Nani's WIP/Writing Blog

Hi I am mm_nani on AO3 - I have a bad tendency of accumulating 10 billion wips that i feel too shy to release to AO3 so I thought I'd share them here so they aren't lost everytime I move fandoms!

[mm-nani-fics]

[FirstKhao, JoongKhao (background); Take Me Home; NC-17]

Summary: Khaotung runs into his ex at a work party

Note: I wrote this fic 2 weeks after my breakup because I'm a pathetic loser. This is NOT the place for shipping discourse because that is not what this is about at all. Note2: RATINGS HAVE CHANGED!!!!!! Also there is infidelity.

Khaotung always reaches a point in the evening where it gets to be a bit much. There was a time that Joong didn’t really get that, he’d get really worried that Khaotung was not enjoying himself then get fussy about it, always trying to help or cheer him up, or declare they need to leave. But really, Khaotung could be having the best time of his life and well, sometimes he still just needed a breath to himself.

Joong gets that now, and he can’t help the little bloom of fondness in his chest when Joong takes one look at his face, kisses him on the cheek and lets go of his arm. Joong continues the conversation they were in, drawing all attention towards him so Khaotung could make his escape. He makes his way to one of the balconies attached to the ballroom, the smallest one at the very corner, one that’s unlikely to be used.

He walks in and snorts a laugh, there’s a figure there leaning on the balcony and looking out into the gardens. 

He can really only see the figure from the back, but it’s a figure he would recognize anywhere; from just a silhouette, from the cut of his suit and the breadth of his back, the way he cocks his hips or taps his foot. It’s a body he knows well, one his eyes have secretly followed all night just out of habit, stray curiosity borne out of the convenience of being at the same party.

Of course, of course First is here, exactly where Khaotung was trying to run away from him, exactly, always in Khaotung’s path, as though there is only one place where Khaotung can run towards–

They’re at this party together, on this balcony, perhaps, even by chance. Khaotung closes the door behind him.The click gets First’s attention who turns around and cocks one eyebrow - and then - he smiles.

Khaotung releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; flooding with relief. Things between them were never bad, even at the end there was a lot of love but it ended and First had, First had been incredibly sad - Khaotung doesn’t know how he could ever deal with First’s hatred.

First turns back around to look at the view and a lump forms in Khaotung’s throat anew as he approaches him. Khaotung forgot that he doesn’t know what First’s smiles mean anymore, hadn’t for a long time. He keeps a polite distance between them when he joins First at the railing, it’s thick, made of stone, Khaotung leans forward on his elbows just like First.

“I should have guessed I’d find you here,” Khaotung says.

First looks at him softly and says, “You taught me that it was okay,” and Khaotung wishes he could stop First from looking at him, from desperately wanting First’s eyes on him, “To take a minute for myself.” First finishes.

“Oh, then. I guess I should find a different hiding place then.”

“No. it’s okay.’ First says, flashes him a toothy grin and for a second Khaotung is terrified that it will be First who walks out of the balcony, making some excuse about how he’s fine now and Khaotung should use the privacy to decompress, “You’re not in the way.” He finishes.

Khaotung wants to know if First means it in the way that it is for him. That Khaotung can’t conceive a single hiding place in the world for himself where First isn’t also invited. He wants to ask, is aching to know the answer whether they’re the same, whether they’re still on the same page and his throat burns from the memory of the time where he never needed to think about what was okay to say to First.

Khaotung pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket, flips it open so First can see inside. First leans over to take a peek and giggles when he sees it contains Khaotung’s home rolled joints.

“Really, ‘Tung? You want to light up here?” He says, still smiling, wrapping the ‘Tung’ in his mouth with the exasperated fondness that grounds Khaotung; tells him that everything is alright, that ‘Tung’ is more than just sadness or disappointment for First. Khaotung shrugs with a playful expression, “Like you’re not going to join me.”

First makes a sputtering noise in his throat, like he still somehow has space to be surprised at Khaotung’s audacity as Khaotung puts a joint between his lips and pulls his lighter out.

“What if someone walks in on us?” First says, turning nervously back towards the door. First truly always was the entirety of his impulse control. Khaotung manages to light it up after a few shaky clicks of his lighter, the heat around his fingers a sharp contrast to the cool breeze of the night. He takes a long puff of it, attributes the way his hand shakes when he holds it out to First, to the lightheadedness caused by the smoke.

“I locked the door.”

First’s expression when he takes the joint from him is unreadable, their fingers tangling just so for the briefest of seconds.

~

Sandwiched between the noise and chatter of the party from behind the doors of the balcony and the silence of the crickets in the night ahead of them, Khaotung wishes to stay here forever in this in-between place where First giggles next to him, shoulder to shoulder, uninhibitedly.

He’s teetering on the edge, has been flirting with letting all inhibitions go - First is explaining something funny that happened on set or some such other place - and Khaotung just wants to press his face into First’s arm, a place to rest the heat on his cheeks. First’s hand comes around to brush the hair off Khaotung’s forehead, pressing his fingers against his temples before he’s really thought it through and Khaotung is emboldened to inch closer still, slide his cheeks up the slope of First’s shoulder until his nose is right up in against the crook of his neck, brushing every so slightly against his bare skin, enough to fill Khaotung’s head with a madness that pushes everything out of focus.

“Tung’, why did you lock the door?” First sounds aloof, distant but Khaotung can feel how tense he is, they’re so close that First can’t hide anymore. 

And neither can Khaotung.

Khaotung crashes into his lips, an awkward press into his teeth before First has had time to fully move into the kiss. But oh- when First finally pulls him in, clutching desperately at his waist as he gives in to Khaotung, opens his mouth - Khaotung feels his whole world spin, consequences melting away around him. Their tongues tangle and Khaotung chases that taste with a hunger that is his only reality; a yearning that is his only destination.

First’s back hits the wall and Khaotung can finally press into him, rabid; a creature that only knows to chase and move against the heat of First’s hands desperately scrabbling at his shirt, so he can untuck it and slide his hands up Khaotung’s back, lighting a fire against his skin, cooling and easing the cloying feeling in his chest.

[mm-nani-fics]

Direct continuation below the cut. Entire thing is just sex so no preview:

First holds him so tight, it feels like his fingers will pierce right through him. Khaotung pours and pours and pours more of himself, softens so First can finally rip him apart.

But it’s not enough.

He pushes their hips together, shudders into their kiss when their erections press together and prays that it makes First just as helpless as Khaotung feels. First grabs his belt, turns them around, even as he’s unbuckling it. Relief washes through him when First finally gets his hand around him.

There’s an ugly tortured expression on First’s face, even as he stares at Khaotung transfixed, existing only in the movement of his hips against the rhythm of First’s hand. Khaotung pulls him in for a kiss, feeling annoyed, that’s not-that’s not how First is supposed to look at him. First is supposed to, he’s supposed to–

First pulls back from their kiss with a dirty smack, at the same time that he retracts his hands. But before Khaotung can implode from disappointment, First has spun him around, face pressed against the wall and First plastered behind, he doesn’t know what’s happening until First slides into him, smooth and easy, like he’d never left.

“Oh” First whispers, half-amused half reverant, into his ear when Khaotung lets out a broken moan. Khaotung can barely hear him as he continues, “No need to look so shocked. I remember how you like it.” He can only feel First’s breath against his skin, reduced to the goosebumps it raises across his nape and jaw and all he wants is for that heat to engulf him whole. First angles Khaotung’s face back to kiss him, as he sets a punishing pace.

First knows- he knows and now Khaotung does too, that there’s no hope for Khaotung to stay silent, when it’s First coring him through like that. The sounds slip out of him from the gaping wound in his chest, straight into the waiting heat of First’s mouth.

“Fir-” He tries to get out, fingers scrabbling against the wall. It’s good, it’s so good that Khaotung is close already. But he’s not ready-he’s not ready for it to be over. And as though First is privy to his every errant thought, First suddenly stops and Khaotung makes a sound like a wounded animal in response, already panicked. But First doesn’t leave, he’s pressed so close to him that he feels that they’re standing as one; Khaotung invisible from behind when he’s sandwiched like this between First and the wall, First still nestled inside.

“You need this, right?” And Khaotung doesn’t even know that he should think about what it says about him when he nods so eagerly, without hesitation, without a second to lose. 

He needs this; of every waking moment of every day, he needs First next to him. 

“Then take it.”

Khaotung doesn’t need anymore permission to move back against him, also an expert in the way that First likes it, slow and tight, milking every semblance of common sense out of him. 

He doesn’t know if First is trying to hold back, reduced to breathy sighs into his ear, his forehead falling onto Khaotung’s shoulder as he guides Khaotung against him with a possessive hand splayed across his hips.

But he does know when First has had just about enough, a long low whine in his ear, followed by First manhandling him again, out of his pants pooling at his feet, then against the wall facing him this time. First lifts him up fully this time, hooking his hands beneath Khaotung’s knees to support hi, but more importantly to hold him open as he fucks back into him. 

They come like that, rutting artlessly against the wall, an open secret in the night breeze. First holds him for a long time, as does Khaotung, clutching at First’s shoulder and holding him close, pressing little kisses into his cheek even after First has gently let him go. First helps him stand on shaky knees, giving into his little kisses, even as he produces a handkerchief from his pockets to tenderly wipe Khaotung’s skin. They put themselves together lovingly, Khaotung running his hands across First’s slim hips in wonder as he helps him button up.

Khaotung’s phone rings a shock into the night, First goes stiff against him as Khaotung scrabbles to grab his discarded pants so he can rifle through the pockets for his phone. Khaotung cuts the call.

“Fir–”

“Your phone is not on silent?”

First suddenly asks and Khaotung wants to cry because everytime, everytime they are together anymore, First ends up with that unhappy little downturn of his mouth.

“Fir I never meant to–”

Suddenly Khaotung’s phone lights up in his hands and it’s First calling him this time. It doesn’t make a sound, not even a buzz, giving First the confirmation that he needed. First is staring fiercely down at his own phone like he can’t believe he fell into Khaotung’s web again, then runs a hand through his own hair indignantly. When Khaotung’s phone starts ringing loudly into the night again, First laughs, a cruel little sound.

“Your boyfriend is looking for you, Khaotung. You should go to him.”

First doesn’t turn around again as he strides to the door, unlocks it then saunters out.

[kevin-the-bruyne]

Nani!! Why are you always edging joong? Please give him a happy ending or make him a part of throuple fic please.

Absolutely SCALPED anon. I've been releasing my WIPs because I didn't want them to die a dark death in my google docs. Not a single joongkhao. And there's SO MANY WIPS. All my joongkhao is in fact just firstkhao with extra steps HAAHAHAHAHA

Anyway, freshly written just for you:

[Joongkhao; Mature; Central Park Date]

Summary: Joong and Khaotung go on an early morning run in Central Park.

“P’Khaotung~~” Joong whines behind him, “how much longer must we be on this “run” without actually running?”

Khaotung ignores him, instead his attention caught on a bird that just landed on the most magnificent tree. The moment fills him with a little jolt of pleasant surprise. He grabs his phone - regrets not bringing his camera - to take a few photos. 

They’re blurrier than he’d like, but there’s one of the moment the bird takes flight, barely more than a red smudge. But Khaotung likes it, it’s dynamic, alive almost. When he’s paying attention again Joong is taking photos of him.

“Oi~~I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Your fans can thank me later.” Joong says pouting. Khaotung snorts, “You know you could have just run on your own and come back.” His heart pounds a little, still unused to the prospect of getting to do this in public. He takes Joong’s hand, “I’d still be here, waiting for you.”

It has the desired effect of flustering Joong, who squeezes his hand sheepishly and says, “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Oh? Then you are.”

Joong looks back at him perplexed, like he’s not sure if Khaotung is serious. He shifts closer to Khaotung and lowers his voice, but his thumb rubs against the palm of his hand suggestively, “Not like this. It’s 7am. I thought you weren’t a morning person?”

“Not in Thailand it isn’t,” Khaotung says, then takes their joined hands and pulls Joong along with him, “But I do have a little surprise for you.” They walk for a long while without Joong really knowing where they are going. He seems satisfied with the fact that they seem to be moving instead of staring at wild blueberries for fifteen minutes, more so with the fact that they’ve held hands the whole time. 

They finally come to a stop and it’s a particularly lush part of the park, with generous bushes and trees, “Well?” Joong says when Khaotung doesn’t elaborate.

“According to the internet, this used to be and still is a popular gay cruising spot.”

“Phi-I don’t think I can do a foursome this early, I really just want to hold–”

Khaotung clicks his tongue, “Just shut up.” He says and then they’re being pulled into what Joong can only describe as an otherworldly alcove, with towering bushes around them. Khaotung throws him a mischievous little grin before pushing him against the nearest tree and getting down on his knees. 

Khaotung would want to have sex within the immense interconnectedness of the queer struggle surrounding them. What Joong didn’t know until the moment that Khaotung wrapped his lips around him was that, apparently, so did he. It feels incredible, being able to do this, outside with his boyfriend where so many stories of love have unfolded. Khaotung’s mouth is a heavenly heat, moving around him, well versed in the way to pleasure him. 

Khaotung loves the uninhibited way that Joong grabs at him, fingers threading through his hair, gripping tight, hips moving as  though against his will, threatening to choke Khaotung. Khaotung takes a deep breath then moves down as far he can go; swallows.

Joong’s mouth goes slack around a shuddering quiet moan as he comes down his throat, looking thoroughly fucked and even more thoroughly embarassed at how fast he had come. 

“Fuck,” Khaotung says, panting, streaks of come and sweat painting his lips and mouth, “That was hot.” Followed by a cheery, “My turn.”

[mm-nani-fics]

[FirstKhao, JoongKhao (background); Take Me Home; NC-17]

Summary: Khaotung runs into his ex at a work party

Note: I wrote this fic 2 weeks after my breakup because I'm a pathetic loser. This is NOT the place for shipping discourse because that is not what this is about at all. Note2: RATINGS HAVE CHANGED!!!!!! Also there is infidelity.

Khaotung always reaches a point in the evening where it gets to be a bit much. There was a time that Joong didn’t really get that, he’d get really worried that Khaotung was not enjoying himself then get fussy about it, always trying to help or cheer him up, or declare they need to leave. But really, Khaotung could be having the best time of his life and well, sometimes he still just needed a breath to himself.

Joong gets that now, and he can’t help the little bloom of fondness in his chest when Joong takes one look at his face, kisses him on the cheek and lets go of his arm. Joong continues the conversation they were in, drawing all attention towards him so Khaotung could make his escape. He makes his way to one of the balconies attached to the ballroom, the smallest one at the very corner, one that’s unlikely to be used.

He walks in and snorts a laugh, there’s a figure there leaning on the balcony and looking out into the gardens. 

He can really only see the figure from the back, but it’s a figure he would recognize anywhere; from just a silhouette, from the cut of his suit and the breadth of his back, the way he cocks his hips or taps his foot. It’s a body he knows well, one his eyes have secretly followed all night just out of habit, stray curiosity borne out of the convenience of being at the same party.

Of course, of course First is here, exactly where Khaotung was trying to run away from him, exactly, always in Khaotung’s path, as though there is only one place where Khaotung can run towards–

They’re at this party together, on this balcony, perhaps, even by chance. Khaotung closes the door behind him.The click gets First’s attention who turns around and cocks one eyebrow - and then - he smiles.

Khaotung releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; flooding with relief. Things between them were never bad, even at the end there was a lot of love but it ended and First had, First had been incredibly sad - Khaotung doesn’t know how he could ever deal with First’s hatred.

First turns back around to look at the view and a lump forms in Khaotung’s throat anew as he approaches him. Khaotung forgot that he doesn’t know what First’s smiles mean anymore, hadn’t for a long time. He keeps a polite distance between them when he joins First at the railing, it’s thick, made of stone, Khaotung leans forward on his elbows just like First.

“I should have guessed I’d find you here,” Khaotung says.

First looks at him softly and says, “You taught me that it was okay,” and Khaotung wishes he could stop First from looking at him, from desperately wanting First’s eyes on him, “To take a minute for myself.” First finishes.

“Oh, then. I guess I should find a different hiding place then.”

“No. it’s okay.’ First says, flashes him a toothy grin and for a second Khaotung is terrified that it will be First who walks out of the balcony, making some excuse about how he’s fine now and Khaotung should use the privacy to decompress, “You’re not in the way.” He finishes.

Khaotung wants to know if First means it in the way that it is for him. That Khaotung can’t conceive a single hiding place in the world for himself where First isn’t also invited. He wants to ask, is aching to know the answer whether they’re the same, whether they’re still on the same page and his throat burns from the memory of the time where he never needed to think about what was okay to say to First.

Khaotung pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket, flips it open so First can see inside. First leans over to take a peek and giggles when he sees it contains Khaotung’s home rolled joints.

“Really, ‘Tung? You want to light up here?” He says, still smiling, wrapping the ‘Tung’ in his mouth with the exasperated fondness that grounds Khaotung; tells him that everything is alright, that ‘Tung’ is more than just sadness or disappointment for First. Khaotung shrugs with a playful expression, “Like you’re not going to join me.”

First makes a sputtering noise in his throat, like he still somehow has space to be surprised at Khaotung’s audacity as Khaotung puts a joint between his lips and pulls his lighter out.

“What if someone walks in on us?” First says, turning nervously back towards the door. First truly always was the entirety of his impulse control. Khaotung manages to light it up after a few shaky clicks of his lighter, the heat around his fingers a sharp contrast to the cool breeze of the night. He takes a long puff of it, attributes the way his hand shakes when he holds it out to First, to the lightheadedness caused by the smoke.

“I locked the door.”

First’s expression when he takes the joint from him is unreadable, their fingers tangling just so for the briefest of seconds.

~

Sandwiched between the noise and chatter of the party from behind the doors of the balcony and the silence of the crickets in the night ahead of them, Khaotung wishes to stay here forever in this in-between place where First giggles next to him, shoulder to shoulder, uninhibitedly.

He’s teetering on the edge, has been flirting with letting all inhibitions go - First is explaining something funny that happened on set or some such other place - and Khaotung just wants to press his face into First’s arm, a place to rest the heat on his cheeks. First’s hand comes around to brush the hair off Khaotung’s forehead, pressing his fingers against his temples before he’s really thought it through and Khaotung is emboldened to inch closer still, slide his cheeks up the slope of First’s shoulder until his nose is right up in against the crook of his neck, brushing every so slightly against his bare skin, enough to fill Khaotung’s head with a madness that pushes everything out of focus.

“Tung’, why did you lock the door?” First sounds aloof, distant but Khaotung can feel how tense he is, they’re so close that First can’t hide anymore. 

And neither can Khaotung.

Khaotung crashes into his lips, an awkward press into his teeth before First has had time to fully move into the kiss. But oh- when First finally pulls him in, clutching desperately at his waist as he gives in to Khaotung, opens his mouth - Khaotung feels his whole world spin, consequences melting away around him. Their tongues tangle and Khaotung chases that taste with a hunger that is his only reality; a yearning that is his only destination.

First’s back hits the wall and Khaotung can finally press into him, rabid; a creature that only knows to chase and move against the heat of First’s hands desperately scrabbling at his shirt, so he can untuck it and slide his hands up Khaotung’s back, lighting a fire against his skin, cooling and easing the cloying feeling in his chest.

[mm-nani-fics]

[AlanGaipa; Untitled; PG]

Summary: Gaipa finds Alan's driver's license

‘Alan.’ Gaipa turns the driver’s license he picked up from the floor, it must have fallen from Alan’s wallet at some point, ‘Alan!’ He calls again when Alan doesn’t answer. 

Alan peeks out from his bedroom, ‘What?’

‘Alan, are you younger than me?’

Alan looks confused for a second before noticing the driver’s license in Gaipa’s hand. He smirks when he realizes, ‘Yes, you didn’t know?’

Gaipa shakes his head still looking at Alan’s birth year in disbelief.

‘But I call you Phi all the time.’ Alan says, taking the driver’s license from Gaipa and wrapping his arms around Gaipa’s waist. Alan who has seen Gaipa’s insurance claim has been aware of Gaipa’s age the whole time.

‘Not all the time! And only when we’re alone. Usually in-’ Gaipa stops suddenly, a blush forming on his cheeks, ‘I thought you do it to seduce me.’

‘I do.’ Alan confirms matter of factly. He starts peppering Gaipa’s neck with little kisses when he notices the indignant look on his face, ‘but it’s also true, P’Gai-pah’ Alan whispers it into Gaipa’s ears and takes a little nip of his heated earlobes.

‘Alan!’ Gaipa says in a warning tone but it only makes Alan chuckle lightly, ‘Yes, Phi?’ Gaipa nearly melts in Alan’s hands, the way Alan knows he would, the way he always does. But now, somehow knowing Alan was his Nong for real, sets Gaipa ablaze with something fierce.

‘Tell Nong Alan what you want him to do, Phi?’ Gaipa whimpers from the honeyed innocence in Alan’s voice, ‘How do you want Nong to show his gratitude?’

[kevin-the-bruyne]

they’re brothers but bison is an only child they’re brothers but fadel has no family to mourn him they’re brothers but they’re alone; afraid of being left behind or forgotten fadel digging his own grave and wondering if bison would cry for him now that he’s met kant bison hesitating to leave fadel behind without finding him a partner first what a bitter forced love made sweet with the hard earned victories of survival the abject horror of only having each other becoming the twisted romance of at least we have each other no one will eat my brain quite as much as fadel and bison I live in this moment forever

[impala124]

They are brothers but Fadel kept a boyfriend, with whom he was ready to leave everything behind, on the downlow for two years so fucking well that Bison thought Fadel's never been in love before.

[kevin-the-bruyne]

sure??? thank you for making me think of that 😭 my man sure made choices

[Bison(&Fadel); G]

Summary: Mother fails to intervene in Fadel's first romance. Bison receives a letter.

It’s not like Bison misses classes or anything but he does have to admit that there is a sore lack of things to do since he’s graduated. Jobs are boring; at least when he studies he learns something new, has something to think about. Waiting tables at Fadel’s restaurant feels akin to torture. Fadel never wants to play together anymore either - not that he’s ever played much - but at least he used to talk to Bison during training; even if it was just to instruct him. 

Bison considers simply speaking out loud; it’s not like his chances of getting a reply from Fadel is that much higher when he is around. He still-it’s still embarrassing somehow. He fiddles on his phone for a bit. Besides, Fadel has to come back eventually, they have a job scheduled in a month that they have to start casing soon or else Fadel will never stop stressing about being underprepared.

He calls Fadel, it cuts immediately to a lady politely telling him the number is no longer available. It should concern him, but Fadel stays out a lot, often comes back with suspicious looking bruises. Maybe he’ll follow him next time, if Fadel is playing vigilante out at night then Bison wants in. That’s right, Fadel dropping his phone makes a lot more sense than any actual danger. Fadel is Fadel, the best marksman that Thailand has to offer.

He closes the restaurant early, doesn’t care what Fadel has to say about it, it’s not like he didn’t call. Besides it’s not like he can do much besides serving beer and plating up the banchan Fadel prepares fresh every morning. He picks up the pitcher of tea, now stale, to empty it when an envelope underneath catches his eye. He places the pitcher back on the counter.

He doesn’t see it coming.

The paper is nice, heavy, the kind you’d have to go to a specialty store for. It says Bison on it. That’s enough to know who it’s from, there’s only one person who ever has anything to say to Bison. Even when it is just harsh, irritable words that make Bison’s head white with rage. There’s only one person who would ever have reason to write him a letter–

Fadel distracted during practice; Bison nearly getting his leg hooked behind Fadel’s knee to throw him down. Fadel steps out of it at the last second but Bison still teases him for it. They joke, hit the showers, Fadel awkwardly consoles keen as the oldest and its all back to normal again. Filed away somewhere with Fadel’s missed shot from last week. 

It’s light gray now that he has it in his hands under the spotlight, not white like he’d originally thought. The ink is nice too, shiny and smooth, not like the terrible ball pens they use at the resturant to take order

Fadel distracted on his phone, with no comments to offer on Bison’s terrible customer service even though he gave the same table the wrong order twice. He’d noticed he’d grabbed the wrong plate before putting it down on the table but something pushed him to go through with it, let the customers face light up with suppressed anger as she reminded him she’d asked for the sauce on the side. But Fadel had chewed him out later when they’d received a bad review and everything felt good again. 

Small mercies, receiving thoughts and words; instead of scribbles on the back of a guest check pad. The words as though already inside his head as he sees them, numb:

“Bison, we won’t see each other again…"

[mm-nani-fics]

[THK Island Polycule; R]

Summary: Style and Bison hatch a plan. A very sexy one.

Kant is hardly surprised when Bison jumps into his arms the second they make it inside, pulling him into a kiss, mouths open and tongues tangled. Bison has been horny all night, making some risque choices during dinner in terms of his hand placement, fingers curling into Kant’s inner thigh at every opportunity, getting little pecks from Kant here and there between bites of food and conversation. If anything, the real surprise was how Fadel hadn’t snapped at them the way he usually does when Bison gets carried away with his PDA.

They hit some type of wall, there’s a loud clatter as Bison’s elbow crashes against a lamp, the shock of the sound swiftly bringing the mood to somewhere more serious. They blink at each other for a bit and all at once start laughing, Bison pulls him in like that, stealing the laughter from his lips in small, sweet pecks as they both sober up from their fits.

“Are you trying to get caught?” Kant manages to say between kisses and giggles, only just catching his breath before Bison’s answer sends him into another peal of laughter, “Please, they’re talking a walk on the beach,” Bison adds a little suggestive wiggle of his brows when he says the word ‘walk’, “Just you wait, we’ll end up catching them.” Bison is all smiles and crescent eyes, his joy turned to full volume as he pulls Kant back in. 

They tumble through a door, Bison insistently trying to push Kant’s shirt off his shoulders, while also trying to unzip his own pants. He helps lift Bison so he’s now perched on a table, feels up a nice handful of Bison’s pert bum as he does so. Bison pulls him between his legs, his touches growing desperate and kisses desperate. Just as he’s sure he’s going to fuck Bison right on this random table the door suddenly bursts open and there’s a loud scramble.

Kant startles, immediately detaching himself from Bison to look behind him at the commotion.

“Shit,” Style says, “Don’t let us interrupt.” Fadel is behind him, looking exceptionally grouchy, but the effect is lost a little from the way his hair is ruffled and the flush on his cheeks. Bison’s arms wrap around his waist as he slithers back into Kant’s arms, “You don’t have to be.” He responds.

Kant doesn’t know what’s happening, but somehow that makes Style, tugging on a baffled Fadel, actually enter the room instead of leaving it. He’s suddenly bereft of Bison again, now watching his boyfriend softly pad up to his best friend. Bison stops in front of Style, from where he’s standing he can only see the back of Bison’s head. But he knows what Bison looks like in this moment, knows from the way that Style is staring at him; all fuck me eyes and parted, panting lips. Then he watches Bison bring one hand up to slowly curl into the hairs on Style’s temple and - well - Kant’s one solace is that he’s caught up to their schemes slightly quicker than Fadel.

“Bison.” Fadel’s voice rings out in a warning, one Kant knows that Bison is adept at ignoring. Bison’s hand trails down to rub at the redness at the tips of Style’s ear, before he threads his fingers into Style's hair in earnest. When Fadel marches forward, it’s Style that stops him, with a hand against his chest, “Just-give it a chance first?” 

Kant is surprised to find Fadel sharply turn the intensity of his gaze towards him, he raises his eyebrows and shakes his head a little to gesture that this is all Style and Bison’s genius. He’s not sure he should be flirting with Fadel but he does take his shirt off, already hanging limply off one arm thanks to Bison and places it gently on the table, which he only now realizes is Fadel’s from the immaculately stacked books and well used calendar that he and Bison have thrown askew with their previous enthusiasm.

They’re in Style and Fadel’s room, how had he missed that?

Note: As always redirect all anon hate to @kattyangel this exists because they're sending me to horny jail on discord LOL

[janployshompoos]

Why penguins? It’s just cute. I saw a documentary on them. They’re adorable but can be pretty vicious. Sounds like you.

THE HEART KILLERS | EP8

[mm-nani-fics]

I've been supremely struggling to finish anything and then I realized oh boy oh boy did I make a Tumblr sideblog for just such an occasion! First and Khaotung have truly got me by the throat!! Here's a little kantbison drabble about their kiss on the beachfront:

[Kantbison; PG]

You’re not fooling me again, are you? 

The way Bison crumbles strikes through his heart. He’s never thought of his ruse like that; as holding a power that could fell the most dangerous man he has ever met. The whole time, it felt like the power was anywhere but in his own hands, tied together in a noose around his own neck. 

But here he is, wrists stinging from escaping the ropes binding him and the man who put them there curling in on himself, too afraid to jump into the open arms aching from wanting him there. 

No, I’m not.

Bison cries harder. And Kant in this moment, truly can’t fathom the choices he’s made to get here. Bison was right, Kant did love him, so how could he fool him? How could he have ignored the way it stung thinking of Bison being in trouble, thinking of Bison suffering; and then avoiding altogether the way his ears thundered and brain shut down when those things were to be caused by him.

How could the ravaged feeling of seeing Bison fight for his life on that hospital bed, feel like a familiar fear and still catch him so completely by surprise?

There are answers Kant doesn’t have for himself, the way he’d ignored the shifting weight of his own desire, but here, now surrounded by the cacophony of the sea and the wind beating around them, the beating of his heart has never been clearer. 

He pulls Bison in, stripped of power and deceit, naked for the first time and drinks in the sweet and gentle taste taste of his lips, a taste he’d drink poison for he decides; he knows now. 

[mm-nani-fics]

[ZNN+Joss pre-3some; WIP is PG]

Note: this was written several years ago when Joss did a special appearance at a DMD concert.

It’s not the lights in his apartment that alarm him. New had already texted that he was on his way with dinner. It has become a common occurrence by now, New bringing over homemade meals cooked by his family because Zee lived alone and had a packed schedule. In fact, it happens often enough that Zee has shown him where the spare key is hidden. 

It’s not even that there are voices that carry over into the hallway as Zee fumbles with the lock on his door. New knows how to make himself comfortable in his home.

It’s because he knows that voice. He knows both those voices, but New’s isn’t surprising. No, it’s the other one, a low and deep sound that vibrates slowly through the air, it sounds like-

‘What are you doing here?’ Zee asks upon entering his living room, dropping his bag onto the floor with a dull thud. 

Joss is there reclining on the couch, his hands casually flung over the back with New next to him. Joss looks devastatingly handsome with the effortless windswept way his hair is styled - that Zee knows takes a lot of effort - and the simple white tee that shows off how his biceps bulge. Joss smiles his wide-toothed smile that makes him look like a big goof and renders anyone at the receiving end defenseless - New’s eyes are certainly sparkling - but it prickles at the back of Zee’s neck, ‘Yo~~Not even a hello for your friend?’

Zee relaxes his stance a little, shoulders dropping. He feels guilty about having all but abandoned his friends. He knows they feel his absence, often having to tag him directly in the chat to get his attention. They’re nice about it. Of course they are since they get it with so many of them in the same profession. But there has been a healthy amount of Zee roasting in the group chat. Joss though, he could never quite be sure about. Zee doesn’t think they’ve talked much since Joss decided to move on. He assumed Joss would get how Zee always has to work, is always traveling and how even when he isn’t, there’s always-

New is beaming at him, ‘Welcome home, Hia, I let P’Joss in.’ He is sitting much too close to Joss for comfort. If he leaned back Joss’ arm would fall across his shoulders. The easy smile on Joss’s face makes him think that Joss is waiting for that, for New to let down his defenses . Zee can tell Joss likes New, and that text about how he wants to work with New was one of the few exchanges they’ve had in the past months. This memory suddenly fills him with doubt, is it really a coincidence that Joss happens to be here the same night as New?

‘Yeah, Phi,’ Joss says sitting up straight, the arm on the back of the couch has now alarmingly disappeared somewhere behind New. ‘Nong New let me in.’ Zee rolls his eyes at the suggestive tone. But at least now he’s sure that he was right. Joss has that look on his face, like he’s up to something and it's never anything good.

‘You should have told me you were coming.’ Zee says and plops down onto the armchair opposite the sofa. He thinks it’s quite gracious of him not to have said ‘get out’. There’s still time he thinks, as Joss leans in just a little bit towards New. There’s still time to kick him out.

Joss scrunches up his face in confusion, it makes him look irritatingly cute, ‘I thought Max texted you this morning.’ 

‘You’re my surprise?’ Zee asks, remembering how Max had indeed sent him a cryptic text. Zee had seen it before he’d had a chance to drink coffee and then promptly forgot about it.

‘Not quite.’ Joss answers, he turns to smile at New - Zee doesn’t love how New’s smile broadens in response -  before turning back to look at Zee, ‘But I have it with me.’

‘Okay then,’ Zee shoots his arm out, palm facing upward, ‘Give it to me.’ He might be rushing and he doesn’t really dissect the urgency he’s feeling. He just knows that he needs to get this over with soon. Joss' nose twitches like he’s suppressing a smile, ‘Hold on,’ he says, taking Zee’s hand and closing it into a fist, ‘Nong New brought us dinner.’

‘Nong New brought me dinner.’ Zee corrects but New, having grown up with excellent manners , interjects immediately, ‘ah~it’s okay Hia! There’s enough for everyone.’ Zee loves New, more than he should, more than he was meant to but sometimes he feels exasperated at how naive he can be. New doesn’t know Joss, because if he knew him he’d notice how Joss was looking at him like he’d rather eat New than dinner.

‘Nuna, help me set the table.’ It comes out more commanding than he had meant but it gets New up to his feet and away from Joss. ‘I want to help!’ Joss says, making to follow, but Zee stops him with a hand on his shoulder and the sweetest smile he can manage. It still feels like a grimace, if Joss’s amused smile is anything to go by it probably looks like one too, ‘Please remain seated, how can I make a guest work?’

Zee lets him go when Joss leans back against the couch once more. He waits until Zee is nearly in the kitchen before saying loud enough for New to hear, ‘and Nong New isn’t a guest?’

Zee grabs the nearest pillow and throws it at his face.

*

They find themselves in the living room after dinner. Or rather, Zee finds himself still unable to rid his house of unwanted pests while New scrolls through movie titles on Netflix, ‘ah, at least tell me what type of movie you guys want to watch.’ He finally says, lips pursed into a pout.

Said unwanted pest has once more weaseled himself onto the couch with New, leaving Zee to sulk on the armchair. At New’s words Joss - needlessly - draws closer to give him suggestions. Zee throws one leg over the armrest and leans back so he can keep an eye on Joss from his periphery. 

Joss was insufferably handsy with New during dinner. But, just like now, it was all very G-rated. But Zee can tell that there is intent behind every brush on the shoulder or light tap to New’s hand, the way Joss was trying to keep New’s attention all to himself. 

Even now with something so simple as picking a movie, Zee is alarmingly bothered at New’s closeness with Joss. He sorely wishes that there was a camera in his face and a staff member beaming at him to create a sweet moment with New so he could pull New’s chair closer towards him and away from Joss, object at their closeness without coming off as a psycho.\

‘Hia? Is action okay?’ New’s question brings him out of his thoughts.

‘Huh? Yeah-yes whatever you want.’ Zee says, face instantly losing all signs of tension, voice soft. Joss raises an eyebrow at him and Zee furrows his own in return.

‘Aow,’ New whines unhappily, looking between them, ‘this is too much pressure.’

‘Nong New.’ Joss says with the most annoying drawl Zee has ever heard from him - did he always sound like this? - and reaches for the remote in New’s hand, ‘if you can’t decide on a movie, would you like to continue hearing embarrassing stories about Zee’s early days?’

New’s delight at the offer is palpable as he grins widely at Joss, nodding enthusiastically. The way New’s eyes sparkle as he looks at Joss, makes Zee tighten his. He’s looked at Joss like that all evening, easily duped into Joss’ charm. But Joss has treacherous intent. Zee knows this, Zee knows him, knows what he’s like, knows that he can’t be given the responsibility of holding New’s heart.

He doesn’t want to interfere, doesn’t want to try to control New. New should have the experiences he wants and if he wants Joss, then…

Still it wouldn’t hurt to warn him later. In fact, that’s the right thing to do. He would do that for any of his friends, warn them if their potential love interest was sketchy. Joss was a great friend but Zee wouldn’t wish Joss as a boyfriend on his worst enemy. Much less New, his-his-person. He’s been given the responsibility of looking after New from his parents after all, he owes it to them to warn New.

Zee is suddenly aware that New is looking at him, his eyes are only slightly widened with surprise but he seems to be measuring him with intent. Zee tunes back into the conversation in time for Joss to say, ‘But getting hammered and working the pole wasn’t even the wildest thing he’d done that night.’

New turns back to look at Joss, mouth open in a little ‘o’.

Joss leans in as he says this, his fingers sliding along the couch, stopping mere inches from New’s thigh, ‘‘Nong New, do you want to know what we did when we returned to the hotel?’

‘Joss.’ Zee warns, voice low and measured. But New is rapt in attention, he leans in too until the tips of Josh’s fingers brush against his thigh.

‘What? Are you embarrassed, Phi? If you don’t want to hear it then should I whisper it in Nong’s ear?’ Joss smirks at Zee, and New - that beautiful naive idiot - actually inclines his head towards Joss. Zee’s face tightens even more and Joss looks straight as he answers, ‘we watched porn together and jerked each other off.’

New lets out the breath he was holding, surprise crossing his face for a split second before he looks between the two of them, ‘oh! Then you two-’

‘No! It’s not like you think.’ Zee says as soon as he recognizes the look of suspicion on New’s face, ‘No-not anymore. It was a long time ago,’ he adds, unable to keep anything from New. New nods, still looking a little unconvinced. Zee wants to reassure him again, smooth away the frown between his eyes.

‘Say, Nong New, aren't you curious? Aren’t you curious about what kind of porn Zee gets off to?’

Death glares are no longer enough, Joss ignores them anyhow, he needs to drag Joss out the door by his coll-

‘I’m curious.’ New’s voice cuts across his rage. New is looking down at his toes, wiggling them a little, cheeks flushed. 

‘See, Phi? He’s curious.’ Joss says, voice filled with mirth as he leaves New’s side to grab his bag. Zee instinctively wants to fill that space, rush to New’s side. But for the first time, Zee doesn’t know what to say to him, how to comfort him or even how to hold him. Zee can see that he’s tense and is hoping for a glimpse of his face, any sign that it’s okay for Zee to touch him. 

But New doesn’t raise his head the entire time that Joss is fiddling with the TV.

‘What? Do you just know how to work my TV?’ Joss smiles at Zee’s words as he connects his laptop to Zee’s TV but doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him. Zee is getting pretty sick of being ignored in his own home.

‘Done. You have alcohol, Phi?’ Zee glares at him and Joss smiles back sheepishly, ‘helps cut through the awkwardness.’

‘New, can you please grab us a few beers from the fridge,’ Zee asks, as he’s staring Joss down. As soon as New’s back disappears into the kitchen. Zee is up, grabs Joss by the front of his shirt, ‘what are you playing at asshole?’

‘Who says I’m playing at anything.’

Zee’s fingers tighten in Joss’s shirt until his knuckles turn white, ‘you can’t take him home. He’s not allowed.’

‘Oh?’ Joss says, raising his eyebrows, a shit eating grin on his face. Zee doesn’t know how he manages to not punch him. He lets go before he changes his mind, putting some distance between them, ‘by his parents. He’s not allowed to stay out overnight.’

‘Unless it’s here?’ Zee’s eyes shoot up to Joss’s face, an open challenge, ‘yes.’ He says without remorse and doesn’t back down when Joss approaches him. He doesn’t know what he expected from Joss, but it’s not the gentle way that Joss takes his hand that is balled into a fist at his side. He coaxes it open so he can lace their fingers together, ‘Zee, I’m your friend.’ He says and it's soft, almost pleading and suddenly Zee feels chastised, ‘Trust me?’ He asks and Zee measures him closely for one more moment before he relaxes, nodding.

New clears his throat, three beer bottles pressed to his chest, the condensation soaking through his shirt. Zee lets go of Joss’s hand, flinging it away quickly. New is looking at him like that again, like he’s unsure of who he’s looking at. Zee hates that expression, hates that it feels like he’s done something wrong, hates how it implies that New doesn’t know who Zee is. 

He can’t help but resent Joss in this moment, even as he raises the bottle Joss hands him in cheers and chugs it. 

‘Woah,’ Joss says, ‘rough day, Phi?’ Zee just sighs and sits back down on the armchair, he’s accepted that this is his designated seat for the night. What would be the point in stealing Joss’s seat next to New anyhow? Joss would have just squeezed into the couch with them. And then where would he be? With New pressed to Joss’ side while watching porn.

‘I need to be drunk if I’m going to participate in a circle jerk at the age of twenty-nine.’

‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Phi.’ Even as he says this, Joss comes to him and takes his hand, pulling him up to guide him to the couch, ‘Come,’ he says gently, ‘Sit closer to us.’

*

‘It’s very romantic,’ New comments. It’s been twenty minutes and the two men on screen were still kissing and grinding by the pool in some ridiculously posh looking townhouse. Zee ended up on the floor, back pressed to the couch, where New and Joss sat on either side of him. He could feel them pressing against his shoulders 

‘Are you surprised? It’s Zee.’

‘No.’ New responds without pause. If Zee would dare to look at his face, he’d find it etched with fondness.

[mm-nani-fics]

[ZNN Drabble Dump; G]

Shooting Star:

New never really knows what to wish upon a shooting star, feels foolish almost when his mother points one out enthusiastically, closing her eyes and outlining her wish with her lips. He always ends up asking for something generic like, ‘I hope everyone stays healthy’ or ‘I wish to be happy,’ and feels content at the wonderful life he lives. And even though New might not know exactly what to wish upon a shooting star – sometimes when he looks at Zee making silly faces next to him, he thinks he knows what it’s like for his wishes to come true.

Home:

Zee has always had a very strong sense of home. The place he grew up in and the people he grew up with. He knows its home because facetiming his mom and watching her bicker with his sister feels something akin to putting a mirror up to his heart. Home is within when it’s another night long drive cramped in a van to a location shoot and he thinks of his dad tucking him into bed with a bedtime story. Cooking and board games, arguments over the TV remote, the soft feeling of New’s hair against his jaw when he tucks his face into Zee’s chest.

Hug:

New is often asked how they encourage each other. The answer is easy, he feels it every time his body rests against Zee, and every worry he has ever had melts away from the dark crevices of his body, how he feels that light as warmth that relaxes his muscles, how the sound of Zee’s heartbeat steady against him is the rhythm to which he calibrates racing heart. The answer is simple: ‘We hug each other.’

[kevin-the-bruyne]

the boxers and the picture of half-naked first and oddly sensual shots of khaotung, joong really had one goal and somehow he pulled off initiating a ambiguously erotic trip on a boat

receiving not one but TWO asks about FK fucking Joong on that boat while writing a fic about FK fucking Joong on that boat as a fill to this ask is the kind of clown on clown violence i live for.

10/10 experience no notes you have no idea how ecstatic i am that this is my brand

Don't worry anon Joong and Khaotung would never leave First out.

My tumblr post from ask #2 Twitter post from ask #3

[JoongFirstKhao; R]

“P’Fir.” 

There’s a tiny whine from the door, followed by an insistent hand wrapping around his naked waist. First is trying really hard not to roll his eyes that Joong is acting like he can’t go without First for the five minutes it would take for him to change the shirt that Khaotung spilled beer all over.

“Let me help you na, P’Fir.” Joong says one cheek against his shoulder, looking up at him with puppy eyes. First is immune from overexposure to Joong’s mentor’s puppy eyes, but he does pull the shirt off quickly and efficiently reaches for the sleep shirt he can see inside his bag. Joong stops him from putting it on. First opens his mouth to complain about mixed signals but then Joong has a towel pressed to his chest, “You’re all sticky from the beer. It’ll stain the new shirt too.”

First knows he’s being seduced and finds the sincere way that Joong wipes at his chest to be an amusing, though highly effective, choice. The door to the little cabin opens and there’s a heavy voiced, “Fir, where are you?” followed by quiet shuffling and an even quieter little, “Joong?” Khaotung attaches himself as a small weight to First’s back. This time First does roll his eyes and shares a silent chuckle with Joong when Khaotung’s muffled voice, well past tipsy, sounds into his back, “Where did you guys go? I missed you so much.” 

First is nice enough to not point out how the minute hand on the wall clock has moved exactly three ticks between the giant five and ten on the clock’s face since he first walked into the room. Not that it matters with the way Khaotung is palming his crotch. Joong waits for First to acknowledge that it’s happening before he sits on the bed and puts his put to First’s sticky skin. 

First is rather used to this by now, stuck between Khaotung and Joong, beholden to their mercy. Khaotung’s hands move up to rub his belly and Joong kisses the trail of Khaotung’s hands. Khaotung eventually pauses so he can slide a hand up Joong’s jaw, caressing gently and First thinks the way that Joong immediately nuzzles into it is so adorable.

Khaotung is right, he really is such a good boy. Joong keeps following the trail Khaotung’s hand makes on First’s body, nibbling on his nipples to mimic the sharp scratch of Khaotung’s fingers across his sensitive him. Khaotung holds him more firmly from behind, as First’s knees buckle a little when Joong and Khaotung both slip a hand into his boxers. 

They start kissing over First’s shoulders, and he wonders if its rude to interrupt them to demand they do something a little more substantial than tease his heated skin and gently play with his balls inside his pants. First pushes his own waistband down to give them a little encouragement to get the show going and Joong doesn’t miss a beat in moving from Khaotung’s lips to First’s while he helps him take his pants off. 

Khaotung too seems to have decided that this is about First after all and kisses his neck as he follows, moving together when Joong lounges back on the bed, gently pulling First on top. First hears the thud of his bag hit the floor, along with the suspicious clattering of its spilling contents. But Joong prevents him from looking with a hand on his jaw, while, no doubt, Khaotung is busy stashing the mess under the bed and away from First’s eyes.

One thing about First is that he will stop an orgy to clean up. No one wants to do it afterwards.

Joong wraps his legs around First’s waist quickly, licks up into his mouth. The delicious friction of their hard-ons rubbing together and the slide of their lips sending little sparks down First’s spine is enough to distract him from the dread of chores.

The bed isn’t big enough for all three of them, there’s a bump on the back of Joong’s head from their afternoon attempt to prove it but Khaotung always has a plan, pulling First up to sit between his legs, back to chest. First’s heated skin hits against the soft cotton of Khaotung’s shirt and First feels this clawing ache at being deprived from feeling the heat of Khaotung’s skin directly. 

Joong settles between their legs, lasciviously rubbing First’s naked thigh and First has one moment of clarity to realize hat Joong is fully clothed too before Joong wraps his lips around First’s cock. Khaotung holds him, drinks the moans from his mouth while his fingers press lightly but possessively into his porcelain throat. Joong knows his way around a dick, but more importantly he knows his way around First’s dick, licking insistently down the zigzag of a vein before sucking at the slit of his tip until First is ready to explode.

Khaotung, intimately familiar with the sounds of First’s impending orgasm, grips at his balls a little too tight to be entirely pleasurable but brings First back from the edge long enough for Joong to deepthroat him. First comes from the shock of Joong’s throat squeezing at the head of his penis. Joong retracts swiftly at the salty taste bursting on his tongue, catching the last droplets with his chin and lips. 

First’s spent dick makes a valiant attempt at springing back to life when Joong’s face, momentarily dazed from First’s orgasm splattered across it, suddenly breaks out into a self satisfied grin. He closes his eyes when he realizes that Joong is hovering over his shoulder so Khaotung can lick his face clean. 

First is done, he thinks. If they wanted him to be on dick sucking duty they wouldn’t have insisted on doing this here where there’s only enough space for his limbs to unfurl about 70% of the way. As if to prove his point, Joong steps off the bed and there’s a yelp as he trips and falls, First’s deo rolling comically slow until it comes to a stop next to him.

“Oops.” Khaotung says from behind him.

[mm-nani-fics]

Fic milestone! 100 bookmarks for whispered secrets 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[kevin-the-bruyne]

Guess what besties I just posted the Sandray Relationship Timeline from my Sandray (Not) Divorce Fic "Can You Blow My Mind" along with two brand new scenes

Have fun <3

[kevin-the-bruyne]

the more I marinate at ur page, the more this fadelbison mpreg fic you speak of, sounds appeasing. Do it.

man fadel and bison are such doomed yaoi to me lol sorry that it can only ever be pain. this is a really dead doves fic even though its mild on the explicit sexual content. but i needed the flimsiest of excuses to write it fadel is such a poor little meow meow

[FadelBison; R; read tags please]

Title: Strangers Summary: Mother promises him family, Fadel does his best. Tags: Omegaverse, Coerced Living Situation, Kidnapped orphan to assassin pipeline relevant angst, kissing and groping, Sad Ending, references to past underage coerced sex, some discussions suggesting Bison might be underage here but he isn't.

-------

Fadel hadn’t meant to click his tongue when he opened the door, but the tiny shivering boy on the other side of it took him by surprise. He’d pointed towards the couch, before grabbing his suitcase to take to his room. 

Well their room, now.

The boy is sitting on the couch as instructed, a biscuit clutched in his hand, taken from the platter that Fadel had set out earlier. Good, at least something is going according to plan. He knows he isn’t the warmest person so he’d read up on ways to make people feel welcome. 

It’s not like either of them have much of a say in what comes next.

He takes the seat next to the boy on the couch, doesn’t bother asking him how old he is. The answer is always too young. He looks older at least than Fadel had been, losing his first time trapped underneath an abhorrent man, who didn’t seem to really believe in lube, even though Fadel was an alpha. That was the last time he’d begged, the last time he’d trusted a partner could get him out in time. 

The answer is always it doesn’t matter. 

Fadel tells him about the neighborhood because that’s what seems appropriate; he imagines this boy - Bison - would need to wash his clothes and buy groceries at some point.

Fadel’s mood sours the more he looks at Bison. Painfully pretty, with wide innocent looking eyes. He bites his lip every time he nods his head at something Fadel says, those captivating eyes looking at him searchingly, for guidance. He knows the type of missions they’ll be going on. The ones that Mother says he’s too surly for anymore, but he knows is code for too old.

Mother had said it was meant to be a treat. That it was a gift, to be given a steady partner, a companion. 

Someone for him to groom.

He could have him, Mother had said, but make it believable- 

Bison stops him from leaving the couch. With hands clasped tightly around Fadel’s wrist, he leans in. Clumsy, but soft, somehow still searching as he presses their lips together.

Fadel doesn’t want to own a pet anymore than he wants to be one.

-make it real.

Fadel pulls Bison to him and Bison is all too amenable to be manhandled, climbing onto Fadel’s lap with ease, bringing their faces close, but not closing the gap again, handing the reins back to Fadel while he sways enticingly near, hips grinding in miniscule increments on his thigh, perfumed to enhance his sweet, natural smell. Of course Bison knows, of course Bison has been briefed. Mother never sends her precious recruits unprepared.

There are fates worse than being your wife.

Mother has said many things to him over the years. Fadel has learned not to believe all of it.

We can use a family, people trust families.

Or rather he’s learned to find the motive behind flowery, honeyed words. Learned to see the truth of the things he has to do.

Bison curls his fingers into the little hairs on Fadel’s nape, another little reminder that he’s ready, that he’s waiting. Fadel pulls him in with hands on Bison’s hips, Bison loses his balance and falls into him, their chests brushing. Bison shivers when Fadel runs his hands up his back, underneath his shirt, that thrilled but scared look latching onto somewhere deep, somewhere carnal where he no longer holds any control.

But Fadel knows the body can learn to lie, and can rebel against your mind–

Fadel keeps rubbing Bison’s body, hands sliding over his ass, gentle in the way he can’t seem to make his face; Bison still looks at him a little stricken. When Fadel’s hands sneak into his pants devastatingly, unsurprisingly he finds Bison completely dry.

–can make you think you want things you’ve never wanted.

“I just need a little more warm up.” Bison says, rubbing their cheeks together. He hazards a soft kiss on Fadel’s cheeks, “Touch me more,” he says with a proper roll of his hips. 

Fadel doesn’t have answers but he can do as Bison asks, he can kiss him, hold him. Bison is so, so pliant; so willing and still so dry. Fadel is hard and straining against his jeans, an embarrassment, proof of his corrupted desire; proof of the exact kind of trap that Mother never thinks to warn her sons about.

Fadel doesn’t know how to say that he wants this, wants Bison; but he doesn’t know him, he doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know how to explain that he’s made it so long in this profession and still when Mother had said partner and companion, stupidly Fadel had thought that Bison would come to love him.

He hadn’t thought the logistics through at all, of what love would entail, of what it always entails; carving out pieces of himself and giving them away.

Family.

Fadel loves his fantasy.

“We could be brothers.” Fadel says, pushing Bison away. It’s grotesque almost, Bison’s lips still shining with his spit, “Brothers?” Bison says and rolls his eyes, and for the first time the mask of innocence falls, just a little. Bison brings his much paler hands to contrast against Fadel's cheek, “Who’d believe that?”

Just not at the cost of what it would make him.

Fadel pushes Bison off him, scrambles off the couch, “It’s fine. It’s believable. Let me talk to Mother.”

He can't love Bison, anymore than Bison can love him. He doesn't even know where he could even begin to try.

They're strangers. tagging @kattyangel because you said you would read it.

[kevin-the-bruyne]

If you wrote FadeBison, I would read the hell out of it.

elliiieeeeeee!!!!! thank you! this is another ask that only made me worse and I had to prepare a little gift to express my gratitude.

I don't even know why FadelBison got me in a chokehold like this. It's not like I endgame ship them. I just need Fadel to haunt Bison's every narrative. Kind of like this:

[KantBison; R]

Bison looks so good like this - well Bison, unfortunately, always looks good. But the way he looks in Kant’s arms naked, sated after a bout of their lovemaking is definitely a cut above the rest; a delicious sheen of sweat, apple red cheeks, hair mussed with the streaks of Kant’s fingers running through them.  Except, he isn’t naked, not entirely. Kant feels the pearls, still somehow cold, when he curls his fingers into the nape of Bison’s neck.

Bison is melting into his arms, following the path that Kant’s other hand makes on his body, down his sides and gently massaging his sore hips; still a livewire of sensation in his afterglow. Kant kisses his neck, trails down his pulse at the hollow of his throat and finds himself deterred by the smiling little charm, mocking him on his thwarted quest.

Kant tests the waters, picks at the necklace absently before taking the clasp between two fingers. Bison’s hand shoots out, no longer sluggish and teasing, firmly stopping Kant. He has one eyebrow raised at him, wary.

“I just want to kiss your neck.” Kant says, curiosity piqued.

“Best of luck.” Bison responds, though he’s now sporting a small smile. He still pushes Kant’s hands away from his neck. Kant pull him in with a fingers under his jaw instead, indulging in all the things that Bison allows him to do. And there’s so many things he gets to do; like knead on the globes of his ass or play with his nipples as they kiss. And yet–

“Something special?” Kant asks, picking at the necklace again.

“No.” Bison is quick to answer, though he has his eyes cracked open now, watching Kant instead of drifting to sleep, “It’s cheap but I’ve had it for a long time.” He clarifies, in a tone that feels very much like Kant should stop asking.

“So…special then?” Kant says laughing a little, trying to keep the mood light. He pushes Bison onto his back to expose his neck better then starts kissing deliberately, reverently over the necklace.

Kant doesn’t know if it’s because of what he’s doing now, or if it’s because they’ve been cuddling and kissing for a while now but Bison is beginning to get hard against Kant’s thigh, barely able to hold back his moans.

“From someone special?” He continues, as he teases Bison’s hole again, just to test that it’s still sufficiently wet for him. He sheathes himself and slides in, “You like me fucking you in it?” He says. Bison only moans brokenly in return. He brings a hand up to Kant’s shoulder. 

For a split second Kant thinks that Bison will push him away. Eventually, the tense lines of his body relaxes, and he simply swings his legs more firmly around Kant’s back, Kant holding his thigh open to make the angle easier. 

They come like that; bodies pressed together in an artless rhythm, the imperfect imprint of Kant’s lips over the pearls on Bison’s heart.

[kevin-the-bruyne]

nani you have a fic about piercings but have you thought about cck piercings.. think of the real estate available

taking notes, thinking, learning etc from your big brained takes. on ao3 because it crossed 1k LMAO. i hope you like it!

Title: nailed Pairing: KantBison Rating: Explicit Summary: Kant and Bison's first time if Kant had a Prince Albert.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[kevin-the-bruyne]

theres no way first didn’t get a boner while filming those things… i dont even hava a dick but i got a boner

anon did you see the post where i said write something unhinged about fk and i might write fic? anyway here you go, unsolicited fic:

First is fine, of course he is. 

This is his third series writhing against Khaotung in front of a live crowd, and he’d died of mortification several times already, right now he’s just trying to breathe and get through it all. So he’s doing well, he thinks, all things considered. Just him and the blank white ceiling.

“No, the lamp throws the balance of the shot off and it hides all of Khaotung’s waist.”

And Khaotung, that traitor chimes in, “You can’t block out my waist! I shed blood for this.” To his credit he does sound genuinely anxious and First knows how hard he’s actually worked. But First is also genuinely anxious about how he is crotch up, tenting on a bed surrounded by no less than five crew members who are frantically trying to handle this situation. So far they’ve tried the covers, sweats, coffee mug on random table and apparently the latest, lamp, was also swiftly rejected. The compromise between artistic expression and First’s boner apparently eludes them still.

One would think that several people perplexed over his dick, would drive his boner right down but Khaotung, that traitorous beast, hadn’t separated from First. Instead, he lay with his head contentedly cradled on his shoulder, the heat of Khaotung’s thigh draped across First’s, sears his skin. And so, here First continues to lay, best friend tucked into his side, dick rock solid and leaving very little to the imagination in his white boxers. Light and dark color coding is fine until the outline of the veins running along his cock start showing up on HD film.

Just as he thinks Jojo is ready to just give up on the wide shot altogether, Khaotung, that absolute criminal, suddenly hums. “What if I just?” He mumbles to himself and then slithers down a little until his soft cheek is pressed against his chest, Khaotung’s warm breath steadily blowing over his nipple - dear god.

And apparently that wasn’t even the worst of it because the very next second - yep, that’s Khaotung arm pressing into his hard-on, shielding it from the camera. Jojo nearly screams, yelling out a generous amount of praises for Khaotung while First’s insides slowly dissolve into goo.

“Relax.” Khaotung, that incorrigible demon, says, “You know I take it as a compliment.” Yeah, so. First is just fine.