinking???) subspace. mating press. cock-warming. after care. tooth-rotting fluff.

🍓 note: a yoonmin fic + jimin doing burlesque was some brainrot shared between @echotoyou and i that i decided to write when their birthday was approaching. but then the big day came and went, and i lost control of this beast for a very long time. she is finally ready hehe. i hope you all (but especially mg!) enjoy!!! finally my years of being a photographer for a burlesque troupe and dating a performer have come in handy for my writing lolol.

🍓 listen along: 🎵 streets by doja cat & yeah, i said it by rhianna (thank you to @sailoryooons for these song choices!!!)

🍓 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🍓 posted august 2023 | read on ao3

Yoongi pats his pockets down one last time, fingertips tentatively grazing lumps beneath denim. Phone…wallet…keys. That's everything. He presses the lock button on his open car door, then closes it. In his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

Namjoon Hyung, are you close?

Yoongi Just parked.

Namjoon  Okay, good. Just making sure you don’t miss anything. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes but smiles. He has no idea what to expect – nobody has told him much – but Jimin did say, over and over again, that it was fine if he could not make it. That he would be thrilled if Yoongi could come but understood if he could not. That there would be other shows. 

But of course, Yoongi did everything in his power to make it. This is Jimin, after all.  

He slides his hands into the pockets of his black denim jacket and moseys from the small parking lot to the sidewalk and around the corner. There is a small congregation of people smoking and loitering outside, under a bright red neon sign that reads Paradise. Yoongi has never been to this bar before – tends to avoid spots on this side of town because it is more popular with college kids, and therefore, the drinks are overpriced. 

Everyone outside is done up in some flashy way, wearing sequins and fishnets, glittering eye makeup, and patent leather. Yoongi feels underdressed, wearing a black band tee tucked into black skinny jeans, with a black jacket and black work boots, and he awkwardly runs a hand through his dark, wavy, unstyled, and overgrown hair. 

"Yoongi!" a familiar voice shouts, and he looks up in time to find his friend Jeongguk waving him over, past the closest group of smokers. 

Even his friends are all dressed up, with sparkly eye glitter and tight, colorful clothing. Hoseok and Jeongguk are in mesh, Taehyung has a burgundy feather boa, and Seokjin and Namjoon are both wearing leather pants. Since when did the two of them own leather pants?

"Ya, you're dressed like a scrub!" Seokjin shouts, making Yoongi's cheeks warm in an instant.

"Nobody told you a single thing about the event tonight, did they?" Namjoon asks sympathetically.

Yoongi shrugs, mutters, "No," and digs his hands further into his pockets. 

Taehyung approaches, using his pinkies to brush the hair away from Yoongi's face, cradling a pot of light blue glitter between his fingers. "He probably wanted it to be a surprise," he mutters lowly, unscrewing the pot. "Don't let them make you feel self-conscious."

"I don't," Yoongi responds softly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. He stands still while Taehyung dabs his fingertip into the glitter and allows him to smudge it around his eyes. In the early days of their friendship, Yoongi probably would have fussed, but these days, he lets the youngest two – Taehyung and Jeongguk – do whatever they want.

Jeongguk approaches, unscrewing a stick of pink, shiny lip gloss, and Yoongi huffs out a sigh but stands as still as he can while Jeongguk applies it. "Should put your hair into a bun or something," he mutters before he and Taehyung trade places so Taehyung can smudge blue glitter onto his other eye. 

"Your hair is really pretty, hyung," Taehyung adds, screwing the top of the glitter pot back on and sliding it into his very tight white slacks. "You should let me style it."

"Don't we have to go inside?" Yoongi asks.

"We'll head in when the emcee comes on," Hoseok responds, approaching with a mischievous smile. Without asking, he grabs Yoongi's right arm and pulls at the black hair tie that he always keeps on his wrist, then begins separating the top half of Yoongi's hair and making a bun on the top. "Jimin goes on third or fourth."

"What is he doing tonight, again?" Yoongi asks, throwing in the again to make it seem like he may have been privy to information in the past, in case it makes one of them divulge even a crumb of information. 

"A little singing," Hoseok mutters, grinning. "You know how it is."

"I literally do not know how it is," Yoongi responds, finally becoming impatient with his friends touching and fixing him. 

"You'll see, hyung," Hoseok says as he takes a step back, inspects his handy work, and nods.

Taehyung returns with a knit brow and reaches up to fix Yoongi's glittery makeup, which he allows for a moment before swatting him away, grumbling, "Okay, enough."

"Alright, grumpy cat," Namjoon teases, then passes him a freshly lit joint. "Here."

Yoongi reaches for the joint and takes a hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs before tilting his head upward and releasing it. Then he holds out his hand for the next person to take it, and rolls his shoulders back. 

"What kind of song is Jimin singing?" Yoongi half-mutters, expecting next to nothing in response. 

Taehyung simply says, "You'll see, hyung,"  with a wink. 

“Is it an original song?” Yoongi tries. He can’t remember Jimin ever talking about songwriting, but he wouldn’t put it past him; Jimin is full of surprises. 

The sound of someone shouting into a microphone can be heard, and Yoongi stands at attention, ready to go inside. He can hear people cheering and loud pop music playing. 

“Shall we?” Taehyung asks as he takes one last drag at the diminishing joint and hands it to Yoongi. 

Yoongi nods and takes another hit, cradling the tiny roached joint between his thumb and forefinger, then holds it out for the others, all of whom hold their hands up and shake their heads. With one last puff, Yoongi flicks it into the street, then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. 

“Is Jimin part of the opening act?” Yoongi asks, and Seokjin snickers. 

“He’s one of the main acts,” Namjoon supplies unhelpfully. 

So he must be headlining, Yoongi assumes. 

“Hyung is so unobservant when he’s nervous,” Jeongguk teases, and Taehyung chuckles along with him. 

“I’m not nervous,” Yoongi grumbles.

He glances around and sees flyers for various events taped to the windows for drag and burlesque shows, and a few for various bands, none of which shows any images of Jimin, or any other performers he has ever seen before. In his pockets, his hands prickle with sweat, and he imagines what kind of instrument Jimin might play. Or maybe he only sings. 

Jimin is a somewhat new addition to their friend group, brought in by Taehyung and Hoseok; they all work together. To say Yoongi is smitten would be the understatement of the century. And although Yoongi thinks Jimin may also be interested in him, they have not spoken too much about anything outside of college and work, only seeing one another as part of the larger friend group.

As a major in theater arts with a minor in dance, Jimin works at a local studio teaching children tap and ballet as an assistant to Hoseok. Occasionally, Taehyung substitutes for the older lady who plays piano for the classes. It was natural for them to come together, all close in age, with Hoseok only a year older than the other two.

When Jimin invited Yoongi to come watch him perform, they were all tipsy from one too many bottles of soju. Jeongguk was the last in their friend group to graduate college, and they were all celebrating with drinks and fried chicken. 

Even then, when Yoongi asked what kind of show it was, everyone was giggly and secretive. From that moment, he got the feeling that Jimin was definitely flirting with him, with the way his gaze lingered, lips curled into a smile long after Yoongi made him laugh. The more Jimin insisted Yoongi needed to just go and experience the event first-hand, nibbling on his pillowy lip with a somewhat shy, rosy-cheeked grin, Yoongi felt eager to do anything he wanted him to. 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” Yoongi promised, and he meant it. 

The cheers inside grow louder, and Taehyung takes up the lead, stepping into the bar. Namjoon slings an arm over Yoongi’s shoulder and gently shoves him along with the group. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, but Taehyung mutters something to the door guy, who looks at a list of names and then waves the six of them inside. 

Taehyung leads them down a short hallway, into the bar. A long counter lines the left wall, with patrons leaning against it both to order drinks, and to chat with one another. Past the bar top, at the end of the venue, is a stage, and on stage is a woman lip-synching to some upbeat pop song while waving big white feather fans in front of her, enticing the audience to want to see what the fans are covering. 

Yoongi has seen clips of performances like this but has never attended this type of show before, and his gaze lingers on the woman, who winks and blows kisses to cheering audience members before Namjoon leads him over to get a drink. 

The music is loud and a little tackier than Yoongi’s usual taste, but the bass line thrums through the speakers straight into his bloodstream, building his nervousness to see Jimin, egged on by feeling somewhat high. He wonders what kind of performance Jimin might put on at an event like this, and he cannot imagine what it could be. 

“Hyung?” Taehyung asks, tilting his head toward the waiting tender. “First one is on me.”

What he would like is a nice scotch neat, but since Taehyung is paying, he finds a mid-tier whiskey and gets it with a spritz of soda water. The others order, and by the time they step away from the bar, the woman’s song is at its climax, and she is topless, wearing lacy red underwear and bouncing in a way that spins the red tassel pasties on her breasts in a circle. The action makes him chuckle, and when she bows and leaves the stage, he claps his fingers against the back of the hand holding his drink. 

“Burlesque, huh?” Yoongi asks, turning to Namjoon while a man in drag takes the stage. 

Namjoon waggles his eyebrows while taking a sip from the bright blue concoction in his hands. 

“Is Jimin also doing burlesque?” Yoongi asks, earning him a shrug. 

Yoongi decides to just stop asking. Clearly, his friends are determined to be completely useless. 

Although there is a decent crowd in the bar, most people are mingling about, watching the stage from a distance, or whispering amongst themselves. The emcee introduces another act and leaves the stage, replaced by a person with a very nicely manicured mustache and beard wearing a big orange wig and vintage blue dress. They prance around the stage, lip-synching to a silly pop song that Yoongi has never heard before, winning cheers and applause from the crowd.

Yoongi wonders if Jimin will also come out in drag, and what kind of a gimmick he might have. Would he wear a dress? High heels? A wig? Yoongi imagines Jimin with the bright, exaggerated makeup on and smiles to himself; he bets Jimin would look really pretty. 

Taehyung leads the group toward the stage, taking his place just left of the center. The others file in behind him, with Yoongi keeping some distance from the very front. The performer comes by, lip-synching to Taehyung, who pulls some money from his pocket and holds it up while the performer bends and offers their cleavage for him to slide the notes into. 

"I don't have any cash," Yoongi grumbles toward Taehyung when the song ends and the performer exits. "Will I need any for Jimin?"

"I got you," Taehyung responds, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes, shoving them into Yoongi's empty hand before he has a chance to protest. 

Yoongi attempts to straighten out the notes while holding onto his drink. Meanwhile, the emcee returns to the stage. 

"Our next performer is a fan favorite," the emcee says with an exaggerated waggle of their eyebrows. Around them, the crowd becomes dense, with someone bumping shoulders and elbows into Yoongi as they get close to the stage. The emcee continues, "A man who needs no introduction because, let's be honest, you're all here to see him…Jimin."

The stage lights go out, and there is some movement – a person carrying items, as well as the light clacking of heels on the wooden stage. Yoongi's heart goes wild in his chest, and he lifts his drink to his lips, watching ahead for more movement in the dark, eager to not miss a thing when the lights come back on.

A red glow illuminates the back edge of the stage, showing the silhouette of Jimin sitting on what looks like a standard black folding chair. He is sideways on the chair with one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped over the back of the chair, and his head tilted back. He appears to be wearing a jacket and slacks, but it is hard to tell. 

Also on the stage is a tall, wooden coat rack, and hanging from it appears to be a short mesh robe with fur trim along the sleeves and bottom hem. 

Beside Yoongi, a man loudly whispers, "I fucking love Jimin; just wait," to someone else, and Yoongi shifts a little on his feet with anticipation and something like envy stirring in his guts. 

A yellow spotlight comes on, shining on Jimin. He wears a fitted burgundy suit and black leather boots with a heel and pointed toe. His light pink hair is styled off his forehead, and he appears to be wearing makeup around his eyes, but it is hard to clearly see. In his hand, which is draped over his knee, is a burgundy wide-brimmed hat. 

A familiar oldie comes on, a pop track from the 1950s, and Jimin slowly uncrosses his legs and places both feet on the floor. Female voices sing sweetly before Paul Anka's voice croons, "Put your head on my shoulder."

Only, before the sentence is finished, the song abruptly changes to a sexy R&B track with a trap beat. In that moment, the yellow spotlights turn red, the hat is dropped to the floor, and Jimin's hands are on the chair, supporting his weight as his body bows upward. Briefly, Yoongi thinks he recognizes the song from a bunch of tiktoks Hoseok has made him watch. 

The crowd cheers as Jimin rolls his body, then sits and rotates, facing the audience and spreading his legs. A woman's voice comes through, singing, "Like you…like you…like you…I find it hard to find someone like you," while Jimin rolls his shoulders and hips to the song, leaning forward and then back, holding onto this chair as he lifts his hips and lolls his head.

Yoongi is stunned, gripping onto his drink while he watches Jimin stand, spin the chair around and sit once more with his back to the audience and head tipped back while his hands rove over his body. His fingertips lift and fall to the rhythm of the song while they work their way down, down, down Jimin's body, difficult to clearly see and stirring up so many mental images. 

Jimin's shoulders and hips sway while his hands disappear, and then he pulls open the burgundy jacket. Everyone around him roars excitedly, cheering and applauding. Jimin holds onto the lapels and turns his head, teasing the audience with his opened jacket before he stands and lets the garment slip down past his shoulders, revealing a matching burgundy button-up that is tucked into his matching slacks and clings tightly to his arms and waist.

With a slow, deep swish of his hips, Jimin faces the audience and begins to rip the dress shirt open from the collar, sending buttons skittering across the stage, earning him whoops and shouts. With a strip of skin exposed, he walks over to the coat rack, turns it in a circle, and dips it as if he were dancing with a person, causing the mesh robe hanging from it to sway.

Each movement of Jimin's body is fluid, clothing clinging to his torso and thighs in a way that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. He wears tighter clothing sometimes when they all hang out, but this is the first time Yoongi has really allowed himself to look.

For just a split second, while Jimin is holding the coat rack as if he is cradling the back and neck of a person and lip-synching to the song, it seems like he makes eye contact with Yoongi, causing Yoongi to hold his breath and heavy-blink through the well of excitement and shyness that he feels. It almost looks as if the edges of Jimin's lips lift ever so slightly, but then he releases the rack and spins away from it, swishing his hips as he dips down low and continues to rip open and untuck the button-up shirt with his eyelids fluttering closed. 

Yoongi practically forgets there is a song playing, focused so intently on Jimin, that when the singer begins to rap – quick and raspy – matched by Jimin's movements of tearing away the garment and revealing a bare torso with little light-colored heart pasties on his nipples, Yoongi sucks in a gasp that gets caught in his throat, nearly making him choke. Jimin’s bare chest and abdominals are chiseled – carved from the finest clay with careful hands. Yoongi lifts his drink quickly, taking a gulp of bitter whiskey and soda water while the crowd goes wild. 

In a swift movement, the pants are torn away from Jimin's waist, revealing long, muscular legs and shiny briefs that match the pasties. Jimin sinks into a squat, rubbing his hands over his legs. Then he sits and lifts one of his legs into a high split, giving Yoongi a very clear eyeful of a bulge and taut thigh muscle, making his mouth fall open. 

Jimin unzips the boot from the foot suspended in the air and tosses it aside, then drops his leg down and sweeps his other leg out in a half-squat, half-split while he drags his hands down the length of his leg to the other boot, unzips it, and tosses it near the other one. 

He spins, gets onto his knees, which are spread, and rolls his hips, lifting and dropping his ass while his hands rove up to his neck and hair, and his head lolls back. All he wears is shiny briefs and pasties, making Yoongi feel more intoxicated than the glass of whiskey ever could. 

The group to Yoongi's right is particularly loud, cheering for Jimin and shouting things like, "That's it, baby, show us how you ride it!" making a shiver run along Yoongi's spine. The objectification makes him feel uncomfortable, but he wonders whether Jimin cares, considering he clearly enjoys stripping for an audience; maybe that is all part of the thrill. Yoongi can't say he blames him. 

The song fades out as Jimin gets onto his hands and knees and crawls over to the coat rack, then slowly gets to his feet. As the music ends, the red lights fade to regular spotlights, revealing the briefs, pasties, and mesh robe – which Jimin pulls from the rack and begins to put on – are all a light pink color that matches his hair. 

Jimin ties the robe with a cord around his waist, standing barefoot while looking out at the crowd with a soft smile. The audience roars with applause and praise, and Yoongi expects Jimin's performance to be over, but then a stagehand in all black runs out, collects the discarded clothing while another sweeps a large broom across the floor to kick away loose buttons, and he hands Jimin a microphone that has been covered in light pink rhinestones. 

Once the men wearing black disappear behind tall curtains, a new song begins, also a slow R&B track, and Jimin lifts the microphone and starts singing, slowly swaying his hips and approaching the front of the stage. 

Yeah, yeah…yeah, yeah… I ain't tryna think about it, no

Taehyung takes a step back, wraps his arm around Yoongi's waist, and pulls him closer to the stage, causing Yoongi to fumble as Jimin approaches. He stands still as a statue with his hands in front of his chest – wad of notes that Taehyung gave him wedged between two fingers while both hands grip tight to his cold, condensation-covered glass of whiskey and soda water. 

Jimin's eyes find Yoongi, and he smiles, tilting his head sweetly to the side. To his right, the guys who had been cheering loudly try to close in and reach forward, but Jimin ignores them, looming over Yoongi while he sings in a soft, sweet voice, delivering lyrics that have Yoongi's cheeks absolutely burning. 

Yeah, I said it, boy, get up inside itI want you to homicide it

As Jimin lifts a hand and reaches out, Yoongi steps forward instinctively, knocking the toe of his boot into the front of the wooden stage, head tilted upward with his eyes never leaving Jimin's face. Around him, hands reach out with money, and some even toss notes to the stage, but Jimin ignores all of it. 

Go in slow, but I want you to pipe it And I think I kinda like ya Up against the wall, we don't need a title

But Jimin does take the wad of notes that stick out from between Yoongi's fingers, tugging them right out of his weak grasp, and he snakes his hand under the robe and tucks it into the side of his little pink briefs, making Yoongi breathe out a soft chuckle. 

Beside him, the guy who seems intent on getting Jimin's attention mutters, "Who the fuck is this guy?" just loud enough that Yoongi can hear him, and pride begins to burn behind his ribs. 

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it, man, fuck a title

Gently, Jimin reaches out toward Yoongi's head, eyes widening and brows slightly lifting as if asking for permission, and Yoongi nods while letting out a shaky breath. Fingers delicately push into his hair, tugging on strands as Jimin takes a handful and releases it, pulling away while dragging his fingertips against Yoongi's cheek. Even the gentlest touch feels electric, and Yoongi sways slightly forward when Jimin's hand drops away. 

Boy, I always like to show Get a little bit, come a little close, now

Arousal builds, and Yoongi feels a bit ashamed considering he and Jimin are friends, and Jimin is hardly touching him in a way that should warrant blood rushing to his dick. But Jimin looks like pure sin wrapped in inviting pink, and the way he stares at Yoongi is playful in a way he has never seen him look. 

Take it home on your camera phone Get a little bad, watch me blow it down

Jimin sinks to his knees, still taller than Yoongi but closer to eye level. With one hand, Jimin reaches for Yoongi's drink, then he has a sip of it and sets it down on the stage. Yoongi's hand stays in the same shape as if the glass had never been removed, and he is not sure what is sexier, the fact that Jimin takes the glass straight from his hand, or that he doesn't even flinch after essentially drinking carbonated whiskey.

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh

With a smirk, Jimin slinks to the very edge of the stage, knees practically bumping into Yoongi's hips. He slips his microphone into Yoongi's hand and lifts it until Yoongi has it in front of his face, as if he is supposed to sing the next line, and then he drapes his arms over Yoongi's shoulders, leans in, and continues. 

Yeah, I said it… Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh 

From this close, Yoongi can see a dusting of shimmery pink on Jimin's eyelids, which are lined in black. His lips are glossy, he smells like strawberries, and Yoongi feels stunned in place, questioning whether or not all of this is a dream. Could his friends have slipped something in the weed? Could he be hallucinating?

Jimin sings higher, each word more inviting than the last. 

You can be rough, boy, but you won't

One of Jimin's hands slides into Yoongi's hair, and starting from the nape of his neck, he takes a handful. Everyone in the bar fades away; as far as Yoongi is concerned, the only two people in the room are himself and the beauty before him. 

Yoongi wonders if this is how Jimin's performances typically go. Does he always pick someone from the audience to tease? Is he always this handsy?

Give me some love, boy, give it to me 'til the morn'

With a gentle tug at his hair, Yoongi practically whimpers, watching as Jimin's lips pull into a sweet, devious smile. Jimin holds onto Yoongi while swaying side to side, knees spreading wide as he dips low and closing as he sits a little higher. 

Jimin continues singing—

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it…

—but he seems less focused on sounding good for the audience and more interested in gently tugging Yoongi's hair and making him gradually fall apart. Soon, he is no longer singing at all, and he releases Yoongi's hair and drags his hand around his neck, past his throat and chin, then up and away, making Yoongi lean forward as if pulled by an invisible string. 

Yoongi wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and Jimin seems to follow the movement before gently tugging his microphone out of Yoongi's tight, sweaty grasp and getting to his feet. Only then, does Yoongi realize the music is fading out. Jimin does a cute little twirl and opens his arms wide, bowing as the audience erupts into cheers, leaving Yoongi too stunned to clap. 

The emcee returns to the stage to announce an intermission, and the house lights come on, brightening the space. The crowd thins, and Yoongi heavy-blinks as he takes in his surroundings and allows his soul to return to his body while Jimin prances away, glancing over his shoulder to wink at Yoongi before slipping behind the black curtain. 

Two large, warm hands crash into Yoongi's shoulders, and he jumps, sucks in a gasp, and turns to find Namjoon staring at him with a wide smile. 

"So?" he has the audacity to ask, and all Yoongi can do is scoff and shake his head incredulously. 

"So, what?" Yoongi responds, attempting to play it cool despite the way his heart hammers in his chest. 

"Was it life-changing?" Taehyung asks, and Yoongi turns to regard him before remembering his drink is still on the stage and spinning around to retrieve it. When he turns back to his friends, he finds five sets of eager eyes watching him, as well as the stares of strangers, and he ducks his head and gulps down half of his drink. 

"It was…" Yoongi begins, trailing off as he attempts to summarize what he just witnessed, blinking through mental image after mental image. "Unexpected," he finally says, lips involuntarily tugging to a smile, which he covers by slamming back the rest of his drink. 

"It sure was!" Hoseok says with wide eyes. "Jimin never comes to the edge of the stage like that. People always try to entice him, but he always plays hard to get."

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, letting the words sink in. 

"Another?" Jeongguk calls, holding an empty glass, and everyone nods. Hoseok and Taehyung finish their drinks in a gulp while they all turn and make their way to the end of the bar. 

As they stand and wait, Yoongi takes a look around the space. Everything is black and chrome and nothing too remarkable, but the place seems to have a chill vibe. And he is grateful to not be the only person wearing denim and a band tee – dressed like a scrub, as Seokjin so elegantly put it.

Taehyung and Jeongguk get drinks, then slink away from the bar to stand off to the side. Then Hoseok and Seokjin order, and finally, Namjoon. Yoongi steps up to the counter and decides to order the same thing he had before – whiskey and soda water. 

From beside him, a sweet, familiar voice shouts, "Make that two, please!"

The smell of strawberry perfume hits Yoongi's nose, and he turns to his left to find Jimin smiling widely at him. He wears a white tee tucked into tight, black leather pants, and a black leather bomber jacket with a feathery design embroidered in red and silver beads on the shoulders. 

Now that Jimin has touched him – tugged at his hair while looming over like a salacious little threat – Yoongi allows himself to stare a little without feeling the nervous urge to flit his gaze away. The longer he looks at Jimin, the wider Jimin's smile grows. 

"Hi, hyung," Jimin says, taking a step closer. 

"Hey, pretty," Yoongi responds, feeling self-conscious about his choice of words until he sees the way they make Jimin blush. Pretty, indeed. 

Two glasses thunk against the bar top, and Yoongi turns with a gasp, fishing for his wallet. 

"On the house," the bartender says, nodding at Jimin. 

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, "okay."

"I got the tip," Jimin says beside him, leaning into his personal space to hand a folded wad of notes to the bartender. Jimin adds, "Though, technically, you are paying for it, hyung," close to Yoongi's ear. 

"Taehyung is paying for it, actually," Yoongi responds with a smirk, turning to Jimin whose mouth falls agape, scandalized. Yoongi feels the need to defend himself, adding, "Hey, I didn't know what was going on, otherwise I would have come prepared!"

Yoongi picks up both drinks and hands one to Jimin, who responds, "Fair," through laughter as he grabs Yoongi by the bicep and pulls him away from the bar. 

Even through his denim sleeve, Yoongi feels a spark of electricity where Jimin touches him. He notices that Jimin has pulled him in the opposite direction of the rest of their friends and decides not to question it. When they find themselves against the wall in a somewhat dimly lit corner, Jimin's hand stays on Yoongi's arm, giving him a tentative squeeze, and Yoongi looks down at Jimin's hand and smiles before meeting his eye. 

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show."

Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

Yoongi has a sip of his drink, then he hums as he nods and says, "I did like the show. Your voice is really beautiful."

"Just my voice?" Jimin asks, stepping so close, their shoulders touch. 

A chuckle rocks through Yoongi, and he tips his head toward Jimin, who takes a drink with wide, curious eyes. "Not just your voice, no. Everything about you is beautiful."

"Awe, hyung!" Jimin shouts, shoving playfully at Yoongi's shoulder and sending him crashing lightly into the wall. 

"Wow," Yoongi responds, snickering. "Last time I compliment a guy."

Jimin places his hand over the spot he shoved and rubs over it, radiating warmth through denim and cotton. He opens his mouth to respond when a small group of men approaches to tell Jimin he did a great job, and Yoongi recognizes one of their voices as the guy who stood beside him during the performance. Yoongi cocks an eyebrow as the man makes eye contact with him, lifting his free hand to place over Jimin's hand, which continues to mindlessly rub over his chest, just below his clavicle. 

"Thanks for coming to the show," Jimin mutters politely, turning back to Yoongi. 

The group hovers behind Jimin and Yoongi does his best to ignore them, but it feels awkward to have an audience now that Jimin is no longer performing. 

"We should finish these drinks and get out of here," Yoongi suggests loud enough for the others to hear him, letting his gaze lift to the group to see if they have. 

Jimin chuckles. "Hyung, are you being possessive right now?"

"Maybe," Yoongi responds, tonguing the inside of his cheek. "But if you want to stay while that desperate pack ogles you, by all means—"

Jimin slides his hand from Yoongi's weak grasp to give him another smack, this time on the arm. 

"God, you're hot when you're jealous," Jimin says, making Yoongi blush, "but I should stay until the end to support the other performers. There are only four more."

Yoongi nods and accepts Jimin's terms. He wants to clarify that his offer for Jimin to leave with him afterwards is genuine, but the house lights dim, and music plays through the speakers, signaling the return of the show. 

Jimin takes Yoongi's hand and pulls him toward the front of the stage, to where the rest of their friends have congregated. Namjoon looks down at their linked hands, then to Yoongi, and he winks, making Yoongi roll his eyes despite how nice it feels to be holding Jimin's hand in public. 

The rest of the show goes by in a haze. Yoongi is hardly aware of the performers, hearing a hint of a song here and seeing a whoosh of brightly colored fabric there. All he can focus on is Jimin’s hand in his, Jimin’s voice singing and cheering, Jimin's warmth emitting in welcoming bursts beside him. 

Whenever Jimin slips his hand away to clap for each performer, Yoongi follows suit, robotically tapping his fingertips to his glass. And when Jimin takes his hand again, everything blurs and slows down, drowned out by the thrumming of blood in Yoongi’s veins, every sense acutely aware of only Jimin’s proximity – soft and strawberry-tender.

Once the house lights come on again, signaling the end of the show, Yoongi downs the rest of his drink. He feels sluggish and heavy, stumbling slightly when Jimin yanks him over to their friends. He wonders if they will want to keep drinking, whether they will want to go to a new bar. He thinks he would be alright with going to another bar; he parked his car somewhere it can be left overnight. 

“Wanna get out of here, hyung?” Jimin asks sweetly in his ear, and Yoongi decides all at once that another bar is out of the question. 

“Yes,” Yoongi responds, turning to Jimin with a wide smile that may very well look too eager for his own good. 

Jimin chuckles, finishes his drink, and says, “Good,” before leading the way to the bar where their friends are gathering with empty glasses. 

Yoongi considers how to break the news; Taehyung and Jeongguk tend to be pretty clingy and weaponize pouts that even Yoongi struggles to defend against, while Hoseok is always eager to keep their hangouts going well into the early morning. 

“We’re gonna get out of here!” Jimin announces, gracefully stealing the words from his mouth before he can even begin to formulate them. 

Jimin begins to hug everyone before they have a chance to oppose, smacking kisses against their cheeks and thanking them for coming to watch him perform. Most of them seem too dazed to argue.

Yoongi waves to everyone, noticing as they all make some sort of wink or eyebrow waggle at him, then he turns wordlessly and allows himself to get dragged by the wrist through the space, past patrons who attempt to talk to Jimin, and out into the cool night air. 

Jimin slides his arm into the crook of Yoongi’s elbow and pulls him along the sidewalk. “I live close,” he says before Yoongi has a chance to ask where they are going. Not that he would protest against being taken anywhere Jimin wanted. 

“Did you like the performance?” Jimin asks, bumping his hip against Yoongi as they walk. 

“I told you I did,” Yoongi teases, turning to find Jimin smiling while looking ahead. 

Jimin’s side profile is all firm lines and glitter, softened when he turns to Yoongi with wide, round eyes and pillow lips. He is stunning, and Yoongi is relieved to be able to stare unabashedly. 

“You told me I was beautiful,” Jimin clarifies, raising his eyebrows before looking ahead. 

“You are,” Yoongi mutters, remembering the performance. “And your singing was really beautiful. And the…stripping…” he trails off, feeling nervous about his choice of words. 

But Jimin does not miss a beat. “You liked watching me strip, hmm?”

“Of course I did,” Yoongi mutters, blushing. 

He is tugged around a corner to the right where the streetlights are fewer and the world feels darker, quieter. 

“And my dancing?” Jimin asks, walking impossibly closer – the two of them somehow managing to not trip over one another. 

“I liked your dancing,” Yoongi responds softly, clearing his throat to speak louder. “Hoseok mentioned you never come to the edge of the stage like that.”

Jimin chuckles, and Yoongi glances to the side, catching his eye before they both look ahead. 

“I don’t. That was just for you. I had a couple surprises just for you.”

Yoongi hums questionably, and Jimin says, "There's still one more surprise, in fact."

“Wow,” Yoongi rasps, smiling, “guess I’m pretty special.”

Jimin stops in his tracks and turns, pulling Yoongi gently away from the sidewalk, onto a grassy area near where tall bushes line the outside of an apartment building. It is even darker, and even quieter, without another soul around as far as Yoongi can tell, and he allows Jimin to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him close enough that their lips nearly touch. 

“You are special,” Jimin responds with a smile, fingertips playing with Yoongi’s hair. “And you look so cute with your hair half up and your eyes covered in Taehyung’s favorite blue glitter. How could I keep my hands off you?”

“Your admirers seemed pretty jealous,” Yoongi teases as he wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, holding him close. 

“Let them be,” Jimin mutters softly, ghosting warm breath over Yoongi’s lips, which he wets with the tip of his tongue in anticipation. “The only admirer I care about is you.”

Yoongi smiles, letting his mouth fall open to respond – to tell Jimin he does admire him, so much, in fact, that it makes him dizzy. But Jimin slots their lips together tentatively, hands cradling Yoongi’s neck and back, and Yoongi sinks into the feeling with a sigh, then gently sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth as his pulse quickens. 

Jimin’s mouth is warm and soft beyond Yoongi’s wildest dreams. Yoongi rubs his hands over Jimin’s lower back and tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, licking over Jimin’s bottom lip until it falls open with a gasp, granting Yoongi entrance. 

With a slow graze of his tongue over Jimin’s, he feels Jimin tense and shiver in his hold, letting out a soft whine that has arousal crashing through Yoongi. Jimin whimpers, and all Yoongi can think about is the man on stage in his tight little briefs, and his trim, flexible body grinding and swaying so invitingly. 

Jimin breaks from the kiss, panting as he tips his mouth away but presses their foreheads together. Yoongi opens his eyes just enough to see Jimin smiling. 

“Let’s go inside,” Jimin mutters, sounding breathless, and he releases Yoongi from his hold and leads him up the short set of steps into the building they were just in front of. 

“Couldn’t wait two more minutes to get me inside?” Yoongi chides as Jimin tugs him by the wrist down a short hallway, to a door on the right. 

Jimin punches in the door code and steps inside the apartment, switching on a bright overhead light that makes the two of them squint. When Yoongi steps in and closes the door, Jimin has his hands on him, pressing him against the wall. 

“Are you always such a brat?” Jimin groans, crowding Yoongi’s space. 

Yoongi assists Jimin in being close by wrapping his arms around his waist. “I like to tease you,” he rasps, chuckling as Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You were teasing me earlier,” Yoongi adds, sliding one hand up, over the scratchy embroidery of Jimin’s jacket until his hand is on the back of Jimin’s neck. “With your dancing…and your singing…and your hair-pulling.”

“I was being extra sexy once I saw you standing there,” Jimin says sweetly as he slots a leg between Yoongi’s thighs.

“Is that so?” Yoongi asks, tipping his head back against the wall so he can actually see the beauty before him. 

Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip and nods his head. “I don’t usually grind on the floor as much. And the little splits I did to take off my shoes was improvised.”

“I might need to see those moves again,” Yoongi mutters, closing the gap between their lips with a soft, chaste kiss.

Jimin sighs and sinks into Yoongi, stomach and chest flush with his. “I have a lot of moves I can show you, hyung,” he responds as he sucks Yoongi’s lip into his mouth hard enough to make Yoongi whimper. 

“So show me,” Yoongi practically whines as he licks eagerly over Jimin’s lips. 

Jimin heaves a breath and takes a step back, grabbing Yoongi’s hands as they slowly slide from their grasp, walking backward through his tidy apartment, smiling as he mutters, “I’ll show you.”

Abruptly, Jimin stops and shouts, “Wait!” shoving Yoongi backward. Yoongi is confused and cocks his head, allowing himself to be moved, fingers still laced with Jimin’s. 

“We have to take our boots off, silly,” Jimin says, unlinking their hands and pressing Yoongi against the wall once more. He leans against Yoongi's chest as he lifts each foot to slide out of his black Chelsea boots and socks, stepping a bit shorter than before. 

Once Jimin’s feet are free, he prances away with a giggle, and Yoongi opens his mouth to call after him, but shakes his head and chuckles instead as he bends and unties his boots, toeing out of each one. The sound of a faucet running cues Yoongi to where to go, and he walks through the living room, to the right, and finds Jimin standing in a small kitchen, drinking from a glass of water. 

“Thirsty, hyung?” Jimin asks, holding out the glass. 

Yoongi takes it and has a drink, then sets it on the counter, and says, “I’m not too thirsty…but I am quite hungry,” watching as Jimin begins to look around with a frown. 

“I don’t have much,” he says, “what are you hungry for?”

Yoongi wraps his hands around Jimin’s waist, rubbing both palms over his leather-clad ass. 

“You,” he rasps, earning him a groan and a weak smack on the arm. He pouts and adds, “Pretty please?” while batting his eyelashes, and Jimin takes his hand, leading him away. 

“Are we leaving every light in your apartment on?” Yoongi asks while Jimin drags him into a short hallway. 

With a huff, Jimin turns on the hallway light, then reaches into a semi-open door right in front of them and turns the light on, revealing a bathroom. 

“There!” Jimin says with an incredulous glare. “Are you happy, hyung?”

“No,” Yoongi grumbles. “Feels like a waste of electricity.”

“You’re infuriating,” Jimin complains as he shuts off the bathroom and hallway lights. He playfully shoves Yoongi away to storm off to the kitchen and living room, and Yoongi laughs to himself, over the moon with how easy Jimin is to rile up. 

When Jimin returns, he grips onto the sleeve of Yoongi's jacket and yanks him roughly down to the end of the short hallway, into a dark room. Yoongi is still laughing, muttering, "Whoa, easy, tiger," as he is pressed into another wall, body against body, with warm breath wafting over his face. 

"You'll just have to fuck me in the dark since you're so god damn annoying," Jimin huffs as two hands slide up Yoongi's neck, into his hair and grip tightly.

Yoongi reaches into Jimin's jacket, pushing material away as he grabs him by the waist. Then he twists the two of them, grinning to himself when Jimin huffs out a surprised, "Oof," from the impact of his back being pressed into the wall. 

He leans forward, grazing his nose against Jimin's nose as he says, "So you want me to fuck you, hmm?"

"I thought that was a given," Jimin responds, voice less confident than before – trembling, even.

Yoongi hums and noses at Jimin some more, flicking his tongue out and pleased when it grazes over soft lips. "Didn't want to assume," he responds lowly, licking over Jimin's lips once more. "I'm down for anything you want, pretty."

It feels almost frantic the way Jimin's lips crash into his, mouth kissing and nipping while hands shove away Yoongi's denim jacket, sending it to the floor in a heavy lump of fabric. Jimin's hands yank at Yoongi's shirt, pulling it untucked from his jeans, and Yoongi reaches down, gently taking him by the wrists to stop him. 

"Wanna see you," Yoongi says. "I take back what I said about the lights; turn them all on so I don't miss anything."

Jimin chuckles and pulls his hands away, then a rustling of fabric is followed by the bright flashlight of Jimin's phone coming on. 

"Compromise?" he suggests with a smile that Yoongi barely sees behind the bright white glow. "There's a lamp beside my bed. Be a good boy and turn it on for me?"

Despite the somewhat indignant scoff that rolls through Yoongi's chest and throat, he turns on his heels to make his way through the dark bedroom, determined to be a good boy, indeed. He watches his step, maneuvering around discarded clothing items in the white glow before reaching the bed and finding the lamp. 

It takes a few moments of him rubbing his hand over the post and then down to where a cord sticks out, but he finds the little plastic switch and presses it on. A soft, golden light fills the space, and when he spins back around, Jimin is in the center of the room with his jacket draped down past his shoulders. 

Jimin begins to saunter over, and Yoongi's brain kicks into gear, going haywire over what he should do – join Jimin and undress him, or sit down and find out whether Jimin feels like putting on another show for him. He opts to sit, but when he turns to make sure the bed is close enough, his knees bump into it, knocking him off balance, and he more or less crashes onto his butt against the mattress. 

"So eager," Jimin teases as he rubs his hands over his neck, up into his light pink hair, and back down. 

"For you?" Yoongi responds, raising his eyebrows and nodding toward Jimin, feeling zero embarrassment over his floundering. "Absolutely."

"What are you so eager for?" Jimin asks with a grin that grows into something as beautiful as it is dangerous. 

"You," Yoongi responds without thinking. "All of you."

Jimin giggles. "Be more specific, hyung."

"I want to watch you strip again," Yoongi says, swallowing a lump of excitement that builds and builds in his throat, threatening to suffocate. "I want to worship you."

With another giggle, Jimin begins to thumb through his phone. The sound of a bluetooth speaker connecting somewhere to the right chimes through the room, and Yoongi turns to glance around, noticing a desk, a dresser, and an open closet door. Garments are strewn about – mostly shirts, it seems – and the dresser appears to be covered in various makeup items, beauty tools, and accessories. 

Over the speaker, a sexy R&B track begins to play, and Yoongi turns his attention back to Jimin, who tosses his phone over to the bed, to the right of Yoongi, and begins to sway his hips. Earlier, when Jimin was on stage, Yoongi was awestruck and struggled to fully comprehend what was happening. Especially with others around him cheering and shouting for Jimin, it took time for everything to settle over him.

But sitting in this dim room, just the two of them, knowing the type of body that Jimin has under all that leather and cotton, Yoongi's desire and anticipation reach new heights, and he leans back with his palms spread against Jimin's pink and orange floral comforter while butterflies kick up in his stomach. He almost feels the urge to pinch himself, worried once more that he might be dreaming.

Jimin lets the jacket fall to his wrists, then he lifts one hand slowly, dragging the material upward with his wrist until it slides free and falls. He lifts his other hand straight out and tilts his wrist until the material slides and crumples to the floor, and although it is just outerwear and Jimin is still fully clothed, the seductive movements have Yoongi sitting wide-eyed and mouth agape – entranced.

Yoongi barely registers the song that is playing, but he does not need to. Jimin's shoulders and hips amplify its tune, turning it into something tangible – something he could reach out and feel. Slowly, Jimin turns, and, with his fingertips dancing over the material of his t-shirt, he begins to untuck it little by little. 

White cotton drags over muscular shoulders with every movement, while black leather hugs his ass and thighs tightly. Then Jimin does a cute turn and sways down, bending his knees before swishing back up while lifting his shirt over his tummy and up, up, almost to his chest before spinning again and looking over his shoulder, pretending to be shy. 

Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head, absolutely charmed by Jimin's little show, still toeing the line between playful and sexy as the shirt lifts over his head completely and Jimin tosses it over his shoulder, straight at Yoongi's face. Yoongi barely lifts his hands, allowing the fabric to gently clobber him in a wave of warm strawberry, and when it falls to his lap, he lazily takes it in one hand and holds onto it. 

"Still wearing those cute hearts?" Yoongi asks, and when Jimin mock-pouts and says, "Sorry, hyung, I took them off," he feels the tiniest tinge of sadness. 

"What a shame," Yoongi responds, wetting his lips as Jimin turns and saunters closer, hands rubbing over his nipples, keeping them covered. "They were cute."

"You're cute, hyung. But no touching unless I say you can," Jimin instructs softly but firmly, nibbling his bottom lip while slotting one leg between Yoongi's thighs and lifting his other knee to the bed. 

Yoongi tips his head back, leaning to give Jimin space as he rolls and grinds his hips, rubbing his hands up, over his neck, and into his hair, and then down, over his nipples and abdominals. Jimin is delicate hills and valleys of taut muscle and soft skin, and all Yoongi can do is stare at the beauty before him while swallowing the saliva that has pooled beneath his tongue, threatening to drool past his lips. 

"Like what you see, hyung?" Jimin asks, making Yoongi chuckle. 

Yoongi has to find his voice, softly clearing his throat. "You know I do."

With a deep, inviting hum, Jimin presses his thigh between Yoongi's legs, applying just enough pressure to make the air get trapped in his lungs. Arousal simmers through Yoongi, and he gasps, which becomes a soft chuckle when he notices the playful look on Jimin's face. 

"Evil," Yoongi groans when Jimin's leg grazes over him again, feeling blood rush straight to his dick. 

"What's the matter, hyung?" Jimin sing-songs as he takes a step back, spins around, and lowers his ass to Yoongi's lap. 

With both hands planted on Yoongi's knees, Jimin rolls his hips in circles and grinds them forward and back, and Yoongi squeezes the comforter in both palms as he groans from the pressure, fighting how badly he wants to touch. 

The song switches to something else sultry and unfamiliar, and Jimin reaches back with one arm that drapes over Yoongi's shoulder, resting his head on his other shoulder while his hips lift and fall in quick but soft movements that graze over Yoongi's crotch. 

"You're good at this," Yoongi mutters, dazed, hardly sounding like himself. 

Jimin hums in agreement and says, "I'm good at a lot of things."

A particularly firm press of Jimin's ass against Yoongi's constricted dick has his eyes fluttering closed, and he practically whines, "Show me everything."

Jimin sits up, taking away the arm around Yoongi's shoulder, then glances back with a mischievous smile, still moving his hips in inviting circles. Yoongi can hear the slow drag of a zipper, each tooth releasing as Jimin's arms make small movements in front of him. And then he lifts his hands to the waistband of his pants, hooks his thumbs under the black leather to slowly push the garment down.

The movement is agonizingly slow, only revealing an inch before he pulls back up and begins to drag down little by little, exposing pinkish-white satin briefs. Yoongi wants to grab onto the pockets and yank the material to the floor, losing all sense of sitting like a good boy. 

"You're killing me," he grumbles, fisting the blanket tight. 

With a giggle, Jimin stands, pushes the pants all the way to his thighs, and then sits again, grinding down on Yoongi's lap. The delicate curve of Jimin's waist into soft hips and a round, perfect ass has Yoongi reeling; the fact that he has Jimin all alone, and he is teasing him like this, is still a bit hard to comprehend. And, to make matters worse – or better – sticking out from under Jimin's satin panties are white lace garters connected to white mesh thigh-high stockings. 

Yoongi groans, eager to show his appreciation while feeling at a loss for words, earning a light giggle in response. 

"How badly do you want to touch me?" Jimin teases, glancing over his shoulder. 

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, raising his eyebrows while Jimin continues to watch him. "Oh, I'm going to fucking ruin you the second you give me permission to."

It is subtle the way Jimin's eyes widen and all mirth melts from his features – it only lasts a split second. But Yoongi clocks it, and he smirks, feeling victorious. 

Jimin turns and stands, bending himself in half while pushing his pants down to his ankles, and Yoongi watches as more drool pools under his tongue, gaze drifting down to where Jimin peeks from around his ankles to smile before slowly standing back up. He steps from the crumpled leather and then kicks the garment away before turning to Yoongi with his cock straining hard in those tight little briefs as he straddles his lap. 

"How was this performance, hyung?" Jimin asks, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's shoulders to play with his hair. 

At some point, the song had changed, but Yoongi barely registers the downtempo beat, staring at Jimin, who giggles and wiggles his hips back and forth in a quick, playful movement. He lifts his right hand and then drops it back to the blanket with a groan, rolling his head back and taking a quick moment to close his eyes. 

"It was more of a tease than the first one," Yoongi grumbles, tracing the soft lines of Jimin's neck and shoulders with his eyes before looking at his face. "But it was great, all the same; I thoroughly enjoyed it."

Jimin reaches down and palms over Yoongi's dick, which sits bunched up at an uncomfortable angle under restrictive denim, making him gasp from the pressure-ache that tears through him. 

"I can tell how thoroughly you enjoyed it, hyung."

At this, Yoongi chuckles, biting the inside of his mouth and biding his time for when it is his turn to be a menace.

"Did you notice my final surprise?" Jimin asks.

"The garters and stockings?" Yoongi asks, eyes drifting downward. 

"Not that," Jimin responds, and Yoongi cocks his head, unsure what he means.

"No…" he mutters. 

Jimin stares incredulously, heavy-blinking in disbelief. "What, really?" he practically shouts. "My ass was right in your face, how did you miss it?"

"I mean…your ass is…surprisingly perfect," Yoongi tries.

With a playful huff, Jimin rolls his eyes, grabs Yoongi's right hand, and wraps it around him, making Yoongi cup one of his cheeks. 

"You can touch only with this hand," Jimin says with an insistent gaze, "and only on my butt."

The material of these briefs is thin and smooth, gliding softly under Yoongi's palm. It takes Yoongi a moment of rubbing over the soft flesh, squeezing gently, and mapping its shape before his fingertips brush over something hard, making Jimin suck in a sudden gasp of air. 

"Oh?" Yoongi asks, grazing his fingertips against the spot with more purpose, making Jimin squirm. "What have we here?"

Jimin whimpers as Yoongi presses against the hard, round surprise before taking a handful to squeeze and spread, turning his sounds into soft moans. 

"Were you wearing this plug during the performance?" Yoongi asks, head tipped back to watch as Jimin's lips tremble and search for what to say.

"Yes," he finally sighs, lolling his head back with a moan when Yoongi passes his fingers firmly over it again. 

"You performed wearing an anal plug?" Yoongi asks again, watching as Jimin's cheeks flush and his eyes widen.

Jimin leans forward and presses his forehead against Yoongi's, nodding while whimpering a broken, "Uh-huh."

"While dancing and singing and tugging on my hair?" Yoongi continues, "While those eager boys stood and watched you flirt with me, you wore this, hoping I would bring you back here and find it."

"Yes, hyung," Jimin moans, and god if Yoongi had not already been fighting back the urge to absolutely destroy this pretty man in the most delicious ways possible, he would be now.

"You wanted me to find this plug, hmm?" Yoongi presses and rubs over it, squeezing and spanking while his other hand grips onto the blanket for dear life. "Wanted me to bend you over and pull it out…stretch you further on my cock…didn't you?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, hips rolling lazily into Yoongi's touch.

Without another word, Yoongi slides his hand away and anchors himself back against the bed. Jimin scrambles, sitting back with his eyes bulging wide, making Yoongi chuckle.

"So naughty," Yoongi teases, voice full of mirth and sparking a petulant fire in Jimin's eyes.

"Hyung!" Jimin shouts, lifting a hand to smack Yoongi on the chest, which Yoongi catches despite not being given instruction to touch, just yet. Jimin looks incensed and gasps, eyes going between Yoongi's hand and his face.

"It's my turn," Yoongi rasps, biting back a grin. "Let me touch you."

Jimin blinks at him, clearly still processing the teasing, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows, impatient. 

"Fine," Jimin huffs brattily, yanking his hand from Yoongi's grasp and sliding from Yoongi's lap to take his place beside him on the bed. "It's your turn to strip, hyung. Give me a good show."

Yoongi stands, walks a couple paces into the room, and turns, letting the movement flow with the beat of whatever song is playing – something a little quicker-paced but still sexy enough to dance to. He rubs his hands over his neck, down his pecs, and over his tummy, watching as Jimin rests back on his palms with his thighs slightly spread, intently following every movement. 

Then Yoongi grips onto the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it quickly over his head, messing up his hair in the process. He flings the garment at Jimin with maybe just a little too much force, and it hits him in the chest, falling to his lap.

"Wh—hyung!" Jimin shouts, tossing the shirt aside as Yoongi quickly undoes his belt and fly and shoves his jeans to the floor, stepping out of one side and then the other, and then reaching down to yank away his socks. 

"This is the worst strip tease I have ever seen!" Jimin shouts despite his eyes roving over Yoongi's body with a hunger that says otherwise. 

Yoongi approaches in two swift strides and bends to take Jimin by the backs of his knees. He lifts and spreads Jimin's legs, sending his back crashing against the bed, scrambling and squealing while Yoongi leans forward, legs draped over his hips, and grins. 

"What did I tell you I was going to do, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sternly, caging Jimin in with his hands against the bed while Jimin's frantic movements cause their clothed cocks to rub against one another in an addictive jolt of energy. 

"R-ruin me," Jimin pants as his flailing slows to a stop.

Yoongi grins. "That's right. I am going to absolutely ruin you. Now be good for me and get on your hands and knees."

It appears to take about two seconds for Jimin to process Yoongi's words before he crawls back on his elbows, getting fully onto the bed, and turning to position himself on his hands and knees while Yoongi sinks down to the floor. Jimin moves toward the center of the bed when Yoongi stops him.

"Ah, ah, come back here, pretty." He pats the mattress as if calling over a puppy. "Want you right here."

Jimin crawls backward with a somewhat dazed, borderline humiliated look on his face, and Yoongi waits patiently until Jimin is settled on the edge of the bed with his ankles hanging near Yoongi's head. 

"Perfect," Yoongi groans as he sits high, reaches for the waistline of Jimin's pretty satin briefs, and pulls, uncovering his prize in all its soft yet muscular glory. 

Yoongi practically moans at the sight of Jimin stretched around a metal toy with a light pink rhinestone in the center, and he wastes no time reaching two handfuls of soft flesh to squeeze firmly in his palms. He spreads his hands wide to graze his thumbs over the toy, then uses one hand to begin slowly tugging on it while keeping Jimin spread. 

"God, look at you," Yoongi groans as Jimin's pucker tenses and relaxes with each movement. "Is this what you wanted? When you invited me to come watch you perform, did you picture me bending you over and playing with your ass afterward?"

"Yes," Jimin whines, sending a shiver down Yoongi's spine.

Yoongi uses his palm to gently strike Jimin's ass. The sound cracks through the room, punctuated by a moan, and Jimin shutters as he relaxes. 

"What did you imagine, exactly?" Yoongi asks, hearing a dazed, "What?" come from Jimin. 

"When you nestled this pretty little toy inside yourself tonight," Yoongi clarifies, rubbing over the reddened mark of his hand. "What were you imagining I would do to you?"

"I thought you would want to f-fuck me," Jimin says, sounding somewhat bashful. How cute. 

Yoongi rubs over Jimin's ass with both hands, then taps the tip of his index finger over the end of the toy, making Jimin tremble. "Is that all?"

"N-no," Jimin whimpers.

"Awe, is pretty Jimin too shy to dirty talk to his hyung now that he has me right where he wants me?"

All he hears in response is a low whine, and Yoongi chuckles, smacking and squeezing Jimin's ass just enough to make his legs quake. He wonders if Jimin likes becoming pliant and malleable in someone else's hands. 

"I can tell you what I imagine," Yoongi offers, sitting back before getting onto his feet to rub over Jimin's back and bend over him, draping himself to speak low into Jimin's ear. 

Jimin nods. 

"What I've imagined since the day we met—" Yoongi reaches with one hand to Jimin's chin and lifts his head up, then presses two fingers into his warm, wet mouth, "—is watching these sinful fucking lips wrap around my cock."

Jimin sucks on Yoongi's fingers, stirring a fire in his belly, and Yoongi nuzzles their cheeks together, pulling away as Jimin releases him with a pop. 

"And what I've imagined since that little performance of yours tonight—" Yoongi gently grips Jimin's chin and pulls him so that he is held in place, back arched and neck craned, looking him in the eye, "—is the sight of you riding me…using me to make yourself cum…squeezing me so nice and tight…all while tugging on my hair."

Jimin's eyes blow wide, and he gasps, staring at Yoongi as if he has just personally hung every star in the night sky. Reverent. 

"Would you like that, pretty?" Yoongi asks, and Jimin nods.

Yoongi grins. "Use your words, baby."

Brighter and wider, Jimin's eyes turn to heavenly disks, and Yoongi makes a mental note to call him baby a lot more. 

"Yes, hyung," Jimin mutters sweetly.

"Say my name. Tell me what you need."

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin responds. "I need…you. Anything you want, please."

With a soft kiss against Jimin's cheek, Yoongi lowers Jimin down, continuing to drape himself over his body, keeping his weight from pressing on him too much. 

"Do you like to be more in control," Yoongi asks, dancing fingertips in Jimin's pink hair, "or do you like to submit?"

Jimin's voice has a slight tremble when he says, "Submit."

"Do you like it rough or soft?"

"Both."

Yoongi groans, pleased with that answer. "Do you have a safe word, baby?"

"S-strawberry."

"Strawberry, of course," Yoongi says, grinning. "Good. I'm going to make you feel so good, baby."

Yoongi feels Jimin's body relax beneath him as he sighs, "Please, Yoongi," in a voice fit for an angel.

Eager to learn all the pretty ways Jimin can sing, Yoongi gets back onto his feet, running his fingertips over the length of Jimin's back before dropping to his knees. He spreads Jimin wide, leans forward, and licks from just beneath the end of the plug to just above it, tasting cold metal and zirconia with a sticky-sweet hint of lube. 

Jimin moans low and arches his back, pressing his ass against Yoongi's face, and Yoongi chuckles as he grips tightly to both cheeks and licks again and again, straight lines and rounded ones, tasting and teasing.

"Do you get really sensitive?" Yoongi asks as he rests his cheek against the soft curve of Jimin's ass and takes the end of the toy between his fingers, tugging it ever so slightly – just enough to make Jimin whine. 

Jimin mutters a pitchy, "Uh-huh."

"Words, baby," Yoongi instructs with a somewhat stronger tug. 

Jimin sobs as he says, "Yes, Yoongi!"

"Good," Yoongi groans as he nuzzles against Jimin and nips gently at his skin. "We're gonna have a lot of fun together."

With a firm tug, Yoongi begins to pull the toy, taking it nice and slow while Jimin's hole stretches around the bulb. Jimin sobs with shaking legs, and Yoongi lifts his head and drops a dab of spit as he pushes the toy back in and gives it another tug. 

Back and forth, he tugs and presses, with more spit and kisses against Jimin's soft skin, again and again, until finally Jimin opens wide and releases the plug with a soft wail. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, licking over Jimin's rim with a firm twist of his tongue, making him moan. "So good for me."

Yoongi stands on somewhat shaky legs – knees, and calves tired from being bunched up on the floor – and he moves to the bedside table, grabs a tissue from a small box, and places it down to rest the plug onto. "You got lube in here?" he asks, tapping his fingernails against the small door on the front of the table. 

"No, on top," Jimin responds, and Yoongi glances around, then finds the bottle wedged behind the tissue box. 

"Is this the lube you used earlier?" Yoongi asks as he returns and takes in the sight of Jimin on his knees with his face pressed against his floral comforter.

"Don't pick on me," Jimin pouts, frowning, making Yoongi chuckle fondly.

"Not picking on you, baby," Yoongi responds, patting the center of the bed, closer to the pillow. "Come up here."

With a whimper and even deeper pout, Jimin anchors himself on his hands, and – like a doe learning to walk for the first time – fumbles and sways with forward momentum until he slams his chest down onto a pillow and wraps his arms around it. 

Yoongi gets onto the bed and crawls on his knees behind Jimin. The satin briefs are still around Jimin's legs, keeping him from spreading his knees too far, and Yoongi leaves them in place, curious how Jimin might enjoy a little movement restriction.

With his thumb, Yoongi flips open the lid of the lube bottle, then he squirts a generous amount onto his index and middle fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb through the sticky substance to warm it just a little. Then he rubs the slicked tips of his fingers over Jimin's hole, watching the way he trembles from even the slightest of touches. 

Slowly, Yoongi presses the tip of his middle finger in, testing how far the toy has stretched him. Although Jimin moans, his voice is steady as Yoongi pushes all the way to his knuckle and twists. The muscle does not squeeze too tight, so he pulls out and gently slides in another.

With his index finger added, Jimin squeezes him with a deep whimper and then relaxes. Yoongi takes it slow, rubbing his palm soothingly over Jimin's ass and thigh, pulling his fingers back and pressing them forward little by little. 

"Let me know if you need me to slow down or stop, pretty," Yoongi says as he watches his fingertips get swallowed. 

"Don't stop," Jimin whimpers, "give me more."

"More?" Yoongi teases, drawing the word out nice and long. 

"Please, Yoongi."

Yoongi twists his fingers as he pushes and pulls, listening to Jimin's deep voice become high-pitched and raspy. Satisfied with how Jimin feels around him – swallowing eagerly but not with a death grip – Yoongi adds his ring finger. 

Jimin trembles and bleats broken syllables as Yoongi presses three fingers into him. He twists slowly and dribbles spit onto Jimin's rim, giving himself a little more slide, working himself a little deeper. And Jimin takes him so well until he gets to his knuckles and the stretch feels too tight.

"Fuck," Jimin gasps, legs quaking. "Feels s-so good, but it—'s too much."

"I got you, baby," Yoongi says softly, planting kisses over Jimin's ass and upper thigh as he slides his fingers out and pauses. "Call your safe word if you want a break."

"No," Jimin pants. "I don't want a break, your fingers are just…they're too good."

Yoongi chuckles, slowly pressing his fingers back in, stopping before the knuckles, as he says, "Just breathe for me," with his lips dragging over Jimin's soft skin. 

Labored, panicked breaths make Yoongi smile and shake his head, and he slowly pulls out as he clarifies, "Breathe slowly, Jiminah. Don't make yourself dizzy; I don't need you passing out on me."

An impatient groan muffled by a blanket makes Yoongi sit up high on his knees and angle his body to get a look at Jimin, whose face is squished cutely into the bed with flushed cheeks and a frown in his brow. 

"Ya, what is it?" Yoongi teases, using his lubed fingers to give Jimin's ass a little smack, smiling at how the man cries and quakes. 

"Wanna ride you," Jimin groans indignantly. 

Yoongi wants to rile Jimin up so badly. He considers tickling the man until he crashes to the bed laughing – and probably throwing a tantrum. He wants to threaten not to let Jimin do anything he wants, just so he can be pouty and bratty and make Yoongi put him in his place a little – gently and sweetly, of course. He has to hold his tongue to not chide the poor guy for how grumpy and impatient he is, even as Yoongi stretches him. 

But he does not. Instead, Yoongi rubs both hands over Jimin's ass, spreading and squeezing while settling back down again. "I thought you wanted to be submissive," he asks, with only a hint of mirth.

"I do," Jimin responds, pout still evident in his tone. "I want to do both. I can't make up my mind."

"You can do both," Yoongi insists with a smirk, reaching for the lube bottle to slick his fingers back up. "I would love it if you rode me, baby. But if you can't take three knuckles, you sure as hell can't take my cock. So why don't you be a good boy and breathe nice and slow while I stretch you open, yeah?"

The breathy way in which Jimin mutters, "Yeah," tells Yoongi his message has been received loud and clear. The prospect alone of Jimin riding him has him very eager to get the other nice and ready. 

Yoongi slathers his three fingers in lube and begins to press them in. Jimin still huffs his exhales, but he is breathing less like a man who might be dying, for which Yoongi is grateful. It takes plenty of twisting and coaxing to slowly get the muscles to open for him, but Yoongi is patient, kissing and sucking on Jimin's skin while watching his fingers get swallowed. 

When Yoongi finally does finger Jimin past the knuckle – accompanied by a pitchy squeal and Jimin begging, "Fuck, fuck, don't stop, please don't fucking stop," – he stops, letting Jimin adjust to the stretch. 

"That's it," Yoongi praises, rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and thigh while his fingers stay nestled deep inside him. "I knew you could take me. Just had to be a little patient."

"I've fantasized about how your knobby knuckles would feel but fuck, they are so big," Jimin whines, making Yoongi laugh. 

He squeezes Jimin's ass in his palm, then slowly begins to pull his fingers out, watching as Jimin opens wide to accommodate him once more. "You've fantasized about my fingers, huh?"

"H-hyung," Jimin groans, sounding embarrassed.

"Say my name, pretty," Yoongi sweetly commands as he twists his fingers out and begins to plunge them back in, meeting far less resistance. 

"Y-Yoongi," Jimin sobs, trembling as Yoongi twists – pulling out and pushing back in. 

The sight of his fingers getting swallowed whole has Yoongi's jaw hanging slack, drool pooling beneath his tongue. Jimin is an absolute vision, and the more his light-dusky pucker becomes flushed and reddened with pleasure, the hungrier Yoongi is to give and give and give. Anything to paint him prettily with bliss. Anything to hear the sweet, broken sounds he makes. 

"What is it, baby," Yoongi asks, twist-pulling and plunging deep. 

Jimin hiccups and Yoongi rotates his torso to lean just enough to see Jimin's fist grasping at the comforter. "N-need you."

"I'm here," Yoongi coos while rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and lower back, fingertips mapping and memorizing. "You're almost ready for me."

Yoongi pulls out, then uses the index fingers of both hands hooked into Jimin's rim to open him nice and wide. Jimin sobs as Yoongi stretches him, slowly plunging his fingers in and out in a push and pull, watching as the welcoming rings of muscle tense and relax. 

"Wh-what are you doing to me?" Jimin groans, as he sinks a little further forward, pushing his ass ever so slightly higher. 

"Admiring you, baby," Yoongi says, sitting high on his knees to dribble a dollop of spit into Jimin's hole to squelch between his two fingers. "You have no idea how fucking perfect you are."  

Jimin hiccups as he moans, and Yoongi slowly pulls out, one finger and then the other, watching as his pucker tightens and tightens.

"Alright, baby," Yoongi says as he sits back on his knees and open-palm kneads at Jimin's fleshy thighs, feeling supple skin, rough lace, and soft mesh against his palms. "Wanna be a good boy and show hyung how you ride cock?"

A pitchy, garbled, "Uh-huh," leaves Jimin's mouth in a rush as he pushes himself on shaking limbs until he is seated on his knees. Yoongi slides off the bed and walks toward the head, moving pillows and the comforter out of the way, revealing a pretty green floral sheet. He pushes his dark briefs down to the floor, stepping out of each side as he places his knees onto the bed, knee-walks the center, and then sits, spreading his thighs while Jimin grabs the bottle of lube and hobbles close. 

Without preamble, Jimin cages Yoongi's hips between his arms and licks a slow stripe up the underside of his aching, neglected cock, sending a thrill of pleasure shooting through him that has a moan storming from his lungs. Yoongi's head thumps against the headboard as he sinks against the cool, wooden surface, and he lifts his hands to gently take Jimin by the hair and chin. 

"Hyung tastes so good," Jimin coos sweetly, glancing up through his eyelashes while poking out his pretty pink tongue to lap at the dribble of precum at his tip. 

Yoongi was not planning on getting his dick sucked – he was dead set on Jimin's pleasure first and foremost, eager to give absolutely anything to him that he wants. But if what Jimin wants is to put those pretty lips to use, Yoongi would not dare say no. 

"Is that so?" Yoongi urges, eager to press Jimin to say more – hopeful that he will turn shy and sweet like before.

Jimin nods, blinking with a lust-drunk haze in his eyes before looking down into Yoongi's trimmed dark pubes as he says, "Salty-sweet…so yummy…"

"It's all yours, baby," Yoongi says as he drags his trimmed, blunt fingernails along the sharp lines of Jimin's jaw. "Anything you want, it's yours."

Jimin lets his tongue hang long, blinking upward while drool pools and dribbles onto Yoongi's tip, dripping down to disappear from view. "Want to make a mess," he slurs, barely pulling his tongue back enough to speak clearly. 

"Yeah?" Yoongi urges, "you wanna make a mess of me, baby?"

Jimin nods, curving his lips upward, saliva pooling and dripping. Yoongi fights the urge to beg him to do more – wants Jimin to go at his own pace and enjoy himself, even if it means Yoongi vibrates with nerves and anticipation, bordering on impatience and flat-out desperation. 

Luckily, Jimin does not make him wait long. With a deep, eager groan, Jimin sucks Yoongi's tip into his mouth without using his hands, then curves his back and neck, doing his best to swallow him down. Pleasure quakes through Yoongi, and he sinks further into the bed, dragging his head back against the headboard while he moans deep and appreciative. 

He tips his head to the side to watch Jimin's spit-slick petal lips drag along his length. Jimin hums and moans, which vibrates just enough to make Yoongi shiver, sucking his cheeks and swishing his tongue in a hypnotic dance. 

Slowly, Yoongi climbs to the precipice of bliss, further each time Jimin takes him a little deeper and swallows a little harder. Then Jimin changes position, sitting higher on his knees, and he takes Yoongi into his throat and swallows hard, sending a heavy wave of euphoria crashing inside him. Yoongi's fingers, which had been loosely holding onto Jimin's hair and face, grip onto Jimin's hair, and he tugs gently without pulling too hard. 

"Shit, baby, that's it," Yoongi whines, voice coming out pitchy and breathy. "Won't last if you keep swallowing me like that."

Jimin hums and swallows harder, holding Yoongi in his throat long enough to make Yoongi begin to spiral; long enough for Jimin to come up for air with a heavy gasp. Spit hangs from Jimin's lips and tongue in thick strings, and when he blinks, mascara leaves little black streaks on his face. 

"Pretty, messy baby," Yoongi praises with a smile that feels crooked and heavy. He knows he must look absolutely fucked out, and the way Jimin's eyes shimmer has affection blooming deep behind his ribs. 

Jimin grins, then sinks back down, sucking and swallowing eagerly while setting a quick pace bobbing his head. The faint pass of Jimin's teeth along Yoongi's length sends a tickle up his spine that has his back arching, and with each upward stroke of his lips, spit collects and trickles, coating his balls and dribbling over his asshole. 

Yoongi is close, and he grips Jimin's hair a little tighter, guiding his head a little deeper. He whimpers broken pleas for Jimin to keep going that hardly sound like words – whisps of sounds flitting into the air as he struggles to keep his bearings. Jimin's mouth is better than Yoongi could have possibly anticipated, and he submits fully to letting Jimin send him straight into the clouds. He wants to cum down that pretty throat so badly. 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, finally finding his voice. "Gonna cum, baby. Will you swallow for me?"

Jimin seems to try to nod, muttering some kind of response that amounts to consonants and sputtered drool, and Yoongi loosens his grip on Jimin's hair, letting his hands slide and fall away to fist at the sheet, instead. It only takes three more passes of those perfect fucking lips to make Yoongi absolutely dissolve.

"Gonna c—" is all he chokes out before painting Jimin's tongue and throat. 

Jimin gags slightly but continues to suck and swallow, humming and moaning between Yoongi's sharp, raspy sounds of pleasure. His orgasm flows through him hot and quick, erupting and intoxicating. Only once he is trembling from overstimulation does Jimin release his cock, licking once more from base to tip with his mouth hanging agape. 

Streaks of viscous white streak Jimin's tongue, and Yoongi takes him by the jaw and gently lifts, urging Jimin to sit up and crash into him. Yoongi licks into Jimin's mouth, tasting his own heady release, and Jimin melts forward, laying his torso heavily against Yoongi while very slowly crawling up into a seated position on his lap. 

"Was that what you were imagining, hyung?" Jimin asks against his mouth, making Yoongi chuckle.

"Better," he rasps. "I could never have imagined anything feeling that good, Jiminah."

Jimin blushes as he asks, "Did you like how my lips looked?" and Yoongi raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back to get a better look at him. "Wrapped around you," Jimin continues, nibbling on his plush, kiss-swollen bottom lip. 

"You know I did." Yoongi leans in to place a soft kiss against Jimin's lips, deciding instead to suck them into his mouth, one after the other, making him giggle. "You looked and felt like heaven, baby."

Jimin leans back into Yoongi, wrapping his arms around his neck and gently tugging at his hair. They kiss, lick, suck, and nip in unhurried movements, tasting and teasing while Yoongi's dick recovers and begins to harden once more. Sticky-cool saliva transfers from Jimin's chin to Yoongi's, aiding in the mess that was promised, and Yoongi slowly sucks at Jimin's tongue tip, making him drool even more. 

Time grinds to a halt, suspended and of no use to them. Yoongi passes his hands over Jimin's shoulders, down the slopes of his back and hips and ass – anywhere he can reach. Occasionally, Jimin shivers and sighs, and Yoongi cannot help but smile, endeared and eager to know every single sensitive spot he may have. 

One of Jimin's hands leaves Yoongi's hair and travels down, tickling as his fingernails delicately scrape down his pec, across his ribs, to his hip. When Jimin wraps his hand around Yoongi's growing erection, engulfing him in pleasure and warmth, Yoongi gasps, rolling his eyes back and nodding as he mutters, "Almost ready for you."

Jimin releases Yoongi and reaches for the lube before using both hands to slick him up. Yoongi is grateful that Jimin does not warm it in his hands, hissing with delight at the cold touch. Jimin giggles deviously, chewing on his lip, and Yoongi gazes down at his cock between two slender, pretty hands before returning his attention to Jimin's face. 

"Now are you ready, hyung?" Jimin asks as he sits high on his knees and positions himself over Yoongi's tip. 

Yoongi uses both hands to steady Jimin's thighs, dancing his fingertips over the stockings, then gripping gently while Jimin reaches up to the top of the headboard and leans his chest close to Yoongi's face. 

"I don't think I could ever fully be ready for someone as perfect as you fucking me, Jiminah," Yoongi confesses with a smile, tilting his head until his tongue is able to flit out and drag over a dusky, pert nipple. "You'll just have to give it to me; force me to be ready. Don't hold back."

"As you wish, hyung," Jimin responds sweetly as he begins to sink down. 

The tip of Yoongi's cock breaches Jimin's hole with a shutter and whimper from both men in tandem. Yoongi grips Jimin's hips bruisingly, expecting Jimin to stop and adjust, but Jimin keeps lowering, down, down, down until he is fully seated and choking pretty, broken sobs. 

Yoongi is overwhelmed with pleasure, squeezed with blissful tight warmth, and he quakes with each gentle squeeze of muscle around him. His breath feels heavy in his lungs, and as he lets out a groaned exhale, he releases his grip on Jimin's thighs and rests his head back in a desperate attempt to get his bearings, teetering on the brink of total mental collapse.

"Hol—" is all Yoongi manages to moan as Jimin lifts and drops, slamming his ass against Yoongi's thighs, letting out a dulcet whimper that is rivaled by Jimin's pitchier one. 

"Big," Jimin mutters as he picks up a dizzying pace of slowly lifting before forcefully dropping, spearing himself so nice and deep, Yoongi feels like he may be carving the poor guy open. 

Jimin is magnificent with his head tilted back and lips hung wide, whimpering as he rises and drops and rises and drops. Somehow exactly as Yoongi imagined, yet so much more. His cock glistens hard against his tummy, dribbling with precum and so neglected, bouncing against his abs with each drop, leaving a little splatter behind.

"I won't last," Yoongi admits, feeling the blissful, agonizing squeeze that is only intensified as Jimin's muscles flutter with pleasure. "I usually have more—ahh—s-stamina, but you feel so g-good."

"Awe, hyungie," Jimin purrs, tilting his head forward and opening his dreamy, lust-lidded eyes. "That's ok. I just hope you can keep going…ruin me like you promised."

"I can," Yoongi croaks. It will be much easier to stave off his orgasm when he is in full control; like this, he doesn't stand a chance. 

"There's always tomorrow, too," Jimin mutters half-dazed, and Yoongi smirks at the prospect of Jimin wanting him after tonight. 

Yoongi rubs his hands up Jimin's hips, along the delicate curve of his waist and the white lace garter, and further, palming over pecs. As Jimin lifts and drops, Yoongi almost feels overwhelmed by the arousal that pools and pools, warm and aching in his center, tingling to his limbs, filling him with desire. He wants to grab Jimin tight and fuck up into him, but Jimin feels and looks so amazing he lets him take his time. 

With a grin that morphs into a bite of his lower lip, Jimin lifts his hips and swivels them, whorling around Yoongi's tip and tugging up, making him gasp and groan. Yoongi rubs his hands down to Jimin's waist and gently holds, helping keep him steady while the dancer twists and swishes, creating dizzying patterns to the song Yoongi barely hears over the pounding of his heart. 

"God, your body…" Yoongi mutters, eyes heavy as he watches muscle tense and soften. 

"You like how I feel, hyung?" Jimin mutters as he swirls up. 

Before Yoongi can respond, Jimin begins to bounce his ass up and down to the beat of the background song, just fucking himself on Yoongi's tip – teasing in a most delightful way. 

"How you feel…" Yoongi mutters, head rolling back against the headboard, looking down his nose at the beauty above him. "How you look, how you sound…you're fucking perfect, baby."

Jimin smiles and runs his hands over Yoongi's neck, then uses one hand to leverage himself on Yoongi's shoulder while the other takes a handful of hair and grips tight. 

"You're just saying that because I'm fucking you," Jimin teases through gasps and whimpers, gaze turning sharp while he begins to drop his hips back down and spear himself deep.

Even with a cock buried inside him, Jimin is a brat. Yoongi finds it way too endearing, though he is eager to flip the pretty dancer over and fuck him so good he can no longer talk back. He rolls his eyes, moaning as Jimin rides him a little steadier, trying to ignore how rapidly his pleasure builds.

"True," Yoongi mutters, playing along. If Jimin wants to be petulant, two can play this game.

"Ah—" Jimin moans, "I knew it. Just using me for my perfect ass."

Yoongi's hands slide over the soft, inviting curves of Jimin's hips and ass, and he takes two splayed handfuls and gives him a squeeze, moaning, "Exactly."

With his palms gripping tight, Yoongi assists Jimin in his movements, lifting and dropping him in a nice steady rhythm. Rather than attempt to stave his high, he chases it now, eager to change positions and give Jimin more. 

Jimin whimpers and sobs, breath coming out punchy and ragged while his tip leaks precum. 

"Are you close, baby?" Yoongi asks, receiving only a whimpered, "Uh-huh," in response. 

"What did I say about using your words?" Yoongi insists through grit teeth, finding it harder to steady his breathing and speak clearly. 

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin moans, sending a chill down Yoongi's spine at the sound of his name. "I'm so close."

Yoongi pulls one hand away, lifts it to his mouth, and spits into his palm. He stares up at Jimin as he wraps his hand around Jimin's cock head and squeezes just enough to elicit a moan and shiver from him, then he begins to stroke nice and slow, collecting dribbled precum on his palm.

"Hyung," Jimin whimpers, body tensing and relaxing over and over. 

"Say my name, baby," Yoongi instructs with a smirk, watching Jimin's lips tremble and form unvoiced syllables. 

Jimin leans forward and takes two handfuls of Yoongi's hair as he lifts and slams his ass with purpose. Each breath Yoongi pants hits Jimin's chest, creating a pocket of sticky warmth between them. 

"Yoongi," Jimin whines as his grip tightens, tugging on Yoongi's scalp and making him hiss. 

"Yes, baby?"

Jimin's voice cracks, barely croaking out the words, "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, Jiminah," Yoongi moans, feeling his own high reach its peak. "Cum all over this cock, baby, let me feel you."

Jimin's muscles squeeze and release– frenzied and dizzying as his rhythm falters. Rather than lift, he grinds, burying Yoongi so deep, the air feels trapped in Yoongi's chest. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi wheezes through grit teeth, stroking Jimin at an angle that has him gently punching his fist against both their tummies. "Use my cock to get yourself off. Fuck, you feel so good."

Jimin's back arches and his body quakes as he cums. Yoongi squeezes at his tip, urging more and more release to coat his fist sticky-white, digging his heels into the mattress as he fucks his hips upward, just enough to get Jimin bouncing and moaning. Jimin squeezes him so tight, pushing him right over the edge. 

"Gonna cum, baby," Yoongi groans as every nerve prickles tingly and hot, ready to burst. 

"Fill me, Yoongi," Jimin sobs as he bounces in quick, shallow movements. "Make me messy."

The squeeze of Jimin's muscles, and fucked out, eager sound of his voice has Yoongi's orgasm hitting hard. He releases Jimin's cock, gripping onto his thighs with both hands as his body trembles roughly with pleasure. Yoongi barely makes a sound, rasping around heaving breaths as his eyes squeeze momentarily tight, attempting to relax as his orgasm pulses through him in tremendous bursts, making him see stars. 

"That's it, hyung," Jimin whimpers, leaning all the way forward, draping himself over Yoongi's shoulders. "Feels so good."

Yoongi sits back, catching his breath as his cock softens, running his clean palm up Jimin's back while the cum-covered hand falls to the side. Jimin's muscles continue to flutter, and he nuzzles his face against Yoongi's neck, leaving lazy, wet kisses against the skin and filling Yoongi with butterflies. 

The music continues to play, changing from one sexy beat to another. A female artist sings, but Yoongi is unable to make out what she is saying. His pulse thumps in his ears and throat, forcing each breath out in a lively beat of his own. 

"It feels nice to just…sit here and hold you," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's skin. 

"I would hug you back but one of my hands is covered in your cum."

Jimin hums in understanding, adding, "You got it on my thigh," with a familiar bratty tone. 

"You wanted to be messy," Yoongi grumbles with a smile, feeling absolutely smitten. 

Jimin groans, "I did," as he slowly begins to sit up, taking the warmth of his body away. 

Yoongi shivers as the sweat that covers him turns cold. He tips his head back and looks up as Jimin settles on his lap, cock-warming him while sitting tall, smiling sweetly. 

"I guess since you got what you wanted, you don't need me anymore," Jimin teases with a smirk and a lift of one eyebrow as he reaches out and undoes what is left of the bun in Yoongi's hair, tossing his trusty hair tie aside. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lolls his head back, trying not to smile as he mutters, "Really, Jiminah?"

With wide, playful eyes, Jimin nods, sliding his ass up, up, up until Yoongi's soft, cum-covered cock falls away, making him shudder. 

"You had a taste of my perfect ass, so—"

"Oh, I had a taste, alright," Yoongi interrupts with a grin, sitting up and causing Jimin to move slightly backward. "You think I'm gonna just leave now? Never to see you again?"

Jimin's playful demeanor begins to crumble as Yoongi lifts his soiled hand and begins to lick at what is left of Jimin's heady, salty-sweet release. 

"Uh, I—" Jimin says, lips forming around syllables he never voices. 

"What about promising me tomorrow? Hmm?" Yoongi asks before dragging his tongue over his knuckles, cleaning the remnants of Jimin's cum.

Now that his hand is far less messy, Yoongi grips onto Jimin's waist nice and tight and lift-pushes the dancer onto his back. Jimin yelps as he hits the pretty green sheet, pink hair sweat-stuck together in little spikes, fanning messily around his beautiful face. 

"I'm not finished with you yet," Yoongi says as he gets onto his knees and towers over Jimin. "Weren't you just whining about me ruining you moments ago?"

Jimin giggles softly, reaching his arms to wrap around Yoongi's neck. Yoongi gently takes Jimin by the wrists and pushes his arms to the mattress, pressing his weight down, watching with delight as Jimin gasps and shivers beneath him. 

"You really think I could only do this once?" Yoongi teases as he leans forward, crowding Jimin's space. "Now that I've had a taste of you, I'll be craving you, Jiminah."

"I-is that so?" Jimin breathes, head tilting as if offering the expanse of his neck to Yoongi – an invitation Yoongi takes as he drags his lips over salt-slick skin. 

"That is so."

"Are you sure you can keep going?" Jimin asks sweetly. "You just came twice."

"I could fuck you all night, baby," Yoongi insists, licking and nipping until Jimin gasps. "Just need a moment to get hard again. Why? Can you keep going?"

Each breath that puffs from Jimin's lips sounds heavy. "I can, but…I might get overstimulated."

"I know," Yoongi groans with a smile. "I watched you fall apart on my fingers, remember?"

"I might get…really…lost," Jimin admits.

Yoongi releases Jimin's hands and moves them to the mattress so he can press more weight down and angle himself upward just enough to look Jimin in the eyes. 

"Like, subspace?" Yoongi asks, watching Jimin's eyes widen. 

"Maybe," Jimin mutters. "I just get really…floaty. Like my soul and body are disconnected…held together by pleasure."

Yoongi nods in understanding. "Do you want to hold off, then? Wait until we're more comfortable with each other before you go there with me?"

The smile that tugs on Jimin's lips is sweet, and his eyes sparkle as he says, "I have a feeling you will take good care of me, hyung."

Affection bursts warm in Yoongi's chest. "Of course, I will. But I still understand if that's something you want to build up to."

Jimin shakes his head and nibbles on his lip. "I trust you. I'll call my safe word if I need to."

"You don't go non-verbal at all?"

Jimin pinches his brow and shakes his head. "No."

"Alright," Yoongi agrees, eager to keep going as long as Jimin feels safe. 

Jimin leans forward, groaning as his chin juts out, puckering for a kiss, making Yoongi chuckle softly. Yoongi closes the gap and presses further, allowing Jimin to lie comfortably, and he licks and sucks at Jimin's soft, sinful mouth. 

"Sorry for ruining the mood with talking," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's lips.

Yoongi hums as he licks into Jimin's warm, petal mouth, opening him wide; making space. Jimin tastes so delicately sweet yet heady, and Yoongi has no choice but to chase every nuanced flavor, eager to discover more. Jimin's hums and groans are music to Yoongi's ears, and he swallows each sound with ease. 

Rather than lifting his head, Yoongi simply stops kissing, letting his lips rest on Jimin, who smiles. Yoongi wishes he could adequately communicate just how important every little thing Jimin thinks, feels, and needs is, to him. 

"Discussing boundaries is never a mood killer," Yoongi insists against his lips. "I never want you to hold anything back."

"Thank you, hyung," Jimin mutters, leaving pecks of soft kisses along Yoongi's mouth and chin.

"Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum, Jiminah. You deserve to be cared for."

The way Jimin squeals and wiggles beneath him makes his smile go lopsided. Yoongi lifts his head just enough to watch Jimin's cheeks flush, taking in the beauty of his shimmery and black makeup smudged around his eyes. 

"Shut up," Jimin groans.

"Shut me up," Yoongi challenges with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Jimin tilts his chin up once more, chasing a kiss. As Yoongi leans down, giving into his desire, one warm hand wraps around his half-hard cock, making him shiver and groan; this certainly is one way to get him to stop talking. 

"Want you again, Yoongi," Jimin pleads into Yoongi's open mouth, tugging on his cock. "Need you."

"You have me, baby," Yoongi practically moans, licking against Jimin's lips as his arousal simmers and warms him. "Turn over, on your stomach."

Jimin nods as he deepens the kiss, licking eagerly into Yoongi's mouth, sighing as Yoongi pushes and pulls with his tongue. When Jimin breaks the kiss, fingertips dig into Yoongi's neck and shoulder, and both men are panting, thickening the air between them with moist warmth. 

Jimin begins to wiggle around onto his side, then his stomach, and Yoongi stays where he is, caging him in with his arms and lifting his knees one after the other to accommodate Jimin's legs. Once Jimin is settled, Yoongi leans forward and presses his lips to the back of Jimin's neck, nipping and swirling his tongue as Jimin moans, back bowing delicately – trembling.

Yoongi kisses down the curve of Jimin's spine, crawling backward onto his knees. He sucks marks at the top of Jimin's ass, nipping and licking over dewy-smooth skin and lifting his hands to cup and squeeze. As he sits up, he kneads gently into Jimin's perfect, pillowy flesh, spreading him wide. Jimin's puffy rim glistens with leaked cum, and Yoongi wets his lips as he runs two fingertips over the mess before pressing deep inside. 

Jimin moans loudly, broken and debauched, as Yoongi fingers his tight asshole, feeling his own cum squelch, icky and enticing. He looks around for the bottle of lube and leans back, allowing his fingers to be slowly released as he reaches for it with his free hand. 

"You sure you can keep going?" Yoongi asks as he flicks the lube bottle open with his thumb, caressing the soft swell of Jimin's ass and thigh. 

"I'm not fragile, hyung," Jimin whimpers with his hands beside his head, clutching onto the comforter that has been bunched up and pushed out of the way. 

"Never said you were," Yoongi smiles fondly, squirting lube into his palm and working it over his cock, hissing from the sensation on his tender skin. "Just don't want to push you too far."

Jimin groans a pitchy sound that Yoongi assumes is impatience. "We already discussed this. My safe word is strawberry, hyung. Please fuck me."

Yoongi rubs his lubed hand sloppily over Jimin's hole, nibbling his lip as Jimin bucks and trembles against him. "Say that last part again."

There is a second of hesitation, followed by a soft sigh that makes Yoongi grin. He opens his mouth to ask again nicely, but Jimin beats him to it, muttering, "Please fuck me, Yoongi."

Jimin spreads his thighs flat against the bed and extends his legs straight, laying in a perfect split, and Yoongi gasps at the sight of him. He leans forward to accommodate the new height, gripping onto his length with one hand and Jimin's hip with the other. With a devious giggle, Jimin begins to bounce his ass, clapping his cheeks softly in a show that has Yoongi absolutely reeling. 

Without a moment more to spare, Yoongi leans forward on his knees and lines himself up with Jimin's rim, using his non-sticky hand to guide one of Jimin's hips. "You're a fucking menace," he groans as he presses in, in, in, spearing Jimin open as they whine and moan in tandem, feeling pleasure burst through his limbs like rays of warm, alluring light. 

"Squeezing me, baby," Yoongi rasps as he slowly slides out, giving Jimin no time to adjust. He places both hands on Jimin's hips and begins to rock his body, fucking into Jimin without moving his own hips. The delicate, elongated stretch of Jimin's mesh clad legs, right down to the tips of his pretty little toes has Yoongi torn between wanting to cherish him like something delicate or completely wreck him. 

"Such a slutty little dancer and you're all mine," Yoongi teases as he continues to rock Jimin's hips against him, watching his puffy rim swallow him whole. "What would your admirers think if they knew you wore a plug on stage while you were doing the splits to tease me?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, burying his face down into the comforter. 

Yoongi slides his hands to the bed and leans forward, slowly thrusting his hips up and down while walking his hands up to Jimin's armpits, hovering nice and close. The scent of strawberry mixed with a faint, sweaty musk is sticky-sweet enticing, and Yoongi lets his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep breath in. 

"You even performed for all of our friends wearing a toy," Yoongi rasps beside Jimin's ear. "What would they think of you?"

"Stop," Jimin whines, dragging the word long and whiny. 

Yoongi nuzzles his face against Jimin's nape, nipping at short pink hairs. "Alright, I'll stop teasing you, baby," he mutters sweetly, smiling at the sound of Jimin cooing happily. 

"Mmm, I like it," Jimin admits with a groan, making Yoongi nuzzle harder, grinning at the thought of Jimin feeling shy.

The smacking of skin is heard in lewd, rhythmic bursts. Yoongi fucks Jimin nice and steady, listening for the strained "Ah!" that punctuates each thrust, huffing small sounds of his own. 

Yoongi begins to sit back, careful not to let his hips lose too much rhythm. Once on his knees, Yoongi spreads Jimin wide with both hands and leans his weight into him, fucking him much faster. Jimin jiggles hypnotically, and Yoongi gives him light spanks to each cheek, unable to resist playing with him; delighted by the sound of him squealing. 

"Hyung, I want to cum again," Jimin cries, gripping the floral blanket tight. 

Yoongi wants to watch him cum – wants to touch and tease his cock while praising him and making him sob. As he slowly pulls out, Jimin trembles and groans in protest. Yoongi gives his ass a couple of light taps and mutters, "On your back." 

"Hyung" Jimin complains, elongating the word, making Yoongi smirk. 

Jimin crawls slightly forward and bends at the knees, then flops onto his side, huffing dramatically as if he cannot be bothered to move a single inch more. 

"I know, I know," Yoongi mutters, grabbing Jimin by the hips and pulling him the rest of the way onto his back. Jimin squeals and laughs, spreading his legs wide while watching with eager, mascara-smudged eyes as Yoongi continues to position him right where he wants him. 

"Sorry I can't choose between wanting to see your ass and wanting to see your face," Yoongi grumbles defensively while pumping his cock and reaching for the bottle of lube. He squirts some directly onto his shaft – cool liquid on warm skin – and he smears it in one stroke.

"Wow, and they say chivalry is dead," Jimin teases, lifting his eyebrows playfully with a grin. 

Yoongi slides his length into Jimin's tight warmth in one swift movement, and Jimin's grin falls agape as his back arches. He lets out a deep, pleased moan that Yoongi mirrors with a slow intake of air, filling his lungs. The curve of Jimin's neck, along his chest, and down to his tummy bows delicately taut, and Yoongi maps each inch with his eyes, stunned by his beauty. 

When Jimin settles slowly onto his back, Yoongi reaches forward and slots two fingers into Jimin's mouth. Jimin clamps his lips closed and gently sucks as Yoongi begins to set a steady pace with his hips. 

"Good boy," he praises, and Jimin's eyes blow wide. "So fucking good for me. So pretty and tight and perfect."

Jimin anchors himself onto his elbows, muttering something that sounds like a question, and Yoongi nods, smiling sweetly down at Jimin, watching his hard, leaking cock slap his tummy with each thrust. 

"Perfect, pretty Jiminah. And you're all mine."

More sounds are uttered around Yoongi's fingers as Jimin's eyes roll and his head bobs with the rocking of their bodies. Yoongi reaches between them and rolls his palm over the tip of Jimin's cock, eliciting his eyes to open big and round. 

Already, Jimin looks dazed, back draped slightly with his head held up only enough to suck on Yoongi's fingertips, supported against his elbows. Jimin's fingers slowly dance over the material of his green floral sheet, legs flayed lazily around Yoongi's hips. 

Yoongi slowly tugs at Jimin's length, making him whimper and sputter incoherently. Jimin rocks his hips and squeezes around Yoongi in a rhythm matching Yoongi's thrusts – must be chasing his own high. Seeing Jimin looking dazed and eager to cum again, stuffed with fingers and cock, Yoongi's mind races as he attempts to sort out how he got so fucking lucky.

"'S good," Jimin whines, dropping his head back and letting Yoongi's drool-slick fingers drag over his chin. 

Yoongi continues his pace – a deliberate roll of hips – letting his fingers slowly fall past Jimin's chin, to his chest, tracing curves and dips until finally taking hold of him around the ribs. Gradually, Jimin's arms give way, and he lies back – head first, then shoulders, sinking deeper against green flowers with his eyes hazy and wide. 

"Are you floaty, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sweetly, wetting his salty-dry lips. 

Jimin hums and crooks a lazy smile, lifting his hands slowly to rub over his pecs and tummy. Yoongi follows the movements, feeling affection swirl and swell behind his ribs. At this pace, he thinks he could fuck Jimin for an eternity if he tried; his pleasure simmers just below the surface nice and steady, with no risk of boiling over too soon. 

"Ah—Yoongi," Jimin gasps, chest heaving and falling. "I'm—"

Yoongi rolls his palm over Jimin's tip and gives him a firm enough squeeze to make him sob. 

"Gonna cum, pretty?" he asks. 

Wide-eyed and mouth droopy-round, Jimin nods. His lips form shapes unvoiced, and Yoongi continues to roll and squeeze, languidly syncopating his quicker thrusts. 

"Cum for me, baby. Get nice and messy."

Jimin's eyes flutter, and his back arches slowly, head and heels digging into the mattress. "Please, please, please," he mutters softly like a prayer, palms flaying and squeezing above his ribs. 

"Relax and let go," Yoongi urges sweetly. "Let yourself float."

As if reacting on command, Jimin's body goes rigid and taut before quaking and sinking – thunder growling from his depths and dispersing out. He spurts tiny piles of cum onto Yoongi's fingers and palm, mouth forming softly-uttered stormy sounds. Even in the throes of incomprehensible bliss, every little thing Jimin does is eloquent; a performer and a muse. 

"Harder," Jimin groans, taking Yoongi by surprise. "P-please, Yoongi, need you."

Yoongi grips Jimin's hips with both hands, smearing cum on his sweat-slick, goosebumped skin. He picks up a pace that has Jimin's legs lifting and stretching, and Yoongi slings both calves against his shoulders before leaning in and taking hold of his hips once more. 

Jimin wails, eyes squeezed as if pained, licking and biting at his reddened lower lip. His arms lift and fall around his head, and he grips onto the bunched-up pink and orange comforter.

"This how you want it?" Yoongi asks, feeling his high build and build, impossible to hold at bay.

"Mmm, 's good," Jimin slurs, opening his eyes wide and smiling before his face falls back into a state of lazy bliss. 

Yoongi would love for Jimin to cum once more but has no idea whether he can. His cock is limp and resting against his patch of cutely trimmed pubic hair, jostling with each slam of Yoongi's hips against his thighs. 

"Not gonna last at this pace," Yoongi warns through grit teeth, his high climbing fast toward its breaking point. 

"Fill me," Jimin mutters dazedly. "Make me messy."

"Say my name," Yoongi rasps as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes closed, gripping harshly to Jimin's soft hips. 

"Yoo—" Jimin sighs, bowing his back. "Yoongi. Please, Yoongi."

Pleasure courses through Yoongi, flowing like lava in his bloodstream. He keeps his pace steady, holding back from slamming too fast or too deep. Cum and lube squelch around his cock, and the thought of watching it drip from Jimin's used, puffy hole is just the push he needs to reach orgasm. 

"Fuck, Jiminah," Yoongi groans, dragging blunt fingernails in streaks along Jimin's sides. "I'm—ahh, fuck!"

Yoongi's body tenses and releases in waves of pleasure – white-hot and overwhelming. He quakes as he spurts his cum into Jimin's begging, fluttering hole, babbling nonsense, attempting to praise, failing around each syllable. Jimin sobs and squeezes, trying but failing to reach for Yoongi. 

With a chuckle, Yoongi leans forward, hands slipping and crashing into the mattress, dripping sweat from his forehead to Jimin's chest. Now that he is within reach, Jimin reaches and clings, grabbing Yoongi's shoulders and yanking down until Yoongi gives in and falls forward. Pleasure continues to tremble through him – chest heaving and jumpy as he does his best to settle and relax. 

"Holy shit," he mutters into Jimin's clavicle, covering his face in sweat. "That was—"

"Amazing," Jimin coos. 

Yoongi smiles and nods, kissing anywhere his lips reach in slow movements. "Amazing."

Where they lay in the center of the bed, Yoongi is unable to stretch his legs far before hitting the headboard, so they stay in a ball while he catches his breath and litters Jimin's shoulder, neck, and chin with affection. It takes time, but Jimin begins to come back to earth, clinging a little more purposefully. 

"You made me messy," he mutters with more clarity than Yoongi has heard for a while. 

"Lemme see," Yoongi says as he sits up, groaning from his soft cock sliding from where it was nestled nice and warm. 

Jimin groans shyly, covering his face with his hands as Yoongi sits up and lifts his spread legs. He puts up a tiny amount of resistance, but Yoongi holds firmly, nibbling his lip, trusting Jimin to use his safe word if he really does not want to be teased. 

Dropping a leg to the side, Yoongi uses his thumb to press pearly liquid back into Jimin's puckered hole, grinning like an idiot when Jimin whimpers, legs shaking. 

"Messy baby," Yoongi teases, earning his arm a light smack from Jimin's foot. 

Yoongi pulls his fingers away and watches as Jimin tenses, causing the cum to dribble back out. He rubs his hands over Jimin's shins and calves, watching as Jimin heavy-blinks at the ceiling. 

"Shower?"

Jimin's gaze finds Yoongi's, and he smiles, then nods. "Carry me?" he asks with a cute bat of his lashes that makes Yoongi's heart go haywire.

And although Yoongi makes a show of rolling his eyes and being indignant, he gets up and stretches, then turns his back to Jimin and taps his shoulder. 

"Get on."

"Ooh, piggyback?" Jimin shouts, and Yoongi turns his head in time to see Jimin sit high on his knees and fling himself over Yoongi's shoulders. 

Yoongi links his arms around sweaty thighs and has to bend and hop a few times to get Jimin in place – a mildly humiliating task while nude – then he is off, kicking discarded clothing items along the way. 

"We should take a bath," Jimin mutters into Yoongi's shoulder. 

Yoongi hums and nods, turning left into the hallway and again into the bathroom. "Anything you want."

Although Yoongi would love to dote on Jimin hand and foot, he is grateful when Jimin slides off his back and begins the bath, finding sweetly-scented bubble products to squeeze into the stream and controlling the temperature. Jimin slides out of the lace garter and mesh stockings, and sinks into the tub when the water is barely a few inches high. Yoongi presses a kiss on his forehead before leaving to fetch a glass of cool water from the kitchen, lingering just a moment to take in the sunflower pan holders and mismatched cooking utensils. 

Yoongi returns with the glass to his lips, taking slow, steady sips and smiling over the rim. 

"Sit up and drink this," he instructs a sleepy Jimin, whose cheeks are pinkened from the warm water. 

Once the bath is full, Yoongi slots himself behind Jimin, fitting perfectly with his legs outstretched. He rubs Jimin's shoulders and litters him with kisses. And when the water cools, he insists they shower off, helping Jimin finger the cum from his ass while licking deep into his mouth. 

"I could get used to this," Jimin groans as Yoongi wraps a towel tightly around his hips and uses another to squeeze the remaining water from his hair. 

"Good," Yoongi responds against his lips, finding it impossible to spend too many minutes without touching and kissing. "Want you to get used to this."

"Stay the night," Jimin whines, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's middle and walking him backward out of the bathroom. 

Yoongi smiles and nips at petal lips. "That was the plan."

"Stay tomorrow night, too," Jimin groans as they hobble out into the hallway, bumping Yoongi's elbow against the doorframe enough to make him hiss. 

"Won't you get tired of me?" Yoongi barely utters slightly pained against Jimin's soft, greedy mouth.

Jimin releases their hug and pulls Yoongi by the hand back to bed. He has a pep in his step as he gathers his phone – shutting off the music, finally – and finds the lube bottle tangled in the blanket. 

"Doubtful," Jimin finally says as he crawls into bed and plops down, yanking Yoongi's hand until he sits and lays beside him. 

"Alright," Yoongi grins, wrapping himself around Jimin and pulling him close, chest to chest, on their sides. His hair is still damp, but he is unconcerned when Jimin beckons so adamantly. With a gentle teasing tone, he says, "I'll cancel all my foreseeable plans and live only to serve you."

Jimin smiles and hums, saying, "Good," into Yoongi's mouth. 

In a tangle of tongues and limbs, Yoongi sighs and sinks, unable to hold back the affection that overflows from him. He thinks he could also get used to this. 

thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs & comments make the world go 'round!!! and likes are super appreciated too!!!

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Denim & Strawberry is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. 

#yoonmin #yoongi x jimin #yoongi smut #jimin smut #btswritersclub #bangtantheatrenet #bts smut #bts fluff #fic: denim & strawberry

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Blessed Heir of the Abyss (Abyssal Prince Childe x Reader) Part 4

Synopsis: After centuries of conflict, Teyvat and the Abyss are attempting to make peace with one another. To solidify new alliances and let go of past grudges, the Abyssal Prince Tartaglia will choose a spouse from the people above to rule over the Abyss with him.

That spouse happens to be you, an ordinary, Visionless citizen of Liyue.

Chapter Three: Star-Colored Blight

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Warnings: Mentions of crying, descriptions of illness and pain, small mentions of injury, you being scared out of your mind, Childe is still mean, SLOW BURN

~ * ~ It’s dark. Everything is pitch black, your vision dancing with muddy spots as it adjusts to the sudden lack of light, the star lamp nothing more than an empty glass case. Your fingers rest on your open book, still and cold as ice, and something breathes down your neck, horribly close. Whatever’s behind you exhales, and you exhale with it, not daring to even blink as goosebumps stand and prickle on your skin; tiny needles jabbing and dancing across your flesh and nails. Your movements are stiff as you turn, a wooden puppet being dragged across a starlit stage, forcing yourself to confront whoever- or whatever- looms behind you, the fear swallowing your heart whole. A monster. A monster stares back at you, and your breath catches and chokes in your throat, feet stumbling backwards and knocking against the table in an attempt to get as far away from the beast as possible. But every step back you take is met with a step forward from the creature before you, claws shining and silver and so sharp- with a single slash you’d be dead, blood coating the floor, never to speak again. You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding in your chest as you accept your inevitable death in one rushed exhale. And yet, it never comes. There’s the sensation of something near your face, so close you can almost feel it, but can’t because it’s still not touching you yet, razor-edged talons ghosting over your skin. The creature sniffs you almost delicately, letting out a small huff of air that ruffles your hair, and tentatively you open your eyes to stare into the strange, crystalline gaze of the monster. It blinks in faceted sapphire, warily curious, the crimson red of its mask and horns visible even in the gloom. The very tips of its claws hover over your cheek, light breathes falling from a maw filled with deadly, pointed fangs. Cold, heavy fear gives way to caution and awe, not daring to move as the creature leans closer and carefully nudges your face with armored hands. You inhale sharply and the beast flinches away, catching your skin and tearing open a small, stinging cut. The blood slowly trickles down, sticky and warm, your head swimming in a daze. It’s too warm in here, too stuffy, the room illuminated only by the soft glow of the monster’s eye, and with blurry vision you swear you catch a few glimpses of twinkling stardust as you press your back against the wall, dread clouding in and filling your chest. Rattling coughs wrack your throat, the force sending sparks of pain through your head as your body jolts. The faint light in the room retreats as the peculiar creature darts away, a sound akin to a panicked hiss reaching your ears as it flees, and you’re left alone in the darkness. A gradual ringing begins to whine in your mind, high-pitched and constant, and you slump and curl into yourself. It hurts to move- it hurts to breathe, your lungs shriveling up, refusing to hold enough air for you to inhale properly. Instead you wheeze painfully, black bits of intangible mold bursting and invading your sight until you can see nothing but the Abyss itself in an ocean of unlit stars. It opens its mouth, sharpened teeth grazing your skin, and consumes you. Hurts… It hurts… Are you awake? You can’t tell- you can’t see anything. Were you lost at sea? There are voices, obscured by water filling your ears, and you feel like you’re drowning. “Oh dear, this already…” “What did you expect? Weak, pathetic mortals were never meant to enter the Abyss.” “I know, but… I thought we had more time…” “Always the… optimist, aren’t you Enjou? A word of advice from someone more experienced- stay in the Library, do your job, and sort dusty old books like you’re supposed to.” Enjou…? He’s here…? Vaguely you register a door slamming shut, and you wince as your head throbs. Someone- Enjou- hums quietly, carefully pulling a silken blanket up to your shoulders, the smooth, chilly texture making you shiver. “He’s right, of course,” The Pyro Lector sighs, his claws tapping idly against each other. “But I didn’t think it’d happen so quickly… Something must be done, and quickly.” With a click of his talons, Enjou stands and delicately smooths down your hair, and you want nothing more than to lean into his touch and fall asleep until everything becomes a dream and you wake up, safe at home in Liyue. But instead you merely cry, tears leaking out of your aching eyes, leaving warm trails down your burning cheeks as Enjou departs, the door shutting with a soft thud. You’ve never despised being alone more. Your body feels hot and freezing cold all at once, the cool sheets against your skin sending chills down your spine, and when you try to inhale you only end up coughing, thick miasma in your lungs choking and smothering you. Any shifts in discomfort send new waves of pain through your body, your veins and nerves infected by the night. Your cheek stings momentarily, and you almost laugh at the small, shallow cut still present. It feels so long ago, your encounter with that mysterious beast a distant, foggy memory. You’d reach up to touch the tiny injury if your body didn’t hurt so much, so instead the scab simply tightens and itches overtop of your skin; scratching, burning, festering. There’s a small scraping sound at your door, and then a slow, drawn-out creak as it swings open, even the dim light from the hall enough to make you wince, but your body suddenly stiffens in fear when heavy footsteps approach your bedside. A shadow obscures the small amount of light that blinded you so, hot, raspy breaths raising goosebumps on your neck- all you can do is curl into a tight, shaking ball as the bed dips from the weight of claws, terribly familiar. Someone lifts your covers and brings them to your shoulders, carefully tucking the silken sheets around you. There’s a moment of rummaging before another weight drops on top of you, warmth spreading through your chilled body as those same claws delicately settle a thick quilt atop you. Instinctively you let out a sigh of relief, and are met with a soothing purr in response. Your senses are muffled from then on, only registering the loss of company- why were you ever scared of it in the first place? Now you sink into your lonesomeness, the ache in your bones present even when lying down, covered in blankets. There’s not a peep from anyone in the hall, not even Enjou; perhaps they’ve all forgotten about you. In a strange way, you almost prefer this, being able to suffer in silence without enduring the judgmental glares of the Abyss. Your lungs thicken and congeal, and you languish away in your cage of a room. “Your Highness, this is really quite serious.” “What have I said about disturbing me… Especially at this hour.” “With all due respect, Prince Tartaglia, your spouse is dying.” “I don’t care.” “You should.” “Watch your tongue, Librarian,” Tartaglia growls, rubbing his temples. “All this does is rid me of a problem I never asked for.” Enjou clicks his tongue, giving the Crown Prince a cold look. “Or it could break the already tenuous partnership in place with Liyue. Their symptoms look very… familiar.” Tartaglia stills, turning towards the Lector, whose shoulders slump with relief upon seeing the smallest hint of worry in His Majesty’s dull blue eyes. “You really should come see them, Childe… Even just once.” The Prince brushes his hand across your forehead, only to snatch it back in shock when his fingers touch skin that’s nearly scalding.  “Their fever is so high…” he murmurs- and yet, you’re shivering, caught in the grasp of some unknown chill. Your eyes are screwed shut in pain, incoherent mumbles falling from your lips, and a cold knot forms in Tartaglia’s gut. Strange. That’s never happened before. The Prince of the Abyss isn’t one to get nervous, yet here he is, dread settling in his bones and refusing to leave. He moves to adjust your covers, only to find that someone’s already done so, adding an old, worn quilt on top to keep you warm. The familiar fabric is soft against his calloused fingers and Tartaglia sighs. Suddenly you let out a series of violent coughs, the Prince jumping back in slight alarm. Each is more violent than the last, your hands squeezing the blankets in a vice grip, and Tartaglia instinctively places a hand on your back to support your thrashing body. When the fit ends you let out a shuddering breath, collapsing back against the mattress. Small tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes, and Tartaglia silently rubs your spine with his thumb. “Librarian.” The Lector perks up, standing at the doorway. “Arrange for a visit to the surface… They need medical treatment.” Enjou nods and turns on his heel to inform the other members of the Court. “Oh, and Enjou?” He tilts his head backwards, confused at the downcast look in the ginger-haired Prince’s eyes. “Do it quickly.” Another nod and the Lector vanishes down the hall, leaving Tartaglia at your side. His movements are stiff and much too rigid as he sits on the edge of your bed, staring out into the corridor beyond your room. It’s almost comical, seeing such a grand figure perched motionless on the mattress, glaring forwards as if daring anyone to say a word. You whimper in your sleep, trembling from the effort of breathing, and subconsciously your hand reaches for and grasps Tartaglia’s, squeezing as hard as you can. His eyes widen, flashing with bewilderment as he snaps his head down to your hand holding his, like it’s all that prevents you from breaking. Another wave of pain stabs your skin, and your grip squeezes the Prince’s fingers even tighter. After a moment, he gently squeezes back.

#genshin x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #gi ajax #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #foul legacy x reader #sfw #genshin sfw #genshin slow burn #slow burn #tartagalia x reader #ajax #childe x you #genshin fanfic #childe fanfic #abyss prince childe #gosh this took a while but i did it #ALSO MOTH APPEARANCE MOTH APPEARANCE #enjou is still a king #and guess who just might be softening up a little #teehee #anyways i wrestled with this post so i hope nothing goes wrong

[oftenwantedafton]

Craving - Vampire Dave Miller/William Afton/Springtrap x Female Urban Explorer Reader

Finale

Rating - Mature

Warning - mild blood and violence

Also available on AO3

Taglist - @yellowbunnydreams

In the dream, the restaurant is restored again.

Sunlight streams through the skylights above, illuminating tables surrounded by joyful guests. There is laughter and music and the smell of fresh baked pizza. Latex balloons drift lazily in the air before you. You brush them aside, sweeping past the long curled ribbons that trail like kite tails, searching for William.

Instead you see the yellow rabbit, crouching down beside a young girl. He reaches out to take her hand and she accepts, trusting. He turns to you, holding a finger up to the mouth of the headpiece, indicating your need for silence, then stands and leads her away, back to the Employees Only area.

You frown, following the pair, weaving through corridors that are now as familiar as the creases on your palm, a map imprinted in your mind. One last glimpse of the girl’s figure is all you’re afforded before she vanishes into a set of double doors you’ve never been through marked with a red glowing exit sign.

You hurry after them, your sense of unease growing by the moment. Something is wrong. You shouldn’t be here; shouldn’t be able to see what is happening in the past. You shove repeatedly at the handles of the barrier and slap the cold surface but it refuses to budge.

”No. No, open it. I need to get inside!” Your pleading goes unheeded. It’s not enough to gain passage. A greater sacrifice is required.

You glance down at your scarred wrist, thinking you understand.

There is a low rumbling sound, as if the establishment is groaning, the vibrations rippling through your extremities. Just beyond that central barrier you imagine its ravenous maw gaping, leading to the depths of a stomach churning in eternal hunger, the terrible starving beast dissatisfied with the meager offering it’s just received.

The scenery around you begins to decay and withers, the colors graying, the sounds of employees working in the nearby kitchen and the partygoers in the dining room fading.

“Wait! I’ll do it,” you protest, offering to donate back to the building.

A new melody now blankets the growing stillness, a gentle hum that sounds amused, and you hear the heavy tread of one of the animatronics rounding the corner.

The fox robot likes the idea of your willingness to surrender your lifeforce, pausing a moment before he rushes towards you, impossibly fast. You cry out and abandon the doors you’d sought passage through, dashing down the hall, all too aware that the echoing metallic footsteps are far faster than your own. Foxy chases you down the corridors, the hooked appendage slashing and tearing at your flesh as your strength falters and you no longer outdistance him. You reach a dead end with an unmarked door and burst through into a liminal space, the in-between, often unseen back rooms of the shopping mall, jerking to a halt as you collide with the first structure in a row of dumpsters. The metal storage bins reek and you gag, covering your mouth. You glance anxiously behind you but the door remains shut. There’s a harsh scraping sound as the hook drags in frustration over the galvanized steel of the fire door, gouging its surface but finding no way through to access you. Your heart pounds wildly, struggling to circulate everything you need throughout your body, and your throat burns desperately for air. You creep around to the front of the rubbish container, your misgivings confirmed when you see that it’s overflowing with broken bodies in various stages of decay. The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling flicker and die one by one, plunging you back into darkness, and you fear you will be extinguished in the same way.

***

You’re awake, but the nightmare hasn’t ended.

You slam your hand against the manager’s door and batter at the security room, but there is no answer. William’s shut you away, abandoning you to your fate. Your blood is no longer of any use to the evil building, the contract terminated. You can no longer feel its presence, the oppressing emptiness of the growing darkness suffocating you. You stumble into the dining room and find the animatronics have awoken, eyes glowing with a terrifying light, their great paws shoving aside the stage curtains as the main trio descends from the platform. You catch your foot on something and fall to the carpet. The robotic creatures stomp towards you relentlessly. You’re only just able to rise to your feet and escape through the entryway.

You continue running, dashing past shuttered stores and empty displays, feet pounding on the terra cotta and cream shaded tiles.

You run and run and you don’t look back.

***

You can no longer feel William, and that’s perhaps the worst part of all.

The last marks he’s left on you from his teeth have healed, the edges of your skin knitting together, the bruise on your thigh fading to yellow. There’s almost no physical trace left of his presence.

The emotional scars run much, much deeper.

You feel empty, drained worse than any feeding he’s taken from you. His absence tears at your heart. It’s impossible to concentrate, to make any sense of life, to find any purpose. You go through the motions of existing and it all feels so mundane and pointless.

The impetus to go back gnaws at you, convincing you the dark establishment wants you, that its owner needs you, withering away your resolve until you surrender to it, vowing to return and face your fate.

***

It’s dark and quiet when you first enter the pizzeria.

You call William’s name, making your way to the office first, the hallways here illuminated with red emergency lights that bathe everything in a shade that reminds you of blood. You turn away when there’s no reply and the door refuses to budge.

Further down the hall you recognize a familiar pair of twin pinpricks of white light.

“William?”

“You stupid, stupid girl. I told you not to come back.”

His voice is rusted, more like what it had been when you’d first encountered him. You’d forgotten how dry and lifeless that tone had been, so cold and dead, scraping raw against your skin.

You swallow thickly. “Why…why are you back in the suit?”

“Because this is who I really am.”

You shake your head, hands balling into fists. “No, it’s not. I helped you with that. I healed you.”

The rabbit chuckles bitterly. “You cannot heal me. It was only temporary. I am beyond repair. Beyond redemption.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, but it is. I’ve killed so many people,” he says, sounding thoughtful, as if he is reminiscing over the memories, savoring them.

“The trespassers…”

“No.” He interrupts sharply. “Before that. The children. They trusted me, and I led them to their destruction.” He takes a few steps forward, the advancement making the eyes appear larger and brighter but you stand your ground, refusing to back away. “And the worst part is, I never regretted any of it.”

“Why children?”

“Because they are easy prey. They are malleable. Simple to control.” His head tips to one side. “Not unlike yourself. You gave yourself so willingly. Enjoyed it, even. And here you are, back again for more. Even when I was gracious enough to release you from your bond. There is no turning back now.”

You tremble, dragging palms slick with sweat over your thighs. “Whatever happened in the past, I know you’ve changed. I’ve changed you. I’m stronger than you think,” you reply, trying to build confidence and convey conviction. You have to get through to him somehow, breaking down this barrier he’s trapped behind.

“You’re delusional. And a liar. I know you’re terrified of me. And you should be.” You hear him drag a deep lungful of air in. “I can smell the fear on you.”

“I’m not leaving.” You wish your voice was steadier. Your legs are tremoring violently, urging you to leave this place.

“Are you so eager to face death?”

“You won’t kill me,” you whisper.

“Of course I will. I nearly have already. It won’t take much more to push me over the edge.”

“I belong here, with you. I don’t care what you say.”

The lights from his eyes grow brighter still as he draws closer, as if he’s drawing energy from your very presence. The backup lighting stains the tall figure in an eerie scarlet color, revealing he’s only donned the head of the mascot costume, giving you faint hope that he’s not completely unreachable.

“You should care. After this brief meal, things will go back to the way they were before. None of it will have mattered.”

“It mattered to me,” you say quietly.

“Then for your sake I hope that is enough to comfort you in these final moments.”

He’s drawn even with you, head tipped slightly to one side, pausing.

“I want a new contract,” you say quickly.

“There is no point. You will not live long enough to fulfill it.”

You reach for the object you’d stowed in your jacket pocket earlier, carefully unfolding the switchblade. You slice open a shallow cut on your palm before he can stop you, drops of blood pattering on the dirty checkerboard patterned linoleum beneath your feet.

You hear his breathing go ragged.

“Why did you do that?”

“To prove to you I mean it. I know you won’t kill me.” You wince at the sting of the laceration but keep your arm held out firmly, as if beckoning.

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I know you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.” You reach up for the headpiece, lifting it and dropping it immediately, the distasteful rotting object landing with a loud clang.

William groans as you wrench it free, pushing against you until your spine strikes the wall. You reach out to touch his face with your injured hand, feeling his own close around it and bring it to his lips, still hesitant, his chest heaving, breathing harshly in the darkness.

“I’m yours. Not because of any contract, not because you’ve threatened me, I’m here because I want to be. I love you.”

He exhales heavily, tongue darting out to taste your offering, quickly bypassing your extremity in favor of your mouth, his canine teeth sharp against your lips. Your neck arches and he follows the movement, fangs sinking in, the familiar ache and pleasure as he latches onto you burning through you. You quake in his arms and try to hold onto consciousness as long as you can.

***

You awaken to the soft glow of a desk lamp, recognizing you’re back in the manager’s office, this time cradled in his arms.

You sigh and burrow against his shirt while he strokes your hair.

“You were right,” he murmurs.

You shift, tipping your head back to look at his face. “About what?”

“Everything.” His lips twitch in a small smile. “We still have to be careful. I don’t want to hurt you.” The look of amusement fades and he frowns.

“I trust you.” You sweep back the errant locks that have tumbled down over his forehead and stroke his furrowed brows, the gentle caress continuing down until your hand rests against his cheek. His face turns and he kisses the inside of your wrist, cherishing the steady pulse seated there before he moves, pushing you down beneath him, his mouth touching yours.

Beneath you, you can feel the establishment’s gentle vibrating hum, a sated purr that welcomes you home.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x reader #dave miller x you #springtrap x you #springtrap x reader

[hyperfixated-gvf]

Fire/Fear

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Danny Wagner | Rated Explicit | Words: 8.4k

Warnings: Language, smut, passing out

Summary: A hurt/comfort fic that turns into soft smut where the fires onstage are entirely too hot, Sam becomes overprotective, and Danny has to get permission from a doctor to canoodle with his boyfriend.

Written for, in collaboration with, and edited by @gretavanfreaky

Author's Note(s): PLEASE let me know if you don't want to be on the taglist for Sanny fics or other slash fics; I know this isn't everyone's jam, so I don't want to be the one to tag you in things you don't want to read. You can stay on the general taglist, I'll just take you off any Sanny works! Enjoy this fic that has been sitting dormant in my Google Docs for a year (don't worry, I edited it first)! Also, I'm going to fix my Masterlist links and then try to finish the Danny x Reader "Stroke Me" by Billy Squier fic!

18+ / MINORS DNI

~~~

Sam had really been into the pyrotechnics this tour.

Everyone always thought that Josh was the pyromanic, but Sam had always given him a run for his money when it came to the admiration for fire, heat, danger, the pure destructive power that was just so damn beautiful and wily.

But Sam was not one to wax poetic - that was definitely Josh’s area of expertise. 

See, Sam was into the pyrotechnics this tour, but also…

Danny.

Or more specifically, Danny and his proximity to the flames and the resulting hot, sweaty, beast of a boyfriend who gleamed a soft orange in the reflection of the fire on his sweat for Sam’s viewing pleasure. Many a show had Sam been distracted by the way rivulets of water would run down his body (often shirtless half-way through the show just from the sweltering temperatures, which was another bonus) when he took rushed, poorly-aimed swigs from his bottle, or the picture of Danny, drumsticks raised high and a smile on his face as he was surrounded by flames. And, as strange as it sounded, something about the smell of smoke and Danny was just…infinitely hot to Sam.

Not to mention – in the name of saving water (save the Earth and all) - the shared showers afterwards.

But as incredibly sexy as his boyfriend was, how the fire made him light up, and how he loved both components of that equation, Sam would have nixed the idea of even a lighter on stage before Josh had even submitted the idea to their tour manager and props guy. It wouldn’t have even crossed the threshold of conception had he known that it would end in a crash and a few screams and the leading thought of holy fuck did we accidentally just set my boyfriend on fire?

Luckily, they hadn’t. But, here, laying in bed with a peaceful Danny in the aftermath of the incident, Sam couldn’t recall what exactly had happened, or if he’d been the one screaming, or whether the scuffed paint and bent tuner peg on his bass could have been avoided.

All he could remember was that even through the smoke and heat and fire, the fear had been icy cold and skin-meltingly hot all at the same time, and he’d thought he was going to throw up when a bunch of stage hands rushed over with water and towels to where Danny was usually poised like a greek god.

The big man stirred against Sam; the doctors said that his body, due to a lack of sleep and a built-up exhaustion, would take a little longer to recover and come to than normal. And sure enough, it had been hours - 3, to be exact - since that awful event and since Danny had been moved at Sam’s unwavering command back to their hotel room, where he’d cranked up the AC, put pillows under Danny’s feet, and had three gatorades and five water bottles waiting on the bedside table.

One big sigh left Danny’s lips and fanned across Sam’s neck. “You haven’t showered yet, have you?”

Finally, after what felt like an excruciating lifetime, Danny was awake. 

Sam grabbed a gatorade immediately and turned in his spot so that he could face Danny on the bed, unable to meet his eyes properly as he snapped the lid off the bottle. “Stop commenting on my personal hygiene and drink, fire boy.”

Not even a hello.

Perhaps it was the lack of Sam’s usual jests and snap-backs that alerted Danny to the fact that something was wrong – still, at least – but he drained half of the bottle in one go regardless of Sam’s demand, sipping on it more when Sam fixed him with a glare that said ‘you’d better finish that.’ “You know, you don’t have to–”

“Do you remember what happened?”

They spoke at the same time, but Danny let Sam go first, quick to playfully roll his eyes but always the gentleman. Usually the gentleman – ask Sam on any given night and he might just give you an overexaggerated wink and smirk. “Yes, Sam. I remember everything that happened up until the point that I actually passed out. I don’t have amnesia, you dork.”

Sam scoffed – he was no expert on the mechanics of what really happened when one passes out. Not when it wasn’t alcohol-related, at least, and even then, he’d left (most) of those days behind in his younger years. But, you know - fuck him for being a concered and invested boyfriend, apparently.

“Oh, well, sorry I’m not in the habit of passing out, I guess,” Sam snarked back. Danny just laughed good-naturedly at him and placed a sloppy kiss on Sam’s cheek. But Sam was curious. It was already established that he’d been too hopped-up on adrenaline to properly remember the exact order of events, and he wanted Danny’s perspective. “Just for shits and giggles,” he ventured, and Danny hummed for him to go on, “uh…what did happen? I mean, from where you were sitting,” Sam clarified quickly - again, a little embarrassed of his reaction and inability to remember the entirety of the event himself.

Danny finished off the bottle and battled with Sam for a moment when Sam tried to replace it with a water bottle before he even had the chance to throw the empty one in his hand away. “Chill the fuck out for a second, Sam,” Danny giggled, trying to push away the bottle without spilling any of the contents on either of them. “I just drank that gatorade in like…two minutes flat. Give me a break.”

“The doctor said you have to get fluids in you!” Sam insisted, forcefully pushing the water on Danny, but not exactly wrestling the man for fear of…well, he wasn’t quite sure he could place the fear yet. “And gatorade has so much sugar - you need water.”

Finally, Danny grabbed hold of Sam’s wrist tightly and stopped his attack, looking him in the eyes and seeing remnants of that worry Sam had felt on stage. “I will,” he promised sweetly, taking the bottle because he knew Sam’s intentions were pure, but…not very well executed. “Just, on my time and not shoved down my throat, please.”

Sam grumbled his assent, but kept an eagle eye on the water, making sure Danny didn’t put it down.

“Now,” Danny continued once they settled back down, “I started feeling a little weird after my solo.”

…

The show had started off like many of the other ones on the tour had. Not that it wasn’t memorable in its own way, or boring whatsoever, but - doing relatively the same sets every few days created a nice little flow that was conducive to the beat Danny could put out. It was what he was best at, after all - consistency and rhythm, the heartbeat and drum. 

Besides, Josh’s antics could never allow for a boring show, and with Sammy right by his side, Danny could pick a moment in time at random and would gladly live in it forever - tour, venue, song, crowd, or day be damned.

…

“Such a sap,” sighed Sam. But internally, he was swooning. He was a big swooner, but he’d never let Danny get away with the cheesy stuff without just a little bit of ribbing.

“Shut up and let me tell the story.”

“Drink your water.”

“Sam.”

…

So the show had started off well, and the crowd was alive and Josh was inciting even more energy that Danny pushed to match – he was feeding off of the exhilarating feeling of giving the people what they wanted, hearing them chant his name, the drive to prove just how good he was and how he contributed to the band.

It didn’t occur to him until his thirst nearly distracted him from his kit that he’d forgotten to drink water throughout the entire first half of the set.

And he was going to - he was - but then Jake’s ‘WAH’ pedal went out and he was informed via his in-ear that his solo was moving up a spot while the techs worked their magic. He didn’t have time to crack the bottle open and forgot about the water, too focused on his job and finishing the song and making the transition into his solo as seamless as possible. 

Did his eyesight go fuzzy here and there? Yeah. But his focus on the kit in front of him was unflappable - ultimately, he was no stranger to fuzzy vision every now and then when he played hard. All he knew was that he was just really fucking hot on top of everything with the periodic explosive columns of flames at his back.

It was only after he raised his sticks to let the anticipation of the beat to the next song lengthen that he caught himself from dropping them in a sudden loss of strength. Again, though - they were approaching the last stretch of the tour and were all hanging onto their mortal bodies as best they could. Fatigue in all forms was to be expected. Perhaps not in the middle of a show, but who really had control over that?

So he went on, and water was pushed to the wayside again when Jake pulled the ‘faster, faster, faster’ gag that had been running since the day Danny had stepped foot in their garage with a pair of drumsticks in his hand - to test his compatibility and chops as a drummer, could Danny actually listen? Could he pick up on the slightest tempo change and keep the band centered?

He could, and Danny would do it back every so often - pick the pace up and grin watching the others adjust - but this time, he was struggling. He was feeling a little sick halfway into their little game, and he wanted to slow down, but it wasn’t like he was gonna lose to Jake.

…

“So it was Jake’s fault,” Sam accused with a frown, throwing the gatorade bottle that had never made it off the bed in the direction of the wastebasket on the other side of the room.

He missed.

“No, it’s not Jake’s fault,” Danny said as he finally took a swig of the water, raising his brows in embellishment as if to say, ‘see? Drinking,’ to Sam’s concern. “It was mine for being stupid enough to not drink water at all during the show. Rookie move.”

Sam took one of Danny’s hands, tender and soft despite his calluses, and started massaging the muscles and joints that helped get them to where they were today. It was a little out of the ordinary - not to say that Sam neglected Danny at all, but this little touch of intimacy was more direct than Sam usually tried to make it. Danny didn’t say anything of it in fear that Sam would pull back; he quite loved moments like this, and he hoped his sigh of satisfaction and pleasure was just enough to get that message across without embarrassing Sam.

“I mean, yeah, maybe it was something a noob would do, but you’re not allowed to take the blame since you almost fucking died,” Sam declared, only a slight waver to the last word. He didn’t actually think that Danny had almost died, but he also didn’t want to think about where they would be if the flames had caught Danny’s fluffy hair, or the material of his outfit, and they actually did set his boyfriend on fire.

Danny gently booped Sam’s nose with the cold, damp bottle in his hand. “I didn’t ‘almost fucking die’,” Danny responded with a chuckle. “And it doesn’t always have to be someone’s fault, Sammy. These things happen. You know that it’s just part of the trade - the heat, the sweat, and…sometimes the fainting, I guess.”

Sam did know that - after all, he’d been videoed struggling at that stupid-hot show in Texas, and then there was that one in Cali that had him all out of sorts, and the…well, in any capacity, Sam knew that it was a part of the trade. Just, maybe not for Danny. Because if something happened to Danny, Sam was embarrassingly dependent on the man for support during their tours - especially since they’d been together together.

The twins had each other to lean on, and Sam had Danny - in all regards.

Sam wiped the bead of water that came from the condensation off his nose. “Well, we didn’t need the fire to make it worse. I’m still blaming both the twins now,” he pouted. “Josh for having the fire in the first place and Jake for egging you on.”

Danny laughed, and the sound vibrated from his chest into Sam’s, from his mouth into Sam’s ears, and it was wonderful. “I think you just want to be mad at someone, and you’re used to it being them,” he teased, even though there was likely some truth in that statement. “I see the way you look at me during shows - I don’t think you want to hate the fire. Plus, if I remember correctly, you were the fire’s biggest supporter.”

The soft, wispy feeling of Sam’s hair against his cheeks and chin made Danny sputter and spit, but Sam kept his proximity, still putting pressure into Danny’s hand as he grumbled, “Well, feelings change. It assaulted my boyfriend and if anything’ll get you on my bad side, that’s it.” Danny wasn’t sure if that particular concept applied to only the fire, but Sam seemed to be in a mood, so he didn’t comment. “So, what happened next?”

Danny, remembering that he’d been telling a story, relaxed into Sam’s expert masseuse skills and continued.

…

It had been Jake to notice first, though. He’d looked back with a smirk after a few beats into the next song, but the smirk had dropped off immediately once he’d caught sight of Danny’s ashy complexion, noticeable even in the firelight. 

He had been a little surprised Sam didn’t notice either, but “Caravel” was his time to shine, and he must have been working the crowd at the front of the stage.

Danny’s gaze had seemed a little glazed over and just not quite right when Jake did catch his eye to get an ‘ok’. But Danny had given it to him regardless, and he didn’t blame Jake for taking it at face value in the moment - he knew that Jake would have checked in on him at his next convenience, but solos weren’t to be trifled with.

He’d tried to push through the sudden onslaught of blurry vision and nausea and dizziness, but when he stood up to finish out the main set, he knew he was going down in that instant. It was all he could do to at least try to sit back down and lean forward, hoping that it would keep him from pitching back anywhere close to the fire, and his last thought before it went dark?

He should have drank some water.

…

“I should have known,” Sam said quietly. “I should have been paying attention.”

Danny felt for him - because if it had been Sam who’d passed out instead of him, he’d feel the same way. Why hadn’t he seen the signs? What could he have done differently? What if, what if, what if.

He drained the last of the water bottle and pitched it over in the same direction the gatorade had gone, uncaring if it hit its mark or not, and drew Sam in for a cuddle. Sam clutched at him, lightly brushing his hand down Danny’s back, just glad to have him there in their bed and not in a hospital. 

“There’s nothing you could have done, sweetheart,” Danny insisted gently. It wasn’t often that he called Sam petnames, but his boy seemed to need the extra comfort at the moment. “It happened so fast - literally within the span of like, two songs.”

“Yeah. Two songs I wasn’t looking at you for.” Sam sighed and shifted his weight to his elbow, drawing himself up so that he could look down at Danny with a severe expression. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of tour,” he warned, but Danny just laughed at him and pulled him the rest of the way on top of his body.

Two things happened, then. 

Sam started frantically struggling to get off of Danny and, in the process, his hand pressed down on Danny’s bladder – which was now full of two bottles of fluids – who was suddenly very aware of how badly he needed to pee.

“Okaaaaaay,” Danny hissed, covering his crotch and rolling Sam off at the same time before he hit another extremity, “what the fuck, Sam?”

“I don’t want to hurt you! That’s gonna make you too hot!” Sam huffed, standing up so that he was completely off the bed. 

Danny took a deep breath and shot Sam a small, disgruntled glare and trudged to the bathroom. “What ever happened to me being the hurt one? Shouldn’t I get what I want?” he grumbled, pouting and not even trying to hide it. “And not getting punched in the groin?”

They bickered from separate rooms as Danny relieved himself and Sam gingerly got back onto the bed, sitting against the pillows instead of laying down. Danny frowned when he saw the change in position, but got in bed anyways, plastering himself against Sam’s side in protest as he draped his arm around his waist and let it hang heavy there.

When Sam didn’t say anything, Danny decided to make the ending of his story clear. “So, yeah. That’s what happened,” he said. “I remember waking up once in the green room, but passed out pretty quickly again, and then we were here.” Sam nodded and sighed again, and Danny took his hand, his own anxiety growing at the silence. “Hey…I love you,” he said quietly, abruptly; he was a little bit worried about Sam’s lack of response and wanted the assurance of his voice – Sam was still trying to find his comfort, and Danny wanted to contribute as much as he could. 

Even as crazy about the other as they were, the two men didn’t often exchange the words unless they were whispered into skin after sex or right before they fell asleep, when their bodies were curled around each other and created a space for feelings to spill out in an exhale just before they lost consciousness.

It hadn’t been Sam’s intention to cause Danny unease in the wake of his silence, but in the retelling of the events leading up to it, he’d begun piecing together what happened immediately after. That’s what he’d been thinking of – that’s what he’d been deliberating on.

“I love you, too,” Sam returned, planting a small kiss on the back of Danny’s hand and gratefully accepting Danny’s form of reassurance.

There was a small squeeze from Danny’s fingers that caught Sam’s attention, and he lifted his head to meet Danny’s eyes. “Your turn.”

“My turn to do what?”

��Story time,” Danny said, as if it was obvious. “I told my end, I wanna know what happened after I passed out.”

Sam tried not to blush, but since his memory was coming back, he really couldn’t help it. “I don’t really remember much,” he said vaguely. “I mean…you passed out, we took care of you, and that’s it.”

Danny was quiet for a second, and Sam looked up to see if he’d bought his half-truth.

He hadn’t.

“Bull. Shit.” Danny intoned, letting his hand go to cross his arms. “I’ll just ask Jake or Josh tomorrow if you don’t tell me. Come on, Sam - I deserve to know.”

Sam thought about how he’d feel if he’d been the one doing the passing out, and - yeah…he’d want to know, too. So, he sighed and thought back to the bang, crash, scream, and panic.

…

Danny did pass out forward – right into his kit. 

That was where the bang and the crash came from - Sam had looked because that wasn’t part of the show, and if Danny was gonna improvise, it was gonna be at least a little bit rhythmic, not the all-in-one drum slam noise that came from his direction. And where he’d been expecting Danny to be grinning at his joke, maybe blushing because he dropped something by mistake, he was met with the sight of the listless body of his boyfriend slumped over his kit, panicked stage hands yelling and rushing over to him.

“Danny!” 

There was no hesitation in Sam’s action when he was faced with the decision of the man behind the drums or the call of the crowd. He threw the strap of his bass off his shoulder without a second thought, not even concerned with the grating, cringe-producing sound of it hitting and slapping against the hard stage floor, feedback scratching from his speakers.

As soon as he was within distance of Danny, he had his hands on him, another addition to the wet rags and ice packs that had materialized in the crew’s hands. “What’s wrong? What the fuck happened? Why is he– is he okay?”

The twins were quickly by his side, asking the same questions, stress evident on their faces. The medic on staff was shooing people back, snapping at them to give Danny some air, but Sam refused to leave his side, selfish as it may have been.

She bent over the unconscious man, feeling his pulse and completing a quick once over as the stretcher was brought over. “I think…this looks like heat syncope,” she said, feeling Danny’s pulse and face. “Heat exhaustion. Come on, let’s get him on a stretcher and off the stage - he needs to get away from the fire and lights.”

A few people began easing him back and lining him up with the hard, orange stretcher many of the venues came equipped with, and Josh put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Go with him. We’ll do damage control and find you soon.”

Sam’s tunnel vision opened up a little bit to include the murmurs of the crowd, hesitant titters flowing throughout the big venue. “Yeah,” he said, nodding, “thank you.”

He followed the line of people off-stage, catching a few comforting words coming out of Josh’s mouth assuring the crowd that Danny was alright and that he’d just gotten a little too hot. But he lost them as they got further away from the stage.

“I told you that he needed more ventilation back there four shows ago,” the medic said sharply to the stage manager. The stage manager was quick to defend himself, saying that ventilation other than a fan was practically impossible unless she wanted him to rearrange the entire venue. “The fire was a bad idea,” she mumbled, obviously trying to keep that opinion to herself with two members of the band (if you counted the one who was passed out cold), but Sam still caught it.

The fucking fire.

The culprit, and by proxy - Josh.

Back in the green room, with cold rags covering almost every inch of skin Danny had to offer without being indecent, Sam listened to the medic arguing with the tour manager about hospitalization. If it was serious enough, whether or not they’d even admit him, if they should go now or wait until he woke up - but ultimately decided that they’d see where they stood once Danny woke up.

“We should leave him here, try not to move him.”

As soon as the suggestion was thrown out, Sam immediately vetoed it. “No. The venue needs to close and we don’t know when he’s gonna wake up. Plus the A/C is spotty - the hotel will be more comfortable.” He left out the small component of added privacy back at the hotel - that they’d be in their room where there weren’t crew members continuously walking through and Sam’s concern and his yearning to touch and cuddle and mother his boyfriend would be out of reach of prying eyes.

“Sam–” the medic tried to reason.

Sam didn’t want to be disrespectful - he knew that the medic had a much more extensive knowledge of what Danny was going through at the moment, but Danny was gonna wake up, and he knew his boyfriend would rather wake up in a private room rather than one where he’d feel as though he was imposing. 

“No,” Sam said again. “It’s not like he has a head injury. He’s safe to move and I know that’ll be harder to do than leaving him here and I’m sorry about that, but –”

He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and a voice at his ear. “Sam, stop it.” Jake had come into the room without Sam noticing and had seen the beginnings of his tantrum. “They’re thinking of Danny. Don’t try to make it seem like they aren’t – we’re all worried.”

The stern, scolding manner of Jake’s voice ticked Sam off in just the right way. Maybe he was overreacting, but who could really blame him? He was about to snap back when the door opened again.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” Josh’s voice filtered in from where he’d entered, and Sam turned from one twin to the other to poke his brother aggressively in the chest, garnering a shocked, very confused, and a little bit indignant reaction from Josh. “Hey!”

“It was too much fire, asshole!”

Even Sam was a little taken aback at the hostility in his voice. He needed to tone it down or he’d create another problem for himself – he knew he wasn’t actually angry at Josh, but the stress was getting to him and his brain had latched onto that idea of the fire being too much and, subsequently, Josh’s request back when the tour was still being planned for, when he quoted, “As much fire as fucking possible.”

Sam sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, putting his hand up in surrender and in a silent apology, to which Josh nodded infinitesimally. Sam was grateful for the unspoken language that all four of them had managed to perfect with the time they spent in each others’ presence. “We’re not Metallica,” he said, softer, with a croak and a swallow that punctuated the end. “We don’t need this.”

Josh looked a little guilty and Sam knew he’d feel bad later.

…

“Do you?”

Sam knew what Danny was asking and bobbled his head. “A little bit. I think he knew that I was just stressed. A little frantic.” 

Danny’s arms wrapped tighter around Sam and bodily moved them down the bed so that they could snuggle, despite Sam’s weak protests. “I’m actually a little bit cold, now,” Danny reasoned, slipping a hand underneath Sam’s shirt to rub his thumb against his ribs. “I think maybe you should apologize.” Sam scoffed at the prospect, but Danny continued, “It’s not his fault. Or the fire’s. Really.”

The groan that came from Sam’s mouth was long and whiny. “But it contributed to it,” Sam stressed. He knew Danny was right, even if he didn’t want to admit it. So, with one last groan, he turned away from Danny and reached for the hotel phone.

“You have a cell phone, you know,” Danny said amusedly. “What if he’s asleep?”

Sam rejected the concept. “As if. And if he is, then he’ll wake up. Also, you need food in your stomach. Want a smoothie or something? I can call down to room service.” Danny was about to answer when Sam raised his eyebrows over his shoulder. “But no fast food stuff. Or soup. Or pizza. Too much salt - that’ll just dehydrate you.”

Danny pouted. “But I wanted Dairy Queen. And the kitchen will be closed by now - we’ll have to order out.”

“Fine,” Sam conceded. “But choose something else. Please,” he tacked on at Danny’s unimpressed stare.

“Yes, mother.” They eventually settled for a couple of salads from a late-night restaurant nearby that would be delivered by the hotel to their room. As Danny was placing the order (and sneaking a large order of fries to share in), Sam called Josh’s room, listening for two tones before the man picked up.

The conversation was short, and Josh said that he understood, admitting that even he hadn’t been thinking of the heat-related consequences having that much fire on stage could bring. But Danny took over the phone to further reassure Josh that he didn’t blame him, and that for the last time, it wasn’t the fucking fire’s fault, Sam.

Once Sam had done all the apologizing he felt he could physically force out of his mouth (which wasn’t much), they hung up the phone and Danny had yet another water bottle shoved in his face.

“I’m not continuing the story until you drink,” Sam warned, and this wasn’t a hill Danny wanted to die on, so he broke the seal and drank. Once satisfied with the amount, Sam sat cross legged across from Danny and kept talking.

…

No one really wanted to argue with Sam in that moment about where Danny would go, so the medic chewed her lip and gave the okay to transport Danny into the van, still strapped to the stretcher, and then to the hotel with the warning that she’d be coming to check on him every hour, and if he wasn’t awake within six hours, she’d call an ambulance.

Sam had readily agreed and stayed right by Danny’s side the entire time, even scrunching himself between the front seat and the back on the ground so that he could study Danny’s face and make sure he didn’t wake up suddenly.

Staff had allowed them to use a back entrance to get Danny up to their room real hush-hush, which was nice because Sam wasn’t sure how he’d react to someone asking what happened, and he didn’t want to take that chance.

It was up the elevator, to the room, and into bed, which was when Sam had taken the initiative to stock the table with drinks, hike up the A/C, and actually listen to what the medic told him to do when he argued – passive aggressively and on the down-low – against her staying in the room with them until Danny woke up.

Again, he just wanted a little bit of time alone with his boyfriend so that he could process everything that had happened without other people around to pick apart his mannerisms or actions or words or feelings. 

He wanted it to be just him and Danny.

“As soon as he wakes up, call me, make sure he gets some fluids in him, and don’t let him get up and move around a whole lot. That means,” she said, looking away from Sam’s eyes and pausing to think about the best way to phrase it, “no…strenuous activity–” Sam had to bite back a small smile at the implication, but was also quite offended that she seemed to be under the impression that he would jump Danny’s bones the first chance he got whether he was hurt or sick or otherwise not in a ‘jump-your-bones’ state, “--until I can clear him. Capeesh?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sam agreed, standing awkwardly next to the bed, waiting to get in until she left.

Fortunately, she took her leave then, letting the door click shut behind her as Sam finally took the opportunity to lay himself along Danny’s side - not quite touching him in fear of the shared body heat - and zone out to process.

He was jerked out of his own little world a while later by a knock at the door, not realizing he’d taken Danny’s hand in his. A little unwilling to leave Danny’s side, but still knowing it was probably the twins, Sam got up, pushed the handle down, and opened the door. He’d been right – Jake and Josh walked in immediately, taking in Danny still passed out on the bed.

“How’s he been?”

Sam glanced toward the bed as well. “Conked out good. Hasn’t even so much as twitched.”

The twins hummed, but there wasn’t anything else to say except what the medic had told him, and that information was passed along quickly.

“I talked to the stage manager,” Josh said. “He’s making arrangements for a couple of big fans to be brought out at the next venue for him so he’ll have a little more air flow. The only problem they’re working with is how not to catch the smoke and create a new problem.”

Sam blinked. “I’m sorry, the smoke?” The twins glanced at each other like they’d been expecting this (which, in all honesty, they probably were). “We’re not having any more fire, Josh. Not after this.”

“Sam, the tour would lose so much money if we don’t use those things,” Jake reasoned. “The renting company isn’t going to give us a refund for the last, what - five shows?”

But Sam wasn’t having it. “We are not using them. They can do the math and take it out of my fucking paycheck, but I won’t play a single goddamn bass line if I see so much as a wisp of smoke coming from those things.”

Not wanting to get into it, and knowing that Sam was still in a state that wasn’t going to be conducive to collaboration or reason, Josh put his hands up. “How about we wait until Danny wakes up, and we can talk about it as a band. He should be included in this conversation.”

Jake nodded in agreement, but Sam just glared at them. “Fine. We’ll talk later. But if we’re not gonna talk now, then get out of my room.”

He felt a little immature saying that, but he was riled up again, and that was bad vibes when it came to a still passed out Danny. Sam didn’t want any of that negative energy in the room.

The twins rolled their eyes but stepped out, leaving Sam with the low hum of the A/C and Danny’s breathing once he got close enough.

“They’re being selfish,” Sam muttered to Danny, knowing he couldn’t hear him. “But I doubt you’ll be on my side when you wake up, either, you selfless bastard. We’ll have to talk.”

And then, disregarding his previous restraint in regard to skin-to-skin contact, he wrapped Danny in a hug and waited for him to wake up.

…

Danny was incredibly, undeniably, helplessly in love with this man.

Pulling Sam into his lap, Danny kissed him, long and deep, and murmured, “Thank you for taking care of me, Sammy,” against his lips.

A light flush covered Sam’s throat, and he gave Danny a peck back. “Always,” he said, but made no move to take the conversation nor the action further, despite Danny’s hands – having fast switched to roaming Sam’s sides under his shirt – obviously itching to progress their state into one of more undress, but waiting for a go-ahead which Sam did not give.

All of the sudden, Danny’s hands stopped. “Wait. Didn’t you say the doc told you to call her as soon as I woke up?” 

Sam made a face and shrugged, leaning into Danny’s body. “Yeah. But ‘as soon as he wakes up’ is subjective, in my opinion.”

Danny’s snort shook his whole body. “Um, I don’t think she’ll see it that way. Wanna call her before she comes up here herself and sees me awake?”

“Not really,” Sam answered. He didn’t give any further explanation, but Danny picked up on the protective theme throughout the story. Sam didn’t want other people taking care of him - he could do that himself. 

And Danny could bear with that – a few more minutes to themselves before they’d inevitably have to deal with the small shitstorm he’d accidentally created. Plus, with Sam in his lap, and energized now that he had a few hours of sleep under his belt, Danny’s mind quickly turned dirty and he resumed his previous quest of getting Sam’s shirt off, remembering that the doc had said something about this exact scenario when he looked at Sam for permission and was once again avoided.

“Wait,” he muttered again, even though he was the only one actually physically doing anything that required waiting, lips having been drawn in by the proximity of Sam’s neck, “so does that mean we have to have permission to fuck, now?”

Sam laughed at the abrupt change in topic and tune, humoring Danny only for a moment before shutting him down. “Just this time. But yes. And also no.”

“No?” Danny was interested. He figured if they’d already broken one rule, why not break them all? Classic Sammy mentality that Danny could actually get behind for once.

“Not tonight, Danny. We’re keeping things PG. Maybe PG-13.” And then, the record scratch stop. The rejection came as both a surprise and a conundrum for Danny until Sam’s next words. “You’re…fragile.”

The offense that Danny took had nothing to do with being perceived as fragile and everything to do with the concept that he was too fragile for sex.

He sputtered at Sam. “I’m not fragile! Babe, come on,” he whined. He and Sam both knew he would never coerce Sam into doing things he didn’t want to do, but Danny also knew that his hesitation had nothing to do with Sam not wanting sex and everything to do with his fear, evident in the way Sam’s expression bobbled from the burgeoning wisps of desire and back to stubborn concern, which Danny needed to address. He rolled on top of Sam before he could process it, wrapping Sam’s arms around his neck. “Feel me, Sammy. I’m not warm anymore. The hottest person in here is you,” he teasingly flirted, “are you sure I shouldn’t call someone for that?”

Sam rolled his eyes with a small smile on his face, but did take the opportunity to gently skate his fingers across Danny’s skin. He was right; there was no trace of the unnatural heat to Danny’s skin that he’d felt at the venue, and Danny had drank two water bottles and a gatorade by now. But still—“I don’t want to be the reason you break again, Daniel,” he maintained. “I don’t.”

Danny shook his head, giving Sam an Eskimo kiss at the same time. “You won’t, babe. Look,” he cajoled, rolling his hips smoothly into Sam’s, “I can show you just how tough I can be.” 

Despite his efforts, Sam just tightened his arms and used the leverage to pull Danny down, his weight on top of Sam something he’d been wanting all night but had been a little afraid to do. “No, Daniel. Because I swear, if you pass out while you’re literally inside me,” he warned in Danny’s ear, “we’ll both be celibate until temperatures drop below 70 degrees.”

The laughter Danny let out vibrated into Sam’s neck, making him shiver. “Then you fuck me. It’s not like it doesn’t work both ways.” Then after a second, but before Sam could respond, “And you couldn’t keep your hands off me that long.”

Sam pushed Danny off with a snort. “Oh, fuck off. I totally could.” But the protest was weak and they were both aware neither of them wanted the other’s hands off of them for any extended period of time. “And passing out when I’m inside of you is fucking worse.”

Danny grinned. “Not even a little bit flattering?”

“Nope,” Sam said, and then looked at his watch. Well, where a watch would be if he was actually wearing one. “Oh, look at the time! I’d better call the doc,” Sam sighed dramatically, and then actually got his phone and called her while Danny scoffed and pouted beside him. “She’ll be here within a few minutes,” Sam said victoriously, then eyed Danny’s half-mast. “You might want to calm down.”

Danny was still muttering in discontent when the medic arrived, doing her thing, checking his vitals, and making sure everything was back to the way it was supposed to be.

“Well,” she said, wiping her thermometer off with an alcohol wipe after retrieving it from underneath Danny’s tongue, “all seems to be normal. I’d say definitely no hospital required, and you are free to play your next show with the promise that you’ll actually drink water this time,” she said sternly, having glared at him when he told her that was the most likely perpetrator of the whole thing.

“Will do,” Danny agreed charmingly. And then, with a mischievous look towards Sam that Sam didn’t often see without prior prompting from no one other than himself, asked, “And that means I’m cleared for everything else, right?” The medic looked confused until Danny politely clarified, “The uh…the strenuous activities?”

“Oh,” she laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Yeah, that too.”

This time, Danny wore the victorious grin and Sam was the one giving unimpressed looks in Danny’s direction until the woman left. “You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that much,” Sam sighed as he made the first move, pressing on Danny’s chest until he was laid out on the bed once more. “But I guess - since we have the go ahead and you’re so obviously gagging for it…” Danny finally tugged Sam’s shirt up and Sam helped it the rest of the way off, only to yelp when Danny flicked his nipple in retaliation to his quip. “Fucker!” he hissed.

And Danny laughed. “Not until you get the lube, baby,” he grinned, pulling Sam’s hips so that he could grind against him. However, once he’d finished his joke, he settled down for a moment, rubbing Sam’s hips with his thumbs. “You that we don’t actually have to fuck, right? I don’t want you to have to be worried about me, and I’m always down for a nice cuddle, instead.”

Sam scoffed playfully and looked down to where his body was laid atop of Danny’s. “And waste this opportunity now that we’ve gotten the all clear? Absolutely not. Where’d the desperate boy we’ve been seeing tonight go?” he teased, baring his neck to Danny as his boyfriend took advantage of the green light he’d been given and begun placing light kisses to his throat.

Against Sam’s skin, Danny murmured, “Oh, he’s right here, I promise. But, seriously. If you’re gonna fuck me, go get the lube.”

Sam lifted himself off and went to retrieve a tube out of the stash they had, coming back to a naked Danny on the bed (a sight Sam swore he would never get bored of), but only laid it by the pillows as he straddled Danny’s hips again.The room quieted as Sam took Danny’s mouth with his own, sighing into the kisses and reveling in the feeling of Danny’s tongue against his. He loved Danny’s lips - kissing, talking, sucking him off, singing in the shower, whatever – and loved that he got to do this.

Once he’d gotten his fill and Danny’s mouth was left red and a little slick and swollen, Sam smoothed his hands down Danny’s chest, slowly, gently, reverently. He purposefully stayed away from the erogenous zones he knew oh so well, and Danny eventually took issue with that. 

“Sam,” he huffed after the third pass of Sam’s palms on his thighs, dick twitching in anticipation every time they got close and a drop of disappointment marring his face every time he passed it by, “are you gonna touch me or am I gonna have to do it myself?”

While the idea was attractive to Sam, he laced his fingers through Danny’s, peppering kisses over his face and neck. “Shhh, I will,” he hushed, “Let me take care of you. I told you I would, didn’t I? Can’t I?”

Sam stopped to look Danny in the eye, a softness there that Danny had loved since they were kids, when the only thoughts of romance manifested in stuck out tongues and expressions of disgust, and knew that Sam needed this just as much as he did. Perhaps by letting Sam take care of him, he could do the same for Sam.

He nodded, drawing one of his hands out of Sam’s to cup his cheek, the atmosphere still charged, but more tender, now. “You did. You can. Anything you want.”

A sweet smile graced Sam’s lips at the affirmation, and he slid the rest of his clothes off before he finally took Danny in hand, the stimulation making Danny sigh quietly and relax. While he set a slow pace with that hand, Sam reached for the lube again and expertly flipped the cap open with his thumb, readjusting their positions so that his hips were cradled between Danny’s thighs before he left Danny’s dick to slick up his fingers. 

Some people were uncomfortable with quiet sex, trying to fill the awkward moments with moans and words and music and ambiance, but Sam and Danny were not those people.

They made noise when they felt compelled to do so, but in these beginning moments, when the initial touches were being made and their bodies began to sync up and tune into each other, they were content with the sound of skin on skin and the soft breaths of their lover to tell them where they were.

So, when Sam breached Danny’s body with his fingers, and the only sound that came out of Danny’s mouth was another sigh and an audible swallow, he smiled. He knew he was making his boy feel good. He knew he was taking care of him just as he needed to be.

However, while subtlety had its moments, Sam took infinite satisfaction in the sharp sound on the intake of a breath and Danny’s subsequent, “Sammy!” when he hit a good spot. He targeted that spot, then, first with the one finger he had, and then with the addition of another, and watched as he worked his boyfriend into quite a state of wanton desire. It was love, lust, desperation, and a certain brand of dependence born of a healthy relationship and vulnerability that he heard in the way Danny said his name and moved his hips and looked at him with those dark eyes that held so much love and joy.

Sam couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked softly, returning an uncharacteristically serious pet name. “I wanna show you…how– how much I…”

For some reason, he couldn’t get the words out without feeling as though he’d break into a monologue. How much he loved Danny. How badly he’d been scared. How much he wanted to take care of him and smother him with affection and spoil him until nothing bad could ever happen to him again.

“Do it, Sammy, love,” Danny encouraged with a kiss to the palm of Sam’s free hand. “Show me.”

Drawing his fingers out and adding more lube to stoke onto himself, Sam made sure nothing would hurt and finally pushed himself into Danny with a low grunt - tight, hot, wet, and his - his, that was whole and healthy and with him now. “I will,” he whispered, “I’ll show you, I promise.”

And Danny wanted to tell him, you already have, but Sam’s hand was on his dick again and Sam’s mouth was on his throat, and Sam’s heart was beating in time with his own and he remembered that this was something Sam needed as well, as an assurance to himself. 

Sam knew Danny understood. Not only did the man’s empathy make sure of that, but all of Sam’s love, fear, and dependence were reflected back to him in Danny. He began moving, pushing in deep and staying there with shallow thrusts so that he could plaster himself to Danny from head to toe with that connection that bridged the gap between them. The man underneath him whispered into Sam’s ear, sweet nothings alongside affirmations and praises.

“You take care of me so well,” Danny breathed, “you’re so good to me, Sammy. No one else could do it the way you do– you’re everything that I could ever need. The only thing.”

Sam nodded, picking up the pace a little bit to scratch that internal itch growing in both of them, trying to give Danny everything he had, everything he wanted. “Yeah,” he answered back, simple as that, knowing that Danny would pick up every unsaid word. “I know, Daniel.”

In the shared spaces that their mouths occupied, the air became damp and warm between the two of them, exhalations fanning across a new sheen of sweat and microscopic drops of moisture forming on each man’s skin. But still, Danny kept his arms firmly around Sam’s torso and Sam never moved from where he’d wedged both of his arms underneath Danny’s armpits, clutching them together via his back and shoulders – heat, at this point, be damned.

When Sam’s breaths became ragged, and his hips snapped forward just a little sharper, trying to bring them both to the edge, Danny started rolling his hips upward to place himself. “Just a little more,” Danny forced out, the knot in his stomach tightening and tightening until with one last, sloppy stroke from the tip of his cock to his balls, he whined, whimpered, and yipped out his pleasure in completion. Letting his orgasm rush through him, Danny buried his face at Sam’s temple as he bucked into Sam’s hand, coating it and his stomach with strings of come.

Sam, too, released his high moans just a minute later - short, desperate, staccato sounds that matched the jerk of hips into Danny as he let himself go. 

Danny stroked Sam’s back as he came down, breathing hard against Danny’s neck before mouthing at the skin there, ‘I love you’s escaping from his throat and his heart and his lungs and soaking into Danny's consciousness.

“I love you, too,” Danny whispered back, not letting Sam pull out nor away and keeping him all to himself. “I love you so fucking much, and I’m sorry I scared you, today.”

But once again, at his admission to guilt, Sam shook his head. “Not your fault. I’m always gonna be scared. I…you know that I need you, too.”

“Yeah. I know.”

The A/C was still turned up to the max, and Danny shivered - his sweat actually working this time and cooling him down quickly. He murmured to Sam, wanting to know if he wanted to take a shower or just get up early and do it in the morning. Sam gently pulled himself out of Danny’s body with a small gasp, and immediately collapsed by his side, wrapping himself around the man in answer to his question.

Danny wasn’t going anywhere.

“Tomorrow,” Sam yawned. “Let’s just rest now.”

And Danny could deal with that.

~~~

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[blackjackkent]

Rakha badly wants to get the hell out of Last Light and out in search of Ketheric at Moonrise and turn her bloody thoughts away from Isobel and towards a proper vengeance. The problem, of course, is it's fucking dark out there. Luckily, the Harpers have an idea.

"You mean to reach Moonrise. And I've orders to help you. The path to the Towers is drenched in blackness so deep even a torch cannot quell it. Yet the cultists have found a way to move freely. Whatever this method, you must claim it. A cultist convoy crosses the land as we speak. I've readied an ambush. Say the word and we fly."

Rakha has never been so relieved to have a random person demand she do something. The cultists are an indisputable enemy. The need for violence here is practical. Perhaps she can shed enough blood to calm the beast and keep Isobel's throat unslit. "Let's take on that convoy," she says curtly. "You lead, I follow."

-----

It's deeply unpleasant to step outside the protection of the moonshield. The brutal wrongness of the corrupted shadow magic only intensifies her existing headache and stings along her skin like daggers. But she grits her teeth and pushes forward anyway; there's no choice.

The Harpers stage their ambush from a broken-down building. At first Rakha can't see what distinguishes it from the other equally broken buildings scattered across the ruined landscape - until she hears the soft footsteps on the nearby path, and the low murmur of voices.

"We bring more to your church every day, my Queen... your followers are legion..."

For a moment, Rakha forgets all of her misery, all of her inner conflict, all of her preoccupations, in favor of a complete and utter bafflement.

What in all the Hells is *that*?

The creature is enormous, perhaps seven or eight feet tall, with the torso and head of an elf and the lower body of an enormous spider like that they saw below the blighted village of Moonhaven. It speaks in a hoarse whisper, nervous and agitated, and the corrupted Weave swirls around it with each blink of its eight misshapen and asymmetrical eyes.

Alongside it are several companion travelers of varying persuasions - Rakha recognizes goblins... and, most startlingly, a man with the same tusks she herself has - an orc.

"Your faithful stand ready, Majesty... soon we march... soon the world will bow to you..." the spider creature mumbles.

It is speaking to the Absolute, Rakha guesses. Some sort of prayer. These are, presumably, the cultists the Harpers spoke of. And the secret of their transit is the light the spider creature holds - no ordinary torch but a lamp glowing pale silver.

Immediately all her attention fixates on that light. The purity of its magic stands against the corruption all around it. She must have it. It is beauty and safety. It will get them to Moonrise.

"That is what we came for," she mutters under her breath. The Harper at her elbow nods.

"Ere! Web-arse!" one of the goblins yelps suddenly, pointing up towards the building. "Something moved up there. Want me to drag it out?"

Rakha goes perfectly still - not even breathing. They cannot lose their element of surprise - they cannot risk losing that lamp. With every bit of her willpower she waits, she holds back--

Stay hidden, keep watching.

"They stay in the light!" the spider creature hisses. "They do not go into the dark."

The goblin laughs. "Didn't figure something as big and ugly as you for a coward," she taunts, drawing her sword and turning in the direction where she saw Rakha's movement.

She never finishes the action. The creature raises its sword and slashes the blade in a single brutal blow across the goblin's throat. Blood spatters out across the dirt, glinting in the light from the pale lantern.

"NO!" the creature bellows, ignoring please from its compatriots to stay its hand. "THEY WILL NOT GO INTO THE DARK! THEY WILL NOT BECOME SHADOWS! THEY WILL NOT FEED THE CURSE!"

It slashes and slashes again; the goblin, long since dead, bounces a little under the impacts. Eventually the creature calms, and pulls its legs under it in a crouching position; its harsh breathing turns to soft, pleading whimpers.

"Forgive me, my queen..." it mumbles in agitation. "But I had to. Before the dark got any stronger..."

Rakha's head whirls. The blood smell is sudden and intense, blanking out other thought. The strain of the day feels suddenly stretched beyond the breaking point.

Kill, says the beast, furious and hungry for slaughter. Kill it. Kill it now.

With no more concern for timing or warning her allies to prepare, she lurches from cover and slams out into the convoy in a wave of flame.

Emerge from the shadows and attack!

"HERETICS!" the creature screams as the fire surges around it. "BLASPHEMERS IN THE DARK!"

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #spider man spider man #does whatever a spider can #has a lamp full of light #gets his ass beat in this fight #look out there goes the spider man

[satoshi-mochida]

SEGA announces new Crazy Taxi, Golden Axe, Jet Set Radio, Shinobi, and Streets of Rage games

Gematsu Source

SEGA has announced an initiative to produce brand new titles from its treasure trove of intellectual property. New games are currently in development for five legacy franchises: Crazy Taxi, Golden Axe, Jet Set Radio, Shinobi, and Streets of Rage, all reimagined for modern audiences.

“In recent years, Sonic the Hedgehog has forged new paths for SEGA, bringing the franchise to life and reaching new audiences in ways we had only dreamed of in the past,” said SEGA Corporation co-chief operating officer and SEGA of America CEO Shuji Utsumi. “Today’s announcement is just the start of our initiative. First and foremost, our ambition will be to create great games with memorable characters and worlds. We hope fans of all ages will look towards our future with anticipation as we release these projects in the coming years.”

Get the details below.

The upcoming projects, spanning a range of genres, are currently in different stages of development and will release over the next several years. The first of these games will be based on the following legacy franchises:

Crazy Taxi Franchise

A whacky, high-octane driving adventure series where players must weave through traffic in an open play environment to deliver passengers to their destinations before time runs out.

Golden Axe Franchise

A “hack and slash”-style series with close melee combat set in a fantasy world of beasts, swords and magic.

Jet Set Radio Franchise

This franchise combines action packed traversal around vibrant Tokyo-to with skating, self-expression through graffiti, street culture and rebellious themes.

Shinobi Franchise

A series that utilizes ninja shuriken, ninjutsu, special attacks and more to defeat enemies in a mix of side-scrolling action and challenging environments.

Streets of Rage Franchise

A “beat ’em up”-style series that pairs fast-paced fist fighting with fresh music set in a lawless urban environment.

Watch the announcement trailer below.

Announce Trailer

#Sega #Crazy Tazi #Golden Axe #Jet Set Radio #Shinobi #Streets of Rage #Gematsu #Youtube

[paperanddice]

Bone crabs are moderately large for crabs, but still relatively small creatures. Their shell is the color of aged bone, white with slight discolorations, letting them hide well among the loose bones they prefer for their home. Like a hermit crab, they will attempt to find a defensive shell, though they can also attempt to build their own, using a sticky mucous to bind together multiple bones into a rough shell. They are scavengers and occasional pack hunters, usually content to feed on dead bodies but in groups will bring down larger prey purposefully.

The most dangerous aspect of the bone crab is the white ghost shivers that nearly all are infected with. Immune to the effects of the disease themselves, they spread it to anyone who touches them. The disease is characterized by a mild chill that increases into a severe fever and terrifying hallucinations.

Rarely, large scale deaths can cause the spirits of the fallen to band together into a mass undead. The bone swarm is one of the possible results of this event, the skeletons of many dead pulling free from their bodies to create a swirling mass of bone. Formed from mass graves, abandoned battlefields, or a herd of animals dying together of disease or panicked stampede over a cliff, they ravage the countryside for new life, hunting anything with bones to rip free and join their mass. The skulls mixed in with the swarm constantly wail their anguish, only silencing for occasional bouts of lucid conversation, or when they seek to hide and sneak up on potential prey.

Originally from the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Bone Crab Creature -1 Small Animal Amphibious Perception +4 Skills Athletics +4 (+6 when making a Long Jump or High Jump), Stealth +5 Str +0, Dex +2, Con +2, Int -5, Wis +1, Cha -3 AC 14; Fort +5, Ref +3, Will +2 HP 8; Resistances bludgeoning 2 Toxic Flesh A creature that touches the bone crab or eats any of its flesh is exposed to white ghost shivers. Speed 20 feet, swim 10 feet Melee claw +5 (agile, finesse), Damage 1d6 slashing plus white ghost shivers White Ghost Shivers (disease, virulent); Saving Throw Fortitude DC 12; Stage 1 carrier with no ill effects (1 day): Stage 2 drained 1 (1 day); Stage 3 drained 2 and frightened 1. The creature cannot reduce its frightened condition below 1 while at this stage (1 day). While the creature is infected, any living creature that touches it or that it touches is also exposed to white ghost shivers.

Bone Swarm Creature 10 Large Undead Swarm Perception +18; darkvision Languages Common, Necril Skills Acrobatics +18, Athletics +20, Stealth +18 Str +6, Dex +4, Con +2, Int -1, Wis +2, Cha +5 AC 28; Fort +16, Ref +20, Will +18 HP 132 (negative healing); Immunities death effects, disease, paralyze, poison, precision, swarm mind, unconscious; Resistances bludgeoning 5, piercing 10, slashing 10; Weaknesses area damage 10, splash damage 10 Death's Embrace [reaction] Trigger The bone swarm is targeted by an attack and has a creature grabbed. Effect the bone swarm pushes the grabbed creature in front of the attack. The bone swarm gains the benefit of standard cover against the attack. If the attack is a critical failure, the attacker must make a new roll for the attack, targeting the grabbed creature. Speed 20 feet, fly 60 feet Swirling Bones [one action] Each enemy in the bone swarm's space takes 2d12+10 bludgeoning, piercing, or slashing damage (basic Reflex DC 28). If a target fails this save, the bone swarm can attempt to Grab that creature. It can have as many creatures grabbed as fit into its space.

13th Age

Bone Crab  0 level spoiler [beast]  Initiative: +2 Claws +5 vs. AC - 4 damage. Natural Roll Above Target’s Constitution: The target is weakened and doesn’t add the escalation die to its attack rolls (hard save ends, 16+). Water Breather. AC 17 PD 14 MD 9 HP 18

Bone Swarm  Large 5th level wrecker [undead]  Initiative: +9 Vulnerability: Holy Swirling Bones +10 vs. PD (1d4+1 nearby enemies) - 15 damage, and after the attack the bone swarm engages one of the targets. Natural Even Hit: The bone swarm can grab the target. It can carry grabbed creatures with it when it moves. While it has at least one creature grabbed, it gains a +2 bonus to AC and PD, and if an attack against AC or PD that targets the bone swarm rolls a natural odd miss, one creature grabbed by the bone swarm takes 10 damage of the type the attack would have dealt. Flier. No Opportunities: The bone swarm can’t make opportunity attacks, and enemies can’t make opportunity attacks against it. Swarming Resistance: Each turn, the bone swarm gains resist damage 18+ to all damage from attacks by enemies that the swarm did not attack that turn. AC 19 PD 19 MD 15 HP 152

#pathfinder 2e #13th age #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #animal #beast #undead #pathfinder level -1 #pathfinder level 10 #13th age level 0 #13th age level 5 #long post

[littledrummeraussie]

on set. [a Cashton slash blurb]

Warnings: Calum in that skirt. semi-public blow job. boy x boy fic.

Word count: 785

Author's note: I wrote this little something for my lovely Jess @daydadahlias during the summer because there was not enough Calum skirt fics and I wanted to surprise her. And now I felt brave enough to maybe drop it here too.

-----

If the smug smile on his face was any indication, you could say Calum was really proud of himself. And how couldn’t he when his plan worked out so nicely, exactly how he imagined when he pulled the short skirt up on his muscled thighs, just long enough to cover his boxers. He knew it’s going to get just the right amount of attention from the right person once he stepped on set. And boy, was he right.

Because Ashton – beautiful Ashton, the prettiest boy on the planet, a handsome beast, his fucking soulmate, – couldn’t keep his eyes off of him as he wandered around the set between the stage and the couch, moving his hips back and forth, shaking his ass, twirling to show off what was underneath. He could see from the corner of his eye how the other fought not to touch his naked knee or to trail his long fingers up his inner thigh, to touch and feel and squeeze and tease and and and...

Calum threw his head back, not even trying to stifle his moan as those long fingers were now lifting up his skirt and grabbing at the band of his boxers, tugging them down inch by inch, his shirt pushed out of the way. His dick twitched when Ashton nuzzled against his covered length, so stiff and hot from hours spent waiting for this moment, to have him down on his knees between his legs, to suck his cock, just the way he liked it.

“Fuckin’ pretty you are,” he tangled his fingers into Ashton’s curls, tugging on them as he pulled him away. Calum licked his lips to wet them, already so turned on by Ashton and his darkened hazel eyes, plush lips parted slightly as he let out a sound, the little whine sending a chill down his spine.

“Shut up,” Ashton shook his head, pushing forward, and Calum let go of him a little, fingers still petting his curls. Ashton’s hot breath on his skin felt delicious, the messy kisses pressed against his lower stomach as he pulled off the boxers made him shake, made him want to push him down already to take his cock into his mouth and make him shut up.

Ashton tugged the shorts down to his ankles, hands rubbing against his inner thighs, eyes fixed on Calum’s cock resting against the skirt pushed up and around his hips, tip red and shining with precum, begging to be touched and tasted. He groaned, fist closing around Calum’s length to give him a few teasing pumps before finally leaning closer, eyes big and eager as he closed his lips around the head, sucking him into his mouth.

“Knew you would love the skirt,” Cal had that smug smile back on his face, ruffling Ashton’s hair again. Ash made another noise, maybe a smart ass comment or a whine, Calum wasn’t really sure, but he didn’t care – not when he had Ashton’s mouth around his dick, working down on his length, licking and sucking and slightly choking when he hit the back of his throat. “Oh yes, do that again!”

Calum’s thighs tensed as Ashton’s nose pressed against his stomach while licking around his tip again, mouthing at the sensitive skin before taking him back into his mouth, hand sneaking between Cal’s legs to squeeze his balls. He grabbed the curls at the back of Ashton’s head, slightly moving him up and down on his cock as the other sucked him, working him towards his climax.

“Fuckin’ good, Ash, just a little mo– right… there…” Calum choked on his moan, face suddenly hot as he felt himself stiffen, body shaking slightly as his orgasm reached him. Ashton moaned around him, hands grabbing his thighs and fisting his skirt as he bobbed his head, swallowing the cum hitting his tongue. Calum finally groaned, pushing him away when he felt too sensitive, panting and still petting the wild curls on top of Ashton’s head. He felt wrecked, and Ashton looked so pretty on his knees, cheeks hot and lips red, eyes shining as he panted too, a little whine leaving his throat as he tried to nuzzle back close, and Calum let him rest his cheek against his thigh, the hot puffs of air teasing his cock.

“I cannot promise to behave if you wear this shit again,” he rasped, rubbing his face against the skirt, fingers softly drawing circles on Cal’s knee. “But I’ll deny it until the day I die.”

“You know you just made touring that much more fun now, yeah?” Calum snorted, leaning down to press a quick kiss against Ashton’s forehead. “Cause I just ordered a dozen of these.”

#cashton #cashton fanfic #cashton blurb #calum hood x ashton irwin #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #idk how to tag this #ashton irwin blurb #calum hood blurb #fiction time

[prismaticpichu]

For your WIP ask I'm curious about Feral and Amnesia 👀

You got it!!!! <333

~

Feral: Production is in the very, very, very early stages, but the idea’s been turning around in my head for over a year! Basic premise is that, during one visit to Hojo, Sephiroth finds himself trapped in an experimental tank like the early days of his childhood. He has been sedated instead of routinely injected with Mako, and is now understandably furious beyond belief. Bashing his fists against the tank, roaring threats and venom—it all proves futile, all falling upon Hojo’s death ears and ricocheting off his twisted smile. Sephiroth demands to know what’s going on, what his “father” plans to do to him. That he’s not a child and will not tolerated being treated like this any longer. And it’s then that Hojo’s ominous chuckles balloon into a full-on laughter, claiming that he is here to make his precious Sephiroth stronger than he ever was before.

There is no time for elaboration before the burning starts.

What basically happens is that Hojo supersaturates Sephiroth’s blood with Jenova cells—pushing him beyond the limit, destroying his mind from the inside out. The man cries in glass-distorted agony and crumples to his knees, screaming and bellowing and roaring and convulsing and growling and snarking and—suddenly, he’s on his knees, his eyes ablaze with a sickly Mako-green that swallows the needle-thin irises and his lips pulled back and his veins glowing disturbingly bright and pulsing through his flesh. Mutated and warped by the cells, he slashes at the tank—a crazed animal tapped in a cell, a wild beast captivated in a zoo.

Funny enough, on the other side, Hojo is actually not laughing at this. Not in the slightest. This… this was not he wanted! He wanted to boost Sephiroth’s strength, not turn him into a bloodthirsty—

The glass shatters, Sephiroth pounces, and everything goes black for him.

But let’s not forget this is a Pichu fic, and no Seph is complete without his best friend <3 But I shall leave it there for now! Hehehe ❤️

Amnesia: While fighting enemies in Cosmo Canyon, Zack is separated from Sephiroth and is driven off a small cliff edge—suffering terrible head trauma in the process. Upon waking up, he has no memory of who he is or what side he’s on—an opportunity that his enemies seize with pleasure as they take him back to their base of operations. There, he’s fed a myriad or grotesque, horrible information (truths) about Sephiroth and all the people he has slaughtered. Zack is brainwashed into believing he is one of their own, and promises to take Sephiroth down if he ever comes across him. When Sephiroth does eventually locate his dear friend, he’s forced to fight him, desperately trying to remind Zack of who he is and all they have been through together.

- Summary I had in my notes LMAOOOO.

Because apparently Pichu writes summaries before writing tue fic???

Anywho, the summary says it all! <3 Zack is kidnapped and turned against his best friend. A power of FRIENDSHIP fic (woooooooo) where Zack’s DMW ultimately saves the day, as memories of his old friend come crashing back to him amid their fight. I do hope to get to writing it someday! <3 Just waiting for that inspiration to be ripe!

Tysm for your interest, Zim!!! 💚

#ffvii #crisis core #sephiroth #zack fair #ff7 #professor hojo #pichu writing #fanfic #ff7 fanfic #asks #ty!! #wips

[arcthebreeder]

Digital Monster Entry (DME)

Name: Soloogarmon

(lit. Sól Monster of Loup Garou)

Stage: Perfect

Attribute: Virus

Type: Demon Beast

A digimon that has succeeded in mastering the sinister magic data of the mythical Warg, which slept in the deepest parts of its DigiCore.

Program code written in a special language lines the inside of the armor that covers its whole body, suppressing its enormous amount of magical power, which is transformed into raging magical flames as if it were sealed magic.

Soloogarmon is able to freely manipulate the magical flames by modifying the program code, and these manipulated flames can be utilized for all kinds of actions such as attacking, moving and posture control.

It can produce a focused ultra-high-temperature magical flame called "Prominence Laser"

From the index and its middle fingers of both of its hands, and despite being a flame it can shoot it to distant enemies as if it were a laser beam, its capacity to easily manipulate the magical flames that its body bares, it's exploded with its special moves.

•Producing the Prominence Laser from its index and middle fingers of both of its hands, he uses these ultra-high-temperature magical flames to shoot the enemy.

•Makes the magical flame of its Vánagandr, the mace it uses to fight, burn at its highest temperature, forming a blade and slashing with it, this is the Eruption Howling.

•The Skröll Rage that takes advantage of the magical flames spewing from its shoulders to move at high speed, hurling the Vánagandr at the enemy.

#digimon #blog #blog entry #coding #larp #story #fictional world #digimon vpet #vpet #virtual pet #v pet #digital monster #digital monsters #profile #soloogarmon #Sól #Vánagandr #flames #magic

[animatorweirdo]

Werewolves with Maedhros, Maeglin and Gwindor

Requested by Anonymous

Warnings; mentions of torture, blood, death, and slight violence. Mostly platonic. There might be an angsty moment, but most of the time it’s an happy ending. 

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

Maedhros 

-He met you when you got thrown into one of the cells in the depths of Angband. 

-You two didn’t talk much at first, but he always heard you breathe hard and grunt like you were in constant pain. 

-He tried to avoid talking because having ties proved to be deadly in Angband. He lost count of times they forced him to watch his kin’s suffering and torture. 

-However, one day, when the orcs returned you to the cell. You didn’t move for a long time, making him worried. 

-After you lay there for hours, Maedhros decided to try to get your attention to see if you were still alive from whatever they did to you. 

-You did wake up, but your state got him concerned. 

-Your skin was pale, and your veins were noticeably dark. Your face looked sickly, and your eyes glowed with odd yellow light. 

-He now understood why you seemed to be in constant pain. 

-You two talked a little. 

-You were a simple sindar traveler who unfortunately got caught and brought here. 

-They have been throwing you into the wolf dens to clean them up and survive. Your sickness most likely came from all the wolf bites you suffered since those creatures were aggressive. 

-For some reason, though. The orcs haven’t killed you off for being sick. 

-Maedhros was understating your suffering and tried to offer words of comfort from time to time. 

-For a long time, it was just an exchange of words, but he was glad to have a chance to talk with someone. 

-However, one day, your illness turned for the worst. 

-You were gasping for hair and hunched on your back. Your voice was acting strange because Maedhros heard deep growling behind them. 

-Sauron had taken notice of his prisoner's little chit-chats with you, so he chained the elf right next to your door cell and made him watch as the last stage was taking place. 

-Maedhros was confused when Sauron talked about the last stages, but he tried to offer comfort when he saw you in pain. 

-However, you turned aggressive toward him and even called him a murderous Noldor bastard. 

-He was taken back. You knew about his identity, and you two have talked about the wrong deeds his kin had caused, but you always spoke softly and talked about alternatives he could have done to prevent that. 

-It was like he witnessed your true feelings for the first time. 

-Your skin then started to break. Maedhros wasn’t ready when your blood splattered out of your body, and a giant wolf beast stood in your place. 

-You growled, then slashed his face through the cell door. 

-He yelled as your claws hit his face, leaving a mark. You destroyed his chain, so he had a chance to back away from your cell. 

-Maedhros was traumatized, to say at least. He couldn't do anything but hold his bleeding face and watch as your monstrous wolf self growled and aggressively hit the cell door, trying to get out. 

-When Sauron returned, he explained your mysterious illness wasn’t like a typical illness, and you were one of the rare ones that managed to survive till the last stage. 

-You were kept in the cell until you reached the last stage, and now he had another wolf to kill elves. It would have been a waste to throw you away, and the final thing Sauron needs to do is to tame you, which isn't hard since he is the lord of all wolves. 

-Maedhros got left with nothing but a new scar, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at your now empty cell. 

-He wondered about your state for a long time, even when he got chained to that cliff. 

-He didn’t know what kind of taming you would go through under Sauron’s hand but knowing how he usually tamed his thralls. Maedhros was sure it was something similar, and your mind will be forever altered to obey orders and kill without hesitation. 

-He sometimes heard the howling of the wolves and wondered if one of the howls was yours. 

-He tried to stop thinking because, in the end, you were just another victim in the hell like Angband. 

-When Fingon came to rescue him, his cousin was attacked by several beasts. 

-Maedhros was afraid to see his cousin get killed and tried to convince Fingon to leave while he still had the chance. 

-Hope seemed lost till a familiar wolf beast arrived and attacked Fingon’s attackers. It took only a second for Maedhros to recognize the fur color and figure. 

-You looked beaten and abused, but you still growled and attacked, defending Fingon from your kind. 

-Fingon took this chance to reach Maedhros and flee upon Thorondor after cutting his hand from his chain. 

-Maedhros looked back and saw you look back at him. At that moment, he knew it wasn’t the wolf looking back at him. It was you. 

-He watched you get overpowered by the monsters and lost sight of you in the mist. The only thing he heard was your howl until it got quiet. 

-Your last howl haunted him the rest of the years after he returned to his kin and recovered. 

-The last time you two talked was in the break of hate, but the last time you two saw each other was the moment when you saved his cousin and ensured their escape, suffering the end of the act. 

-Your fate was unknown, but there was no doubt that you were now truly gone while he lived to see the other day. 

Maeglin

-You were there when Maeglin first came to Gondolin and saw everything that happened. 

-You didn’t talk with him at first. You just observed from the sidelines. 

-You sympathized with him because you had a difficult family life too. Your father didn’t try to kill your mother, and your mother didn’t sacrifice her life to save yours, but it wasn’t very bright either. 

-You have lived in the safety of your lord’s house. 

-When you noticed Maeglin’s life not progressing so far, dealing with some things. You decided to try to talk with him. 

-He was hard to approach at first, but after some friendly gestures and talking. You managed to get somewhat close with him, and he sometimes opened up to you. 

-Others describe your relationship as strange, and it sometimes gets to him because he often seeks you out to talk or ask for advice, which you were happy to give. 

-You tried to assure him you didn’t think lowly of him and felt honored he was comfortable enough to trust you. You were happy to help him out if he felt out of touch. 

-That way, you managed to earn his trust, even though he might not express it. You think he considered you somewhat like a friend. 

-Even though; you were always honest with him. There were some things you kept hidden, like why you always seemed to vanish during the full moons. 

-You told him you were busiest those times. Even though; there was more than just simple work. 

-Things started getting rough when Tuor arrived and gained princess Idril’s interest. 

-Maeglin wasn’t happy about that, and one day he vanished during a trip. 

-You became worried for him, so you went to look for him. 

-You gained the permission to leave since Maeglin was the king’s nephew, and you had assets and some abilities to find him, so your lord managed to talk them around it and give you a permit to leave the city. 

-You followed Maeglin’s last tracks, and to your horror, they led toward the enemy’s land toward Angband. 

-You were told to look for traces, but you became determined to save Maeglin from the black enemy’s clutches, so you went there. 

-One problem, however, was the full moon, which was one day away, so you needed to go in and get Maeglin out quickly. 

-Maeglin did not expect you to appear from the shadows and free him from the cells. 

-You hussed him to follow you since you didn’t have much time. He listened and followed you out, but he had a lot of questions, like why you came looking for him. 

-It was a lot since it was his self-depreciation talking, so you said you cared about him, so of course, you would come looking for him. 

-You wouldn't have left Gondolin if you thought lowly of him. 

-Maeglin felt conflicted and then confessed he was going to reveal Gondolin’s location to Morgoth. 

-He expected you to be mad at him, but you took it well and assured him you were not angry with him, but you scolded him a little for thinking the dark enemy would have kept his part of the bargain. 

-Your mother once did the same thing, and you suffered the consequences. 

-Maeglin would heed your words and then confess the troubles he was suffering throughout the years. His inability to fit in among the Noldor and his unhealthy obsession with trying to gain Idril’s affection. He knew it was wrong and was happy she had someone else who didn’t act like him. He also admitted Tuor wasn’t too bad for a human man. 

-You didn’t criticize him. You suggested you two could leave and go somewhere else since you had the chance. He could work out his troubles and start everything new without the pressures of Gondolin rules. 

-He felt reluctant about the idea but admitted he would like to start everything new rather than go back to Gondolin. 

-Your moment would be short when orcs have started to pursue you. 

-You two tried to get away by traveling, but the time flew fast, and the full moon arrived. 

-You had no choice but to tell Maeglin the truth about what happened to you during the full moons. 

-You turned into a wolf beast and confronted your attackers. 

-Maeglin was shocked to discover you were a werewolf, but he didn’t feel too surprised as you killed the orcs with the strength and speed of a wolf. 

-You killed your pursuers and traveled fast in your wolf form, allowing Maeglin to ride on your back as you left the enemy’s land. 

-You turned back when the morning came and prepared to meet some kind of slander from Maeglin, but surprisingly he accepted your secret. You were one of his only good friends, so he didn’t think lowly of you, even when you were part beast. 

-You were happy, and in the end, you two decided to leave and find a new place to live than go back to Gondolin. You two stuck together, and Maeglin was able to discover himself and deal with his troubles. He looked much happy and healthy in mind, which made you glad. 

Gwindor

-After Gwindor escaped Angband. He was alone, cold in a forest, and without a hand. 

-He didn’t know what to do, and the sounds around frightened him. 

-He tried to rest a lot to gain strength, but the nightmares would return to haunt him. 

-He would sometimes gain strange visions of a wolf. 

-The wolf wasn’t anything he had seen before. It wasn’t monstrous like the ones he had seen in the horrid depths of Angband, and the strange thing that he felt safe around it. 

-He couldn't describe the visions until he came to face to face with the wolf when he tried to get some water from a pond. 

-It was big, and its glowing eyes plagued his mind. 

-He was frightened, but for some reason, the wolf left him alone. 

-He was left weary because he didn’t know if the wolf intended to catch him off guard and then kill him later, but surprisingly the forest felt less dangerous after encountering the wolf. 

-One day, he woke up with freshly picked fruits laid in front of him. The hunger got the best of him, so he ate them, but he wondered who left them there for him. 

-He first thought it was the wolf since it continued. He wakes up and finds food in front of him. He even got some fresh water on a leaf. 

-One day, a set of clothes and a cloak lay in front of him. He was grateful to have something warm to wear after walking around half naked, but now his curiosity had gone over the hills because he needed to know if it was the wolf or someone else helping him these past days. 

-His questions got answered when the wolf appeared before him once again. 

-He didn’t feel frightened this time and subconsciously thanked it for helping him. 

-He was surprised when the wolf talked back to him. 

-You didn’t want to frighten him, so you stayed your ground for a while and got him food to help him get comfortable enough to trust you. 

-Gwindor thanked you again and told his story of how he ended up in the forest. 

-You were understanding because you met many thralls who ended up in your forest. Most of them, unfortunately, succumbed to madness and took their lives. 

-You guided him toward the exit, and you two talked many things about yourself. 

-Gwindor was surprised to learn that you were a werewolf but a different kind. You were free from corruption and the madness the turning usually caused. 

-He asked if he could see you in your human form, but you just laughed and told him you rather not walk around naked since he was wearing your only change of clothes. 

-Gwindor felt embarrassed and apologized for the trouble. 

-You didn’t mind because he was one of the only ones who managed to survive through the forest without going mad. 

-Gwindor then asked you to come with him. His kin could help you break the curse, and you could live much more comfortably than in the shady cold forest. 

-You considered the choice for a while. You would love to eat something else than fruits and raw meat, and you would love to sleep on a bed with pillows and blankets. You have been surviving off in a makeshift cave. 

-You decided to join him, and Gwindor was glad to travel with his newfound friend back toward his home. He met Turin on the way, but everything was okay.

#silmarillion x reader #silmarillion #silmarillion headcanon #Maedhros #maedhros x reader #maedhros headcanon #maeglin #maeglin x reader #maeglin headcanon #gwindor #gwindor x reader #gwindor headcanon #werewolf reader #platonic #silm fic #tolkien #werewolves #turin #sauron

[the-typing-dragon]

Hi friend :3 this is your cordial invitation to infodump about literally anything :D

:DDD you want one you’ve got it Because I’m in a MH mood today you're getting a monster hunter infodump. Bear in mind I am doing this off the top of my head, and am outright refusing to do research outside of grabbing a couple tables :3 This is about Monster Hunter: World: Iceborne because it's my primary mh title, though most is applicable to other mh games. Ok so today I am going to explain the basics of how the calculation for damage works when you slap a monster with your massive sword. Damage Calculations have two parts: Hunter Side and Monster Side. Each calculation also has a section for Raw Damage, and Elemental Damage. There is also Ailment / Status Damage, but that will be discussed later. The Hunter Side calculations are done first, then the Monster Side calculations are done.

Part 1: Hunter Side

Every weapon attack in the game can be found on tables such as the one below:

This table is an abbreviated version of the Greatsword table. For the sake of further calculations, assume that the Greatsword in question has 100 Raw Attack, and 10 Dragon Attack. Whenever you do an attack, the Raw Attack, Elemental Attack, and Ailment Attack are run through these modifiers, in the following sections I will be going more in depth in how these calculations are done. Note that any damage modifiers given by skills are applied BEFORE the tables are utilized.

Section A: Raw Damage

Raw Damage is the core attack damage associated with your weapon. It will be associated with either Sever, Blunt, or Shot / Ranged damage types. The damage type will be important later, but it is not important at this stage of calculations. At this point, the Raw Attack of your weapon is simply multiplied by the Power / Motion Value of the attack being used, which can be found on the Weapon Table shown above.

For this calculation, lets assume you are using a Charged Slash 3. In this case, your Raw Damage will be 100 (Raw Attack) multiplied by 1.1 (110 Power converted to decimal), which equals 110 Raw Sever Damage. We will come back to this number later.

Section B: Elemental Damage

Elemental Damage is entirely separate from Raw Damage, and does not have an Attack type, instead being associated with an Elemental Type, which can be either Fire, Water, Thunder, Ice, or Dragon. For the purposes of this example, the weapon being used has 10 Thunder elemental damage.

For the calculation portion, the Elemental Attack is multiplied by the Elemental Multiplier. For the Charged Slash 3, the Elemental Damage Calculation looks like so: 10 (Elemental Attack) multiplied by 1.5 (Elemental Multiplier) which results in 15 Thunder Damage.

To sum up before the monster side of the calculations: We are attacking with 110 Sever Damage, and 15 Thunder Damage

Part 2: Monster Side

Monster Defense / Hit Zone Values can be displayed in a table like so:

Every monster part has a different Hit Zone Value (or HZV) for the 3 Raw Attack types, and the Elemental Attack types. When you hit a monster, depending on the part you hit, a different row of values are used. There is also Ailment/Status damage, but that is calculated differently and will be discussed later. For the purposes of this example let’s assume you just cleaved the poor Rathalos’s skull. With that lets jump right into the calculations.

Section A: Raw Damage

The first part of the damage dealt to the unfortunate beast is the Raw Damage. Starting off we have 110 Sever Damage being sent straight to the head, and we’re using the Iceborne value which is third from the bottom so the calculation will be as follows:

110 (Sever Damage) multiplied by .6 (60 Sever converted to decimal) which results in 66 Damage. This will then be added to the Elemental damage which will be calculated next.

Section B: Elemental Damage

The second part of the damage dealt to the Rathalos is the Elemental Damage. From the previous section we have 15 Thunder damage being dealt. The calculation will be as follows for the head:

15 (Elemental Damage) multiplied by .2 (20 Thunder HZV converted to decimal), which gives 3 Thunder Damage taken

By combining the 66 Sever damage with the 3 Thunder damage, we get a whopping 69 (nice) damage being dealt to this Rathalos’s head. Keep in mind that even this calculation was simplified, as I kept affinity (crit chance) and any skill modifiers out of the calculation. Now finally, we will discuss how status damage works.

Part 3: Status Damage

On the Hunter side of the calculations, Status damage is identical to Elemental Damage, just replacing the Elemental column with the Ailment column in the calculations. For Statuses, there are Paralysis, Blast, Sleep, Poison, and Stun.  On every hit, there is a 1/3 chance of the status damage being added to the attack. On the Monster side, it differs significantly.

First of all, Status damage is HZV independent, meaning regardless of where you slap the monster it will do an identical amount of Status Damage. When Status Damage is dealt to a monster, it will be added to a hidden gauge specific to that status. When that gauge gets filled, the status managed by that gauge will be activated, and the gauge will be reset to 0. Every time the status is activated, the amount of Status Damage needed to re activate the status increased. This means that the more times you inflict a status, the longer it will take to inflict it again. Do also note that Status Damage does NOT do damage to the monster, it only builds up the status in question. With that let’s conclude this infodump.

Part 4: Why????

Now at this point in the rant, you may be thinking to yourself, why on earth did I go this in detail? The answer is quite simple really; Understanding how damage is calculated is a core part of set building and knowing where to slap the dragon with your massive sword. If you’re using a weapon that has generally high Power stats, such as Greatsword, then you’re going to want to focus on skills that boost your Raw Damage, and generally ignore Elemental Damage. If you’re using something like Dual Blades which has lower Power stats, but still decently high Elemental Multipliers, then you’re going to want to focus much more on Elemental Damage.

Once you have your build setup, you then need to decide where to hit the monster. If you’re using a Raw-focused weapon, then you’re going to focus on the monster part with the highest Raw HZV for your weapon type. If you’re using an Element focused weapon, then you’re going to need to focus more on the part with the best Element HZV. Ok with that I will conclude this dragon rant. Good luck and Happy Hunting!

#the answering dragon #calciumsoda #monster hunter #the dragon rants #oh my god this thing ended up being so long

[hellonoblesky]

ok turtle how could the Archons be portrayed in Khaenri'ahn history/mythos

Gabriel. I love you here's my incoherent ramblings (Under the cut because ummmmmm. Haha. It's long. It's so long. And I am so insane.

OK SO FIRST OF ALL, we know that Hilichurls don't worship the gods, obviously, they're Khaenri'ahns, they've worshipped the sheer elements and forces of nature alongside the Ley Lines ever since the nation was founded with the ruins of Vindagyner (and some other nameless places we don't have proper documentation on just yet). That's a given.

The Khaenri'ahn religion/general belief system doesn't worship a single figure but rather the forces of nature itself. It has always been like that, with a focus on the actual people learning the elements by force of will rather than being granted the powers by a higher force. And it's a VERY VERY starkly different belief system from the rest of Teyvat, which all operates under the belief of higher-up or more powerful beings!!!

This is important.

Because Khaenri'ah was founded on what I like to call the Godless Nations, most notably at the moment: VINDAGNYER (the previous civilization on Dragonspine).

Vindagnyer, which grew so powerful on it's own that they harnessed the power of the ley lines, the very BLOOD OF THE WORLD, that they ascended to Celestia with no assistance, that they were technologically advanced to create floating guards with LAZERS. Vindagnyer, was by all counts, a highly advanced society!! And !! This civilization existed around DECABRIAN'S ERA!! And likely only fell around the time of his fall!!!

But WHY did Vindagnyer fall?? It was because of Celestia. Celestia dropped the full Skyfrost Nail on the mountain and FREEZING A WHOLE CIVILIZATION while Venti rose to the seat of Archon and the long-standing war between Decabrian and Andrius abated.

We know from the Scribe of VIndagnyer that he went to join the then still new Khaenri'ah, still just a nation in the early stages of forming, and he went there SPECIFICALLY because it was a nation founded separately from the gods. That is important.

So taking into account that Khaenri'ah was founded with The Scribe, who was, again, a SCRIBE, I think it's likely that the Anemo Archon, just, as a figure in general, because I doubt Khaenri'ahn society at any point in time has really known much about the passing of Gnosi from Archon to Archon, is depicted as harsh.

Harsh as a biting wind, a creature of hail and monsoons swept sideways, of cold air and roaring noise. The Anemo Archon, in Khaenri'ahn history, is more creature than being of intelligence (all the archons likely are). He is a thing of wings and glinting gold, a thing that shoves you off balance, could send you tumbling to your doom with a breath, could knock things away and send them shattering in an instant. He's not the God of Freedom, he's the Creature of The Winds. The Fangs of the Tornado. He's the Blizzard's Gales and the Monsoon's Driver. He's the Hell of Hurricanes and he has no mercy.

No, the Anemo god is a Creature. A beast. A thing like a fox, curious, and sometimes approachable, but still with claws and teeth and a swift dashing bite.

Zhongli, or rather, Morax, however, I think is seen very differently.

After all, much of the history around the Anemo Archon is of him lifting Mondstadt's people to freedom, it's contained to his nation, and his nation doesn't carry as much history with wars as Morax's does.

But Morax fought the Archon War.

And Khaenri'ah was founded around the time of/give or take a little bit before the Archon War.

And a nation not ruled by gods, to people who were suddenly caught amidst god at war? It probably sounded safer than worrying about whether your entire village would be raised or flooded or burned in the flick of a wrist or the slash of a blade.

So those who fled the nation that would later become Liyue would tell stories of Morax the Warrior. Morax the Dragon. Morax the Blade. Morax who stood stern, Morax who controlled the rumbling stone and whose spear cut the sky until the stars seemed to fall.

To Khaenri'ah, Morax is a general. A General of the skies and a General of the Stone. He is a man of harsh judgment and loyalty like an attack dog. He is a beast all Claws and Eyes and Fangs. He is not the kind and fair ruler Liyue knows, he is the harsh finality of the executioner. He is a beast of war and battle and bloodshed and though he may be regarded as smart and with tactical prowess in Khaenri'ah, he is Not regarded as a man of benevolence. He is regarded as a man of War.

To the people of Khaenri'ah, the Geo Archon is the God of War. Their legends and stories don't speak of his contracts, or his defense of Liyue, they speak of his battles, of his bloodshed, of those he killed.

The Electro Archon(s) are probably beings of much less legend in Khaenri'ahn mythos

They're probably seen like a vaguer version of Zhongli. Shut off, but prevalent in battle. Strong with the thunder, with the blade, blood on their hands and violet glare in their eyes.

But they're not important in Khaenri'ahn history or mythos.

Of course they aren't not when Khaenri'ah is much MUCH more familiar with the Snake God of Enkanomiya, Orobaxi, as it's entirely possible ( and In my opinion LIKELY) that some Enkanomiyans moved to Khaenri'ah instead of moving to the surface on Watatsumi island, as they wanted to continue living underground/in similar conditions.

And Orobaxi is spoken of in fond tongues.

A gentle snake, a being who listened to the people it protected, a thing of the deep earth, bathed in the Ley Lines, slithering in power. Orobaxi is held in reverent tones, as to the people of Khaenri'ah he was no high-and-mightly god, he was the defender of their neighboring underground nation, he was the snake of Enkanomiya, the serpent of the ocean's depths. He was no god of war, he was no creature of gales and blizzards, he was Orobaxi, the Serpent of Coral.

The Dendro Archon was one spoken of almost fondly.

After all, she was one of the Ley Line's beings, she wasn't a separate thing, her consciousness spanned the world, and it's entirely likely she communed with Khaenri'ahn sages through the roots of the Imurnsil.

She was the voice of gentle guidance. The Celestial assistance of the Trees. She kept out of Khaenri'ahn affairs, generally (not her nation, far from her business, but she liked Knowing), but she was referred to as more of a whisperer in the roots, a little skitter of curiosity.

Of course, those are all PRE-CATACLYSM.

Post-Cataclysm, Venti's image as a harsh wind of gales and blizzards and knives of air solidified with the Khaenri'ahn hatred of Celestia, Morax became the Warring Butcher of Stone, blood on his blade and no mercy in his eyes. In Orobaxi's death and the fall of Makoto during the Cataclysm, the Electro Archon became a figure of Khaenri'ahn victory, but also one of Khaenri'ahn loss. She's both a dead God, Dead at the hands of the Abyss (which is good or bad depending on what part of current day Khaenri'ah you ask), and a mourning one, one seen screaming in loss on the battlefield, a body cradled close to her chest. And the Dendro Archon became a disregarded myth. The whisperer in the Ley Lines became the whispers of the Abyss.

OH and also I have a strong theory that most of Khaenri'ahn mythos and history is passed on in pictographs and stories told by mouth so regionally they have different perceptions of the gods these are just the general ones :)

#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING. IM SO INSNAE RIGHT NOT #turtledove answers #genshin impact lore #genshin lore #genshin theories #genshin theory #genshin impact #khaenri'ah #khaenri'ah lore #AUGH THE INSANITY ABOUT IT IS SOOOO REALLLL

[dxrknessembr8ced]

' BRRRAAACCKKK! '

The battle against the monstrous soul beast that is, or was Hsien-Ko became absolutely intense even for Redfield. On this night the legend among the BSAA had finally met his match, and also his doom as the monster is getting closer, ready to finish off and kill the man with her bare hands. His body shook all while bleeding through his mask, he looked up staring at the monstrous metallic beast while aiming his sidearm at her face.

" Come on, come on-! "

Right there where she have him, the soul beast raised her fists into the air wanting to kill and crush the BSAA agent with her own bare hands, splattering his blood on the soil beneath him.

" P E R I S H ! "

She slammed both her fist into the man until she was stopped....

' KRRRSSHHH ! '

A slash of energy appeared, slashing across the lost soul beast'a face which sends the monster in a stage of immense rage as she turned around only to see the individual who has assaulted her is, shockingly, her own mother. Risen from the grave to save her youngest daughter being consumed by the darkness within her, freeing her of the lost soul beast taking control of her every being she knew this day was coming from beyond the grave.

" HSIEN-KO-! LEAVE HIM IT IS NOW BETWEEN YOU AND I! "

The lost soul beast shifts her focus toward her own mother, consumed by rage, the guilt and the thirst for blood the monster slammed her fist in the ground shouting at the top of her lungs, gold tears shedding down on her cheeks expressing how much pain she is in, how much she suffered from her own affliction and all this power given to her.

' KRRROOMMM!! '

" HSIEN-KO ISN'T HERE! "

" THERE IS ONLY ME, THERE IS ONLY ME, BLOOD AND DEATH! "

Her mother can feel her daughter's darken heart beating but her soul remains intact, which is impossible once a makai knight's armor time limit has reach its limit they changed into a lost soul beast, the longer the beast remain their soul and existence solely be consumed but not her, why? She thought, could it be that she takes control of the soul beast? That is possibly the case for she isn't truly a makai knight, but why let the darkness take hold? The are questions in need of answering but it's truly a miracle that there is still hope for the woman and she refuse to let this go on, to let their lives be ruined further.

" I know you're still in there, I know your soul and existence still remains intact! It isn't too late for you, you must not let darkness take hold of you, please ! "

" HSIEN-KO IS DEAD, THERE IS NO HOPE LEFT FOR ME. IF THE WORLD WANTED A MONSTER, SO BE IT! LET THE MONSTER RUN LOOSE, LET THE BEAST CONSUME WHAT IS LEFT! "

Mrs Shao gritted her teeth, looking up a bit as a tear shed down from her cheek like any mother, she refuse to listen to what she say. All the things she said about her being the monster everyone feared, the monster that killed her daughter, all of it is projection and a ploy to hide her pain. In order to break her free from such a monstrous form, she have to defeat her by force an act she will regret doing. She loved her daughters to death and it hurts her to fight her own child.

" Tch... "

Reaching out for both talismans from her sleeve, emitting a bright glow of mystic energy preparing herself for the worse that is the fight of her life, Hsien-Ko must be stopped no matter what she must ease her pain and shatter the lost soul beast away to release her from her never ending suffering.

" ���してください、私の大切な娘よ.... "

{ " Forgive me, my precious daughter... " }

{ To be Continued... }

#{ Musing: Hsien-Ko } #{ Musing: Chris Redfield } #{ Musing: Mrs Shao } #{ The EX-Dark Hunter } #{ The Boulder Puncher } #{ The Mother Of The Twins } #{ The Mother's Spirit Returns } #{ Shinning Light In Absolute Darkness }

[onceuponalegendbg-rwby]

RWBY Retrospective: The Four Color Trailers

-- The four color trailers started out as a proof of concept for an idea for a web series about four girls by the series creator, Monty Oum. The Red Trailer, which Oum animated by himself before bringing in others to help with the rest, was his pitch to the company, one that obviously worked out for him. This project in and of itself holds very little story relevance. There’s, of course, the little red hooded girl and her sniper scythe, the Grimm which will be revamped for the series proper, and the mysterious grave marker Little Red was visiting during her stroll through the snowy woods.

Even the song playing over it all gives us very little at first glance. We have the lyrics:

Red Like Roses fills my dreams,

And leads me to the place you rest,

White is cold and always yearning,

Burdened by a royal test,

Black the beast descends From Shadows,

Yellow beauty burns Gold

 In hindsight, this is hinting at our other leading ladies, giving us a glimpse of what they’re like before going into the full instrumental. The music, along with Monty’s amazingly kinetic action, becomes the real star of the show here.

-- The White Trailer does give us a little more to work with, opening with the quote “Everyone is entitled to their own sorrow, for the heart has no metrics or form of measure. And all of it… irreplaceable.” The quotes are something that will carry over to the rest of the trailers and they do a good job of setting the tone for each one.

We’re also treated to our first small taste of voice acting as the disembodied announcer introduces us to ‘Weiss Schnee’ who will be the focus of this trailer. From here we have a similar set up to the first time out. A lone girl fighting off a threat while Jeff Williams’ amazing composition and Casey Lee Williams’ lovely vocals lead us through. And once again the color scheme is predominantly made up of black, white, and a splash of red outside of Weiss’ use of “magic.”

This character is encased in imagery of mirrors and reflection, not only in their use of the song Mirror Mirror but also in how we transition from her performing on stage to her fight against the giant suit of armor. All of this comes together to create the cold loneliness hinted at in Red Like Roses.

-- Now we move on to the Black Trailer which I feel actually stands out the most among its peers, at least in terms of its presentation.

The first two trailers had a real fairytale feel to them. We had Red Riding Hood fighting a horde of Big Bad Wolves and Snow White using “magic” to best a towering knight in shining armor. The music was eerily beautiful and haunting. Here we’re treated to a heavy rock duet while our two leads slash through robots during what seems to be a train heist. This will also showcase the first of many of Jeff’s signature guitar solos to come.

Throughout this trailer our two leads show off their incredible synchronicity as they make their way through the train, alluding to a long, shared history between them. They’re partners. At least, that’s how it appears. As the sequence progresses, however, the feeling of Adam overshadowing Blake in her own trailer becomes more obvious. He’s the first voice we hear. He’s the one that gets in the first shot against the enemy. He saves Blake at one point. He is clearly giving the orders on this mission. He’s the one that gets to have the super ultra cool finishing move against the boss. The trailer properly opens with Blake set against the vibrant red tree line.

The quote that this trailer opens with is “Your hopes have become my burden. I will find my own liberation.” And at the very end, that’s exactly what Blake sets out to do as she literally and figuratively cuts ties with her partner. This is the moment that the trailer finally, finally becomes about her as her black silhouette stands out starkly against the pure red backdrop and she leaves Adam behind.

-- And with that, it’s time we talk about the fourth and final trailer, the Yellow Trailer. “Scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical, one sided and easily processed. Yet every misshapen spark’s unseen beauty is greater than its would be judgement.” This is the first thing we are shown in Yang’s trailer. This quote is asking its audience to not take everything they’re about to be shown at face value. It’s something that’s highlighted not even two minutes later when Junior of all people underestimates Yang as she enters the club.

Yang plays her part at first, strutting into the club and lowering Junior’s guard with some banter so that she can extract information out of him. What transpires from here is an all-out brawl, once again showing off some of Monty’s excellent choreography which at points does look like the combatants are dancing. In the end it all culminates in one final punch from Yang as, surprise, Little Red makes an appearance. It feels almost like a full circle moment, bringing together the first and last trailer.

Yang’s trailer has some interesting choices on display. Throughout most of it we hear remixes of Red Like Roses, Mirror Mirror, and From Shadows before we get into Yang’s own anthem I Burn. And it’s not even the actual version of the song but another remix. This does suit the club setting, but it still feels like a choice worth noting.

This trailer also significantly breaks away from the others’ black, white, and red color scheme. Those colors are still prominent in the trailer, but Yang’s golden mane is hard to ignore, as well as the brown and orange present in the rest of her design. This trailer also comes across as the most grounded, or at least as close to grounded as baseball bat rocket launchers and shotgun gauntlets can be. Instead of fairytales and sci-fi we have a girl beating down thugs in a night club.

-- The four trailers work well as a hook into the series for newcomers. They show off our four leads, provide some mystery, as well as present us with some excellent spectacle in the colors and action. While they aren’t entirely necessary for the viewing experience of the show, most would say they’re worth a watch as there are some callbacks.

Some General and Unfiltered Thoughts

I genuinely enjoy the trailers. Not only is it just fun to go back and compare where the show started to how it is now, but they are truly just a joy to watch. The music and action really are the highlights of these videos. Not surprising.

I was shocked that Blake’s trailer was the one I had the most to say about and the one I had a more thorough storyline I wanted to discuss because of the four trailers hers is admittedly my least favorite. Or at least it was when I first got into the show back in 2016. Meanwhile, I had the hardest time really getting my thoughts gathered about Yang’s trailer despite her being my favorite character in the show. Period.

There really is a lot of symbolism to work with when regarding the Black Trailer though so perhaps it isn’t that surprising.

All in all, while a little clunky in some areas this is the show’s starting point and it’s such a special and memorable one.

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #long post #I have no idea what I'm doing #hope this entertains someone though #thank you crwby #rwby positive #retrospective