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scriveyner · 2 years ago

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chase forever down 2/31

It took almost a full week for the bruise to fade on its own, which in normal circumstances would have allowed Atsushi all sorts of time to sort through everything that had happened. Of course, he had to turn up to work on Monday only to find out that Dazai had fucked off to parts unknown again, attempt to track him down, get shot at by a bounty (?) hunter (??) who apparently wanted Atsushi’s pelt (???) for some goddamn unknowable reason; and then Dazai had the straight nerve to show back up to work on Friday all perky like Atsushi hadn’t been put through the wringer this week by him, specifically.

Continue on AO3 or:

“I think, perhaps, it would be best if you laid low for a few days, Atsushi,” Kunikida said as he stood by his desk, glancing over Atsushi’s report. His other hand currently had all his weight on it, pinning Dazai’s head to the desk. “Although the bounty hunter is in custody now, and we’ve cleared everything with the government, these things have a way of escalating out of nowhere.”

“Lay low?” Atsushi repeated, because he never thought he could be considered to have a high profile in the first place, pictures of him in the paper notwithstanding.

“He means don’t tear up the streets causing a scene and fighting anyone in particular,” Dazai sang, face smooshed.

Well, laying low would give him time to do a little research in peace, although as far as he could tell there wasn’t any sort of handbook for the situation he was in. To be fair, he hadn’t checked the library to see if “So Your Mortal Enemy/Occasional Partner is a Secret Vampire” had a waiting list.

Anyway, he was fairly certain that vampires weren’t real in the first place, but that made the fact that Akutagawa-goddamn-Ryuunosuke sucked a hickey into his neck even more bizarre.

Atsushi was tempted to ask Dazai about vampires, but still remembered the absolute roasting he got about Godzilla, and kept his mouth shut.

Hey, he’d been in a giant flying whale and been witness to a member of the Port Mafia clocking an entire ability dragon full-on in the face with a skyscraper; a giant radioactive lizard popping up out of the ocean seemed like a fairly ordinary Thursday.

He’d also jerked off in front of Akutagawa-The-Possible-Vampire, and why the fuck did that just pop into his brain out of nowhere. Atsushi adjusted his courier bag, focused gamely on a cold shower, and started on his way home.

It was brilliantly sunny, the sky that perfect shade of blue with the occasional thin cloud on the horizon. It was the sort of afternoon that chased away all thoughts of despair and darkness, and it lifted his mood immensely. He decided to stop by the local shop and get some fresh vegetables, make a nice big meal, and maybe catch up on some of that sleep he’d been missing after the chaos of the past week. No more thoughts about the weirdness in his life, or the fact that thinking about Akutagawa’s eyes made him hornier than shit.

God dammit, he did it again.

Atsushi sighed, added alone time in the bathroom before Kyouka got home to the mental checklist, and headed to the grocer.

=====

Atsushi was deciding between two packages of meat when he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye that drew his attention. He glanced over to see a Rashomon head pluck a similar package out of the cooler beside him and withdraw back. Atsushi followed the Rashomon tendril to its origin, staring at Akutagawa dressed in his usual civilian clothes, dark shades and all, as he walked right past Atsushi without acknowledging him once, shopping basket in hand.

His stomach did a little flip and he snarled mentally at certain body parts to fucking behave as he left his basket on the floor and hurried after Akutagawa. “Hey!”

Akutagawa paused and glanced back over his shoulder at Atsushi, eyes shadowed completely by the glasses. “You,” Atsushi jabbed his finger at Akutagawa. “You’re a vampire!”

There was a long, long pause.

Atsushi became increasingly aware that they were in the middle of a crowded supermarket, and other customers were giving them both a significant side-eye as they passed. Akutagawa turned fully around, staring down Atsushi all the while.

“You’re an idiot,” Akutagawa said and turned to leave.

Honestly, Atsushi had expected this reveal to be a little more melodramatic than it was. It was the middle of the day, they were now outside the supermarket that was several blocks away from his place of work, and he had been the exact opposite of geared up for this confrontation.

He’d been buying dinner, for god’s sake.

Akutagawa stood in the shadow of the building, leaned back against the alley wall and arms folded as he watched Atsushi pace in front of him. He’d been remarkably accommodating in allowing Atsushi to drag him out of the building, he’d fully expected a fight, but Akutagawa simply loudly expressed his opinion of Atsushi’s mental prowess to anyone in shouting distance.

So, Akutagawa in daylight. This was already a point against the Vampire Theory, as it was still broad fucking daylight—lurking in the shadows of the building notwithstanding, as Akutagawa was a lurker by nature—and he had yet to even sizzle, never mind burst into flames.

Atsushi rubbed the spot on his neck where the mostly faded bruise still sat. “You’re a vampire,” he reiterated, with less dramatic flair, and once again Akutagawa made a noise of derision, staring at Atsushi over the rims of the dark, not-quite-sunglasses he usually wore in a small attempt to mask his identity.

A point for the “Definitely a Vampire” column, those mysterious dark glasses. He only wore them during the day, too, that Atsushi had seen…protection against the sunlight? But he was out in the sun. And he’d seen Akutagawa in daylight many, many times, all without the benefit of the dark glasses. Well. Point still sitting in the Vampire column, pending approval.

“Idiot,” Akutagawa sniffed. “Remind me why I’m entertaining your nonsense again today?”

“You are a vampire,” Atsushi insisted again, stopping in his tracks, arms folded. “You attacked me out of the blue! Don’t laugh. And you bit me.”

“Do you actually believe vampires are real, weretiger? You pulled me from my errands to make me listen to you ramble like a madman about fiction.”

“I’m not rambling!”

Akutagawa arched a brow, and Atsushi turned on his heel to pace again. “You bit me and sucked my blood!”

“Are you certain you didn’t just hit your head?”

“I have a bruise!”

Akutagawa appeared unimpressed, as Atsushi turned and yanked his collar down, displaying the now-faded, yellowish splotch on his neck. “I have no interest in your sexual conquests as such, weretiger. Are we through?”

“No, we are not through. Explain to me why your eyes turned red, and why you bit me, if you’re not a vampire.”

Akutagawa tilted his head. Looking over his glasses at Atsushi, Atsushi could see his eyes glimmering slightly in the shadows, that same reddish hue. Then Akutagawa said in that same tone that had haunted his dreams for the past week, “we are through here.”

Atsushi stared at him in response, and Akutagawa pushed his glasses back up his nose, straightening as if preparing to leave. “And where do you think you’re going?” Atsushi asked, angrily, and Akutagawa paused, a clear look of confusion crossing his features. “Did you not hear me? We aren’t done.”

The weird, vocal modulation in Akutagawa’s voice sent a frisson of electricity down Atsushi’s spine, pulling something tight in his gut again, but he suppressed the shiver. Akutagawa stared at him strangely, and said, “we’re done.”

“And that,” Atsushi waved his hand at Akutagawa. “That weird voice thing. That’s a vampire thing too, isn’t it? Some kind of,” he wobbled his hand slightly, “Jedi mind trick type thing? I can tell what you’re doing now, so it doesn’t work. And you are,” holy shit, Akutagawa really was, he wasn’t making this up in his head, “a vampire!”

Akutagawa was flat-out staring at him now, like he was a puzzle that Akutagawa couldn’t solve. “Why doesn’t it work on you?”

Atsushi took two large steps back, suddenly struck by the fact that Akutagawa was a goddamn real vampire and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now, because they were out in daylight and vampires were supposed to catch on fire.

Well, at least this meant he didn’t have to worry about pulling his punches going forward.

Akutagawa seemed to realize what his reaction meant all at once. “I am not—” he began, a snarl in his voice, but Atsushi’s voice overrode his.

“I can’t believe you’re a goddamn shit-sucking vampire.” He’d made it to the other wall of the alley, his back flush to the brick, and was eying his exit route. “How long has this been going on? Does anyone else know? Have you killed anyone? Okay, that was a stupid question, but have you killed anyone as a vampire—?”

“SHUT UP,” Akutagawa roared, his voice crackling with energy.

Atsushi winced at the volume but was otherwise undeterred. “I will not—!”

Well, he still moved faster than Rashomon.

Atsushi bounced off the side of the building, kicking the Rashomon tendril away. Akutagawa seemed to move faster than his own ability again, catching Atsushi by the shoulder in mid-air and turning him, landing on top of him hard enough that the concrete beneath them cracked. Atsushi hurled him off, twisting, and Rashomon caught up, wrapping around his leg before he could properly defend and then they were both airborne, Atsushi winged around like a fish on a line and was unable to gain any real purchase.

He dangled by his ankle, five stories up, while Akutagawa stood crouched on the concrete lip that ringed the building just below the roof. “If I were a vampire, idiot weretiger, do you really think I would be wandering around in broad daylight?”

Oh, he better not be able to read minds, too. Atsushi bent double, trying to get at the single tendril of Rashomon around his ankle with his claws. “Maybe if you didn’t try to mess with my mind!”

The tendril shook him violently enough that he lost progress and hung for a second, head spinning. “You keep coming to the most ridiculous conclusions.”

“I wouldn’t have to come to ridiculous conclusions if you didn’t fucking lie to me!”

Akutagawa hauled him up enough so that they were eye to eye, although Atsushi was well out of swiping range for the moment. “When have I lied to you?”

Atsushi stared at him, then pointed with one tiger claw. “You. Are. A. VAMPIRE.”

He doubled up and got both his hands around the Rashomon tendril, shredding the ability in his claws. Before Atsushi could even begin to consider how he was going to handle the five-story drop, several more Rashomon tendrils shot out at him and Atsushi swung around, caught on a broad one with the pad of his foot, and used it to launch himself at Akutagawa.

Akutagawa stood up to face him, eyes a brilliant, glowing red behind his glasses. “STOP,” he roared, and Atsushi felt the word vibrate in his muscles and bone but didn’t even hesitate, spring-boarding off a Rashomon tendril and catching Akutagawa by the front of his dark coat, flipping them both up over and onto the roof properly.

Akutagawa landed on his feed, sliding on the rough pitch, and Atsushi landed in a crouch with bared teeth. “I’m going to bite you, see how much you like it!”

They stared at each other, chests heaving in near unison, the unearthly red glow finally starting to fade from Akutagawa’s eyes. “No, really, why the fuck doesn’t that work on you, anymore?”

“Your weird voice thing?” Atsushi swiped the back of his hand over his cheek, smearing the blood from where Rashomon just nicked him coming up over the edge of the roof. Akutagawa’s expression froze, eyes locked on Atsushi’s face, and Atsushi pointed at him, victorious. “Ha! Vampire!”

Akutagawa tilted his head back and stared at the sky for a second, while dragging his hand down his face, and then he finally gave up. “Fine,” he said, sounding thoroughly harassed.

Atsushi rose from his crouch, giving Akutagawa a wary look. “Fine?”

“You win, weretiger. I am a vampire. Are you happy?”

Atsushi blinked at him, not expecting capitulation in any form. “Uh.”

“No one was meant to know. Especially not you.” Akutagawa stalked forward, eyes glimmering like they were going to change colors but stayed that nebulous shade of gray. Atsushi took a step back and realized suddenly he had nowhere else to go when the back of his leg hit the edge of the roof and he stopped dead, eyes wide.

“What’s the matter?” Akutagawa asked, stopping just in front of him. “Now you’re scared of me?”

“I’m not scared of you,” Atsushi said because he wasn’t, but his body seemed to think otherwise. Akutagawa’s hand darted out, catching his chin, and turned Atsushi’s head.

“Since you’re in the know, now,” he breathed and licked the blood from Atsushi’s cheek.

Atsushi froze in place. Akutagawa’s tongue felt like lightning, warm and sharp, and he gulped air, limbs trembling. Just like that, he was hard. No, no no no no no, he thought desperately, as Akutagawa swiped his thumb over the area of the cut, but by now the flesh had already sealed over the wound.

“I hate how fucking good you taste,” Akutagawa rumbled, face still too close. “It’s not normal.”

There was something about his voice now that was resonating to Atsushi’s core. It didn’t sound any different than normal, and it certainly wasn’t that weird tone he had been trying on him earlier, but Atsushi’s breath went short and his head went fuzzy.

The corner of Akutagawa’s mouth turned up into a smirk. “Ah. There it is.”

Atsushi swallowed hard and shook his head free of Akutagawa’s hand, and Akutagawa drew back. He pushed the palm of his hand over his cheek but it came away dry, and he looked back at Akutagawa, who was now, once again, at a safe distance. “Is that it?”

The question seemed to perplex Akutagawa. “What?”

“So, you’re a vampire and you’re going to, what, lick my cheek? What the fuck did you do to me?” Atsushi shifted his stance angrily, resisting the urge to shove his hands down his pants this time. “Don’t start what you can’t fucking finish.” He tilted his jaw back and bared his throat challengingly, and Akutagawa’s eyes glimmered again.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he said, softly, and Atsushi spread his hands.

“How many people have you killed like this?”

The question seemed to amuse him. Rashomon rippled across his shoulders, a faint red glimmer in the sunlight, and Akutagawa tilted his head, looking at Atsushi again through his dark shades. “Fear not, weretiger. I have kept true to our accords. Yours is the only blood I intend to spill…if I feel often enough, I never have to take a life.”

Akutagawa on him, teeth bared under the moonlight flitted through Atsushi’s mind unbidden. “And what happens if you don’t feed often enough?”

The look on Akutagawa’s face told him enough, and he jerked his chin again. “Fine. Don’t feed on anyone else. Don’t harm anyone else. You have me, you want to spill my blood? You can have it.”

Akutagawa looked away, hand clenched over his mouth and breathing hard. “What’s the matter?” Atsushi challenged. “I thought you said my blood tasted good—?”

He wasn’t fast enough to see Akutagawa move, but there was suddenly a hand on his shoulder and the other on his face, tilting his head away as Akutagawa’s fangs sank into his neck, atop the previous, yellowed bruise. Atsushi gasped and staggered, but Akutagawa caught him as he collapsed, lowering him far gentler, sitting him back against the concrete lip that bordered the edge of the roof.

Akutagawa’s mouth was still on his skin, and he shifted, knee pressed between Atsushi’s spread legs. There was no way he couldn’t feel how hard Atsushi was, or the wet spot that was beginning to appear on the front of his pants and Atsushi panted, everything gone in a haze of pleasure. He was so warm, and light-headed, and when Akutagawa finally, finally lifted his mouth his breath felt like fire on Atsushi’s skin.

“You’ll be mine,” he breathed, tongue brushing over the torn flesh, Atsushi’s skin knitting whole, “and only mine?”

“Oh, fuck,” Atsushi whimpered, so hard he could think of nothing but touch. Akutagawa rumbled and pressed his knee into Atsushi’s crotch, watching him choke. Then he seemed to take pity on him, shifting enough that he was kneeling between Atsushi’s spread legs, fingers pulling at the waist of his trousers. Atsushi gazed at him blearily, and Akutagawa slipped his hand down the front of Atsushi’s pants.

Oh. Oh, Akutagawa’s hand was on his cock right now.

Atsushi’s head went back, eyes unfocused as Akutagawa palmed his trapped erection, fingers curling around his girth. He rubbed his thumb over its leaking head but made no effort to free him from his pants to bother with stroking him properly. “Just a little taste,” he murmured. “Don’t want to reward you too handsomely for being a stubborn little shit, weretiger.”

Panting aloud, Atsushi clung to his coat, held tilted back, and came anyway.

Akutagawa yanked his hand out of Atsushi’s messed pants and stared at him as Atsushi slumped back against the concrete, breathing hard. He ended up wiping his hand clean on Atsushi’s untucked shirt, and then plucked Atsushi’s phone out of his pocket while Atsushi lay, blissed out, in place.

“If I text you,” Akutagawa said, typing something into Atsushi’s phone, “you will show up.”

He was doing the weird voice thing again, it sank into Atsushi’s bones and simmered there. Atsushi moaned, and Akutagawa dropped his phone in his lap. Then he stood, dusted off his knees, and inclined his head in a small bow. “Thank you for the meal.”

That said, Akutagawa stepped up over the lip of the roof, next to Atsushi’s head, and vanished over the side. Atsushi exhaled a small laugh, pushed his hand back through his hair, and looked down at his mess, all over his clothing.

Fuck, what had he just gotten himself into?

<< Chapter 1 || Chapter 3 >>

#bungou stray dogs #smarch #shin soukoku #sskk #vampire fic #lemony fresh

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nokingsonlyfooles · 8 months ago

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Look! A Thing!

New Instalment this week! It's a web serial about broken people by a broken author on a broken website! I'm just yelling about it as hard as I can while everything burns down around me!

And the site itself!

You like obscure and indie? Just lookit these numbers!

Current known readers: 3 (hi!), 1st Goalpost: 10?

Current supporters: 2 (hi Kith and 5th!), 1st Goalpost: 5?

If you click this and you like it, you have the power to bring two of your friends and double my admitted readership! Hurry! Before success spoils me!

And I'm super distracted, so let me just snip an excerpt from today's thrilling chapter for your feed-friendly perusal!

Ann put up a hand. She drew Hyacinth farther from the door and lowered her voice, “John kidnapped Erik because they needed help and they knew we wouldn’t let him do this. Erik has been helping the Rainbow Alliance save coloured people and get them the hell out of this fucked up country, because Prokovia wants them dead, or… or worse…”

“De-magicked,” Maggie said. She took a sheet of paper off the bed. “It’s an apograph. Most of ‘em are, but you can read ‘em in the mirror. This is the important part. This is what Prokovia wants to do.” She held up the paper so both of them could see. It was divided into four equal parts, all of them moving and displaying text and images at once. “This is what happens when you try to take the magic out of an immie.”

In each quadrant there was a brief, animated snapshot, five seconds at most, followed by backwards text and further still images. They cycled endlessly, somewhat out of sync, as if whoever set them in motion had activated them one after the other, going clockwise from the top left.

The figure at the top left was a milk-white young man with threads of blond in his matching white hair. His complexion had the look of a broken mirror, with cracks running in every direction, except they weren’t open or bleeding. They were what Hyacinth couldn’t help thinking of as a normal human skin tone, but pale tan certainly wasn’t normal for this guy. He was smiling vaguely, almost vacantly, and holding politely still while the person with the camera moved to photograph him from either side. There was a round scar on each temple, just below the hairline.

The scowling blue woman to the right of him had a similar pattern across her face and bare shoulders, just a bit more fair. Her mirror had shattered more violently — there were patches of fair skin between some of the cracks, as if some of the glass had fallen out. She had a set of yellow hands holding her, and she was turning her head from side to side, not quite struggling but clearly uncomfortable. The five-second image ended with her swatting the camera and a split-second shot of a tile floor.

The orange child at the bottom left had no cracks at all, only patches, and much larger ones. The close-cropped hair suggested a boy, but it could have been either. Tears were welling in their eyes as they clutched a stuffed toy, curling their whole body around it and wincing from the camera’s flash. In the last two seconds, a brown hand intruded and gently nudged their head up, allowing a brief three-quarter profile view of a face with an olive-toned patch that included one dark eyebrow.

The final figure, another young man, did not seem to be coloured at all. His hair was dark, his eyes were blue, and his skin was fair. His hands were bandaged and bound to the chair he was sitting in. He was smiling, not unlike the other man, but his brief image also ended with the camera falling or being knocked over, for reasons unseen.

Honestly, the first thing Hyacinth thought was someone had painted up a bunch of coloured people for a weird theme party — except for the guy in the lower right. But then, as the image reset once more, she caught a thread of purple drifting across his face like smoke. It was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all.

“What the fuck…?” She tried to pause the image and rack it back, dragging her finger from right to left, but it didn’t respond.

Maggie sighed. “It’s an apograph.”

“Smart paper has a backlight,” said the General. “It makes excellent apographs. Mr. Green-Tara seems to have figured that out at some point and copied a great deal of information he was certainly not supposed to keep, or share.”

“He did it for us,” Ann said. She touched the pile with the cardboard on top, but left it where Maggie had abandoned it on the bed. “It’s not much to read, it looks like he wrote it in a hurry, but he knew we’d come for Erik. He’s been trying to put things together for us, the whole time. The Rainbows haven’t told anybody because they don’t know who’s safe to tell…”

“I am the lone holdout,” said the General, “in insisting our government would not be complicit in an attempted genocide…”

“But they must know something is happening,” Maggie said. “They have intel. They’re not stupid. At the very least they’ve seen the ads, and they must know they’re not getting a bunch of coloured Prokovian tourists. It could be they don’t know because they don’t want to know. If they find out, there’s no guarantee they’ll help, and all this evidence is enough to blow the whole rescue operation out of the water if they take Prokovia’s side. The Rainbows aren’t wrong about that.”

“I am willing to admit,” said the General, “that it would be difficult to sell another war at this point, especially one with Prokovia, politically speaking.” She lowered her voice to a snarl, “Although it would be the only appropriate response.”

[Read More on my Disintegrating Website!]

[Or Read Soldier On from the Beginning, that's probably a more sensible place to start!]

#tin soldier and soldier on #long post #free fiction #writers on tumblr #indie fiction #writblr #steampunk #dieselpunk #magic #harry potter alternatives #dramedy #anarchist fiction #socialist fiction #new reader drive #ocs #original characters #character development #potential sexymen!#if i seem desperate it's only because i am!

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stigmvtas · 1 year ago

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MARIBEL SAWYER — ABRIDGED.

welcome to marina, MARIBEL SAWYER ( demi woman, she/they ) ! they are a TWENTY SIX year old who has lived on the island for TEN YEARS. word on the street is they’re currently living in TOWER HILL and works as an INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST / UNLICENSED PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. everyone also says they look a lot like ELLA PURNELL. what do you think? — JAMES, 24, THEY/THEM, EST.

MENTIONS OF EATING DISORDERS AND DISAPPEARANCE.

profile.

full name: maribel ottoline sawyer.

birthday: june 1st, 1997.

astrology: gemini sun, aries moon, gemini ascending.

sexuality: bisexual.

currently listening to: the last time i did acid i went insane by jeffrey lewis.

last known location: [[[cannot be found]]]

PINTEREST.

brief history.

another middle child! what a surprise <3 smack dab in the middle of two other siblings and born to an air force father and what can only be described as an almond mom who's got an entire line of diet cookbooks and a keto-lifestyle cooking vlog on youtube.

very typical all-american, strict family life. curfew at 9pm, family dinner every sunday, chores before anything else. no sick days, no excuses, no bad grades.

painfully average in a family full of success; older sister an early broadway star, younger brother not only poet but football prodigy - maribel nothing, nothing but average. nothing but too curious.

develops a knack for mysteries and a compulsive need to solve them at a young age - something to pass time, and something that makes her feel like she's got a purpose, somewhere. a miniature nancy drew, the only reputation she holds.

they move around the states often, never in one place for too long; maribel always the too quiet girl in the back of the classroom while her siblings garnered attention.

eating disorder; maribel's mother obsession with clean eating, and being an ingredient-only household, as well as projecting her self - image onto all of her children resulted in a years long eating disorder that's mari still combats to this day - but she's doing a little better.

the family moves to nevada during mari's early high school years, her sister's in new york and her brother's still in middle school - so it's just mari at a strange new school in the middle of the desert. makes one of her only friends there, one who thinks her obsession with conspiracies isn't weird. who believes in aliens like her, who understands her.

disappearance; tldr, mari and her best friend break into area 51 to see the aliens and they get caught. obviously. lucky they weren't shot on sight. maribel gets her father almost fired, and her friend disappears. she never sees them again.

after that, the family moves to marina. mari's sixteen, and she retires the magnifying glass and her itching curiosity for the next few years. she's mostly afraid - of both her family, and of the consequences of her actions.

by the time she's eighteen, her family all but kicks her out of the house - one of those rules. she's an adult now - so act like one. then they move away - and mari's alone. she enrolls in university, and works three different jobs just to afford her tuition - but she gets through it. she has to, even if she's weak. even if she's afraid.

recently started doing her. investigation stuff again with a license that's definitely forged due to one of her other, few talents: forgery. but hey! if it gets the job done<3

facts & temperaments.

has worked so many jobs and still has a new one every other week. receptionist, waitress, phone sex operator despite being so virginal it's not even funny. has probably worked at several different restaurants after dropping entire trays of plates and getting fired because it's the fifth time it's happened in a two hour shift.

because even doing her minor investigative work that revolves around suspicious housewives and trailing dodgy teenagers will not pay her student loans or rent.

used to sell fake ids in high school because once again, she's a bit of a forgery mastermind; but stopped after she graduated. never got caught, though! also a little bit of a hacker, would change grades in the school's system for the "popular" girls in her grade to earn their approval. never really worked in her favor, but hey - they passed their classes!

would've done computer science but even though she's moved out of her family's home and they've moved away - her mom still berated her for going into a "man's" field. so maribel took up journalism as a bit of a fuck you. worked out great, obviously.

lies about her childhood often because she was a bit of a. friendless nerd and also embarrassed her dad and like, disgraced her family. and she would hate for people to know that! a bit of a compulsive liar because of it.

has an advice column in the newspaper under a fake alias as well, because maribel is Leading a Life. one where she just creates mess after mess.

is the most awkward person to walk the planet. constantly stumbling over her words or backtracking, rambling on; just has a general nervous demeanor. has constant trembles. like if you touch her, she's just. vibrating with nerves. extremely shy, and takes a while to warm up to strangers.

desperately wants to be liked. like socially. like on a fundamental level. tries to fit her personality to whoever she's talking to. she's really nice! and tries not to be like genuinely fake, just doesn't know how to be herself, or what herself is actually like.

a yes girl. rarely says no to anyone, even if it's a ridiculous request. a pushover, a doormat, someone easily walked over. surprisingly hard to fully manipulate, because maribel has the intuition of an investigator. will entertain it for a short while before realizing she's being played like a fiddle.

so fucking clumsy that it's a marvel that she's like. a genuinely decent investigator. can somehow manage to pull herself together for cases, but when she's off the clock? an entire mess. observant, even when she doesn't want to be. she can't turn that part of her off.

hair's always tied up in a ponytail. no exceptions. it's who she is. it's her personality. only takes it out when she's drunk. which isn't often but it happens sometimes! switches personalities like day and night when she is tipsy; becomes a complete flirt, an almost unrecognizable version of herself with confidence she'd never have otherwise.

#marina:intro #––– ❛ maribel sawyer 【 pretend i'm happy just to be alive / about. 】#eating disorder tw #disappearance tw

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vsnotresponding · 2 years ago

Note

🖊️+ Lyric (it’s been a while 🥺)

Absolutely will not be normal about this. I refuse.

🖊️+ Karma (workaholic train wreck I <3 you)

🖊️+ Sher (dunno if u can tell but I’m a sucker for manipulative characters. I’m just mmm the tension. Explain to me why you being so problematic plz and thank u)

🖊️+ Ira (my queen. Protect ur people girlie)

🖊️+ garavan (did I spell that right??? I wanna know more)

thanks for the ask <3 also long ass post 1k worth of stuff + art

at least i had the decency of sending multiple asks so tumblr wouldn't break with your answers /j

LYRIC

you are right it's been so long, but because i'm actively working on púlsar i don't talk much about UP even tho i do draw them

okay so, for lyric im sharing his literal origin story, as well as some facts about the man and some drawings i like of him.

first some facts:

he's pan and a flirt

in the college au he needs glasses to read

his flower is lycoris radiata (got it from this video, minute 3:35)

origin story:

so i had been toying with the concept of a character named lyric which lived through multiple déjà vus. and he died too. one day (on a plane to ireland with school) i drew this guy:

[who are you? I like you btw 25.02.19] [molt decent 25.04.19]

and i went "oh he's cool i like him". then, like two months later i was drawing ely and i got a revelation:

"lyric & ely belong 2 the same story. ely is the one thing that's different at his new life" which is INSANE of my brain to think about because ely is a character from 2017 i drew ONCE. and now here we are

and then i drew him for the first time, and then in a scene with ely <;3 (and then killing a monster but im not showing it because i didn't know how to draw profiles and it shows)

*trying very hard not to cringe at old art*

and here's some lyrics that i like:

redraw of the og lyric and ely scene // redraw of the redraw // lyric screaming at ely// I like his hair here // redraw of the og lyric fighting lost souls

college au lyric dabbing wearing a behold a pan shirt // first page of a sketchbook// tiny lyric from the afterlife comic look at him so tiny // lyric from a series of drawings I made with my OCs and their flags

where is your rider scene (inspired by the song by the oh hellos)

tiny lyric and akira from the comic based on the song Elsa's song from the amazing devil

and also the most gorgeous man i'll ever draw (from a piece called bring him back) for you to be very normal about (im very normal about this drawing of lyric sooooo normal):

KARMA

i find it hard to say things about karma because with his pov we learn most of the relevant stuff. so you are getting fun facts and a sad fact

first the fun:

in the modern aus he's legally blind. round golden rimmed glasses.

his plushy (you'll meet him in today's chapter i believe) is called jhai

his name comes from me hearing someone call their dog karma and going "oh that can be a name cool im using it" (the other dog was called kraken)

he's the character that has gone through the most extreme character design change of the bunch (mainly because everyone else didn't exist). but he was more of a black sheep of the family cool dude that could use guns (yes there were guns in púlsar early stages idk either). his hair was also auburn. and then idk what happened but i changed it to the mess he's now. very glad i did i love him

and now the sad. check tags for tw because oof:

so, my man is very depressed. his mom's death hit him hard and it was all in general a terrible time for him (also it was around his bday. this was totally unintentional i swear)

on the early days and in spite of the promise he made, he climbed onto his windowsill and thought about jumping. everything was just too much. fortunately, someone knocked on his door and scared him, he slipped backwards and fell to the floor. he hasn't told this to anyone and doesn't intend to, but even if that's two months before púlsar, that's basically the mental state he starts with

and stealing your phrase, spoiler for flavor: he doesn't end púlsar much better

SHER

i can't tell you much. but what i CAN do is show you some baby sher and karma being cute together so you are extra sad about today's púlsar chapter:

"baaaa" "will you stop pulling my hair?" // "mom look he's walking" (chasing a bird) & it's cut but it says "he's so tiny" // sher teaching karma how to read

sher being told he has to leave his mom's home "do i really need to leave?" and it's cut but it says "you need to learn to be a prince with your dad" // sher at the palace // sher and karma's plushy lions

also as a fun(?) fact, he was very close to his uncle (his mother's younger brother). he was a big support for him when he moved to the palace away from his mom, and acted as a shield (or as much as he could) between him and his father. the uncle's name is Ádil.

he was married to Orga (one of the members of the council, arranged marriage), and died shortly after karma moved to the palace (sher was around 16 by then, and for reference, he's 23 now). sher suspects that his uncle's death wasn't fully natural, but he still has to be nice to orga because she's powerful.

ádil was one of the few people in the council that openly opposed the shahin. go figures i wonder what happened there.

IRA

so i already answered an ask for her here, basically a love letter to her character i love her so much.

so you get old ira sketches being happy and free (and chaotic):

GARAVAN GARVAN

you did in fact not write that properly, but that's actually great because it gives a segue into a fun fact about him!

i affectionately call him gman and mostly all my notes refer to him as that. also, once my phone autocorrected his name to garbanzo (chick pea). bean (a nickname for a character from púlsar gen 2) calls him that (ira did totally not correct her when she started doing it because she thought it was 1. funny and 2. that it would annoy garvan). also! karma sometimes calls him G

as a not so fun fact: he often needs to be the balancing component in the friend group, being silly and making jokes. he doesn't look like it, but he's very caring and does worry a lot about karma (not that karma notices lol).

his mom died in childbirth so it was emhi's mom that took care of him (until she too died shortly after). we don't talk about their father.

he was close with sher when they were younger (sher used to beat him at sparring), bonding over being clear aldamu and what it meant for them (sher taught him things about khithi culture that his mom taught him).

(i have so Many Thought about emhi garvan and sher as young teens in the palace, you have no idea, there's some clues sprinkled around púlsar about it but that's all you are officially getting)

man that was long

#ask game #writble ask game #vsnr ocs #tw suicide ideation #tw suicide #vsnr art

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tryst-art-archive · 2 years ago

Text

Jan. 2013: "Narrator" Final Draft

I'm like 99% sure this is actually the final draft. It also looks like it's been formatted as a submission for publishing. I'm not sure where I would've submitted it to, but that's how it looks.

----------Text follows--------->

For most of my life, I’ve daily sat down for tea with my characters, sipping away in the café of the mind. We chat about their lives and their futures, their thoughts and their dreams. We get to know each other.

Before I decided I was too terrible an artist to wield a pencil, I entered these teatime meetings by drawing my characters endlessly: profile, three-quarters view, face-forward stare, hands and arms,legs and feet, limbs, a raging expression here, a joyous one there, or an image of melancholy, remorse, fear or shock or thrill, and then the most important scenes from their lives until finally I went back and drew the whole mess again, pages of school notes sacrificed to my characters’ forms.

In 2009, when high school graduation and my entrance into college was imminent, I stopped drawing my characters at all. I became convinced that they were holding me and my writing back, and I though that the only worthy endeavor would be to create new people, explore new realms, and run away from the world I’d been building since 2005, from the pantheon of characters my best friend and I had birthed in the primordial soup of our friendship. It would all let me become a Writer, I thought. If I just shed my childish characters, then perhaps I could become someone literary, worthy of publishing. But somehow, every character following my original, so thoroughly drawn tribe fell flat like pancakes on a cold griddle. With each new, bland character my sense of frustration grew, and I slowly became convinced that, as a writer, I wasn’t good for much but long strings of action, and roaming, unsatisfactory introspections.

After two years of uninspired work and faced, suddenly, with the daunting task of creating a screenplay that I would need to work on consistently for three months, I became desperate.I was unable or unwilling to conceive of a single new plot or personality,and I turned back to the pantheon of my early adolescence, writing a screenplay detailing how the ranger Arren Minetelle defeated the Demon, Kifer. The six-year-old characters rose up once more to act out their tales and even found acceptance amongst the screenplay’s handful of readers. I felt reborn, and it seemed to me then that my mistake all along had been to deny the characters I’d had tea with every day of my life for four years.

Quietly, my class notes filled with drawings.

The age turned, and in a blink, the world called Khra shifted from 1027 A.W. to 0 A.K. Still mere hours after the death of Kifer, mere hours into the new era, Arren Minetelle stood on my doorstep. Blood dribbled down her cheek, her left eye socket reduced to a ragged mass of shredded flesh and cracked bone, as if a small explosion had gone off inside her skull. A fog glazed the icy blue of her remaining eye, and deep lines crossed her otherwise young face. I stepped aside for the young arctic fox raeth and closed the door on the new reality she had created.

“Rhawen,” she said, rasping, “could I have a glass of water?”

I nodded, and Phoenix, not needing to be told, scurried on swift fox paws into the kitchen, coming back with bandages in her mouth and a cup of well water perched on her head. I took both from her. The Fire Fox hurried back into the kitchen, and I heard the soft ruckus of a tiny Elemental quadruped setting a pot of soup aflame.

Arren gulped the water gratefully and allowed me to push her silvery hair—it had been a pale blonde but half a year ago when she had come to me looking for means by which to defeat the Demon called Kifer, bane of all the peoples and nations of Khra—away from the still-weeping crater where her left eye had been. The missing eye and the faint, browning marks of grasping hands around her neck were enough to tell me that she had fought Kifer, and her continued life confirmed that she had defeated him. I needed neither her words nor my own Creator-given knowledge of all past and present to recognize the sorrowful marks of her victory.

As Arren chose not to speak, so too did I. It wasn’t long before Phoenix trotted in, pulling a small wheeled tray on which a bowl of chicken soup and a pan of warm, clean water rattled softly. I took up the pan first and began to dab at Arren’s wound. She winced as I worked but made no sound even as my cloth fumbled into the oozing mush behind her bones. Phoenix padded around the table, blowing flame over the soup occasionally to keep it warm. The gentle crackle of her fire-filled breath snaked across the silence of my cottage, snapping off the wooden walls and dancing over the floor.

When the pan’s water had turned a crimson to rival that of Arren’s ranger cloak, I began to bandage her head, prompting a proper reaction from the nineteen-year-old girl.

“I’ll not hide it!” she snapped, batting my arms away with more force than she’d intended. “You of all people should know, Narrator.”

I elected to ignore how she spat the word. “You’ll need to wear bandages for a time if you’d rather not die from an infection.”

“Well—maybe I’d—you don’t know—“

“But I do. Narrator, yes?”

Arren scowled. “Fie on your bloody omniscience.”

“Near-omniscience,” I replied automatically, regretting the habit in the pause that followed. “I… am sorry I didn’t tell you what you would have to do. I did not think you would go if you knew the price…”

Arren choked, battling tears with as much ferocity as she had battled Kifer. She succeeded in swallowing the lump in her throat and threw my apology in my face. “You understand nothing. You are nothing. You write, what, histories? That’s all I am for you. A history. No. No, I won’t have it. I won’t be a hero! I won’t be a legend! I won’t have it!” She dashed the pan from my hand, and my floorboards greedily sucked up the blood. “They died, you horrible bitch! That damn Eye—Kifer’s damned Eye! I wasn’t even conscious and it made me—I… There were children there, Rhawen! The entire village…”The woman who had saved the world flopped back into a chair and shook as the memory of how the artifact that had allowed her to kill Kifer had also forced her to slaughter innocents replayed in her mind. “All of them dead.”

I placed the soup in front of her and left the room, disappearing into the basement.

Phoenix, who had accompanied Arren on her journey, curled up at the girl’s feet. “I’m sorry,” the fox said. “She didn’t have a choice.”

Arren did not respond, instead spooning soup shakily into her mouth, thinking it needed salt, until at last the tears did come and added all the flavoring my cooking lacked.

Between the ages of ten and nineteen, I developed a habit of consulting my characters in my day to day life, particularly when I felt completely crushed by hopelessness. I would sit in the shower—I would have been fourteen or fifteen at the time—and, feeling thoroughly sorry for myself for no good reason, I would conjure up an image of Kriamiss or Pain, and I would imagine them embracing me, lending me their strength through simple contact.

Over time this personal conceit evolvedso that, in the middle of high school, I would walk through the halls feeling my characters behind me as an imaginary entourage, and it would be a simple matter to draw strength from them throughout the day. Eventually, the characters became ideals, promising that, oh, if only they were real, they’d certainly love me because clearly no one else ever would.

There’s something shameful in that memory; it brings up an embarrassment lurking around the roots of the heart, and yet when I think how, after I’d abandoned them all, I felt more lost than ever before, more doomed, and more worthless I had before, I can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, the trade-off was fair.

Kriamiss Orientere lay asleep in my bed, a dead man breathing as one alive, forgetting in sleep that his body was little more than his own will made manifest. It was 5 A.K., and civil war threatened the Raethian way of life. Across the sea in Nassab, the human populaces had gotten their hands on the cloning technology of the Dragonfolk of old while a dryken lad sought to recover a Dragonfolk weapon of mass destruction in order to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. The Creators had dispatched Fallen like Kriamiss—individuals who, after death, worked to keep the world of Khra safe by maintaining the delicate balances that held it together—across the globe in an effort to rectify the myriad of problems that threatened global stability. The Narrators’ Council had summoned me for the first time in an absurd number of centuries. Unge S. Chickt sought to renew trade between Raeth and Nassab despite Raeth’s broader troubles, and Arren Minetelle, great hero of five years prior, had slipped into obscurity; I alone knew she still lived. Adding further absurdity to the whole fiasco, the Power representing pain had manifested on Khra—it had been millenia since last any of the Powers took on physical form—and was now lounging in my basement. For my own part, I pulled my usual stool up to what was now Kriamiss’s sickbed and sat contemplating the trajectory of this once-deceased man.

Some five hundred years ago, a woman from Niméth had the misfortune of bearing a child out of wedlock, her husband having disappeared into the surrounding countryside. The woman, Ellenyiel Orientere, named the child Kriamiss. He was “gifted” with Healing magic. Simply by laying hands on someone and exerting his will, he could cure almost any ill and, in one or two cases, defeat Death himself, though the effort whittled away at his own lifespan. Later, the boy had the dubious fortune to encounter a Light Elemental who, seeking her own death, granted him the power of the Elementals, transforming him into a Mage, able to bend light itself to his will. After just short of a decade spent futilely working to defeat Kifer, Kriamiss died at twenty-two in 534 A.W.and proceeded to join the ranks of the Fallen—deceased tasked with maintaining world order—and utterly failed to return to Khra until some five hundred years later when Kifer’s death and the need for Fallen hands manipulating the Raethian civil war enabled his resumption of life.

Kriamiss stirred. I called for Phoenix, and once she’d limped into the room, I wandered into the kitchen, unsure how to proceed.

I had, of course, known of Kriamiss’s return, and I had, of course, sent Phoenix to aid him wherever possible: grant him my accesses to hidden places, give him some part of my knowledge, help him orient himself in a world that no longer operated on the same rules or even spoke quite the same language. I had not expected her to lead him here. Although Phoenix wasn’t with me at the time, the fact remained that I had met Kriamiss five bundred years ago and seeing me now was like to upset him. I was visiting my long-time pen pal, Kriamiss’s mother, Ellenyiel, As a single mother in a draconian society, she and her son were marked as outsiders, despised. Indeed, when I arrived in the town the citizenry viewed me with undisguised loathing for I had the audacity to wear pants, in spite of my feminine sex.

The Orientere estate lay next to the city’s rather expansive graveyard, and it looked like a haunted place. The lawn was brown where it wasn’t overgrown, and the garden weedy where it wasn’t dead. The gate’s hinges were rusting, though it still managed to open and shut without undue creaking, and the majority of the house’s windows save those on the first and second floor of the east wing were shattered or at least punctured. Ivy had overtaken the house’s southern face, and I saw more than a few of the stones that made up its walls crumbling. As I approached, a group of children clambered over the fence, back onto the street, and scurried away. Focusing on them, it came to me that they had spent the past half hour destroying carpeting in the house’s west wing and pissing in the fountain that punctuated the estate’s long drive. I briefly considered chasing them down and boxing their ears but decided that I was no match for a gang of ruffians, even small ones, and settled for traipsing to the house’s front door and cheering Ellenyiel with my ever rare presence. She didn’t have many friends, I knew, or more accurately, she had none besides myself, and I wasn’t much of one, being little more than ink on a page.

My effort to use the wolf-shaped doorknocker resulted in the old brass coming off in my hand. I deposited it in a bush and was about to knock when a little boy with black hair like rich satin and steel grey eyes like an ocean storm came around the corner and stared me down. He was wearing hand-me-down britches and a loose tunic, and I recognized the rather massive volume in his hand as Mage Archwylde’s Elementals and You: A Beginner’s Guide to Elemental Magic which was nonetheless utterly verbose and didn’t much belong in a child’s hands.

“Stranger,” he mumbled.

“Rhawen,” I corrected. It occurred to me that he’d likely never been outside Niméth and thus never properly seen a Raethian who did not share his coloring. My oranges, browns, and golds likely startled him. “I’m from south of here,” I added, kneeling.

“Obviously.” He took my hand, horrifically bold by Niméth’s standards. “Your a red fox Raeth, aren’t you? Your eyes’re kinda weird.” It was a true enough assessment. I had rich, golden eyes with a depth a saturation unseen in human, dryken, or raethian. Indeeed, the only people who had such eyes were either long-dead or were, like myself, Narrators.

“Hm, yes,” I agreed. “I suppose you’re Kriamiss.”

He nodded, absently. “Your hair’s two colors too.”

I sighed. “Is your mother home?”

His eyes narrowed at that. “Depends on who’s asking.”

I don’t particularly like children at the best of times, and Kriamiss was proving to be unpleasantly precocious. “I suppose I’ll just go look.” The door turned out to be unlocked, and so I let myself in, Kriamiss at my heels yapping about how rude I was being and what he’d do to me if I laid a hand on his mother. The noise drew Ellenyiel’s attention, and she bustled into the foyer before I’d hardly begun snooping.

“What’s going on out—Rhawen!”

We had met in person only once before, but Ellenyiel nonetheless rushed up to me and wrapped me in a hug. “Oh my goodness, I had no idea you would be coming! I’d have prepared a room, made the house presentable, I’d—“

“I hardly knew I was coming myself, Elle.” She glowed prettily at the use of the nickname, previously relegated to written lines. “I happened to be in the area on business, and I thought I’d stop in. Would you like your son back?”

The boy side-stepped over to his mother’s voluminous skirts, still suspicious of me, perhaps more so for my familiarity.

“Ah. Yes...” Ellenyiel knelt down to her son, and I heard the bones of her corset creak. “This is Mama’s friend from the letters, little love.”

Grudging trust entered the boy’s features, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. My laugh apparently wounded his pride as he muttered, “She broke the door knocker.”

I spent much of the day there, chatting with Ellenyiel whilst Kriamiss sullenly observed me from his mother’s side. Something about the boy struck me, and on my return home, I found myself writing down everything that had occurred such that Phoenix, coming in from a hunt, wandered up to my desk and asked, “Got a new Tale?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer and said as much. “It’s a strange feeling. I feel the pull, most certainly, but it’s as though it were a fishing line being reeled from across a lake.”

And now here I was on the opposite shore,Kriamiss at five hundred and twenty-two, though lying in my bed and the call of a Tale dragging at my senses. I had the impression that this was not my usual narrative. This was, somehow, impossibly, something to be built.

I’d barely begun to examine my Narrator’s instincts when I found Pain’s hands on my hips. Fortunately, on this occasion they were fully attached to his arms, his flesh properly sewn together. In fact, it looked as though all his limbs were connected in the usual fashion, though his grin still stretched much too far, seeming to split his face across the cheek bones. As usual, I was struck by the peculiarity of feeling Pain looking at me although he lacked eyes or even eye sockets, a flop of mangy brown hair disguising the absence. The Power cackled. “It would seem, my dear dear darling love-butt, that we have a visitor!” He barely contained a giggle of glee.

“Do try to contain your excitement.”

“Oooh, but he’s so yummy. Lots and lots of pain to nibble on, and so pretty too! Just a little lick?” He wriggled his fingers at me in imitation of a scuttling insect.

I snorted. “Definitely not. He’s going to have shock enough when he realizes what I am, never mind discovering that the Powers have woken up as well.”

“Oh, always so dry. You’re never any fun.”

“But I do put up with you.”

“Hepf. Only because I eat your migraines. You’re just using my mystical Power powers.” He had manifested as a dog raeth, and now he twitched his ears in a frisky gesture. “Naughty girrrrllll…” He reached for me, intending to tickle or trap, it was hard to say.

�� I stepped aside and stacked a few bowls into the sink, refusing to play his games. “How is it that the manifestation of pain is nothing but mischievous?”

One of Pain’s hands came unattached, traipsing away from the stitches that held it to his wrist until they snapped, and walked itself down the counter and over my wrists. “Well if you couldn’t feel any pain, wouldn’t you start—“

A brief scream erupted from the doorway, and we turned to see Kriamiss, half naked, staring at us, aghast with Phoenix held, by the scruff of the neck, in one hand. She looked sheepish. “What in the bloody damn hell is going on?” He seemed unable to decide what oddity to discuss first but finally settled on me. “You should be dead!”

“Well so should you,” I pointed out.

Nearly all of my characters are, at their core, some part of myself, magnified over and over until perhaps you couldn’t tell they were ever me at all. Yet the fact remains that they are magnifications, and if you really, truly wanted, you could trace back their lineage. Kriamiss was a wish fulfillment fantasy on steroids, and in the present, it’s a struggle to reduce the angsty enchanter-healer-angel-man back into a believable person without upsetting the tender chronology of his entire story arc. It becomes necessary to look again and see what other sources may be there. For Kriamiss it’s his angst. Specifically, the angst that flies in the face of all the talent, all the ability, all the good fortune, and all the love that has ever and will ever be showered upon his foolish, morose head. He’s filled with suburban ennui in a place that has no suburbs—though obviously I have suburbs, roiling in my blood like a bubbling tar pit. Arren Minetelle, great savior of not only Raeth but all of Khra—the world’s hero, defeating its personification of evil—has what in common with a girl from Canton, Massachusetts, who can barely handle a stubbed toe, never mind ripping her own eye out—twice? For that you should look to Arren’s motives. Here is a woman whose cause is so just and so righteous that surely she must be the hero, surely she has saved us all, and yet she hunts down Kifer not because it is the right thing to do—so many had tried and failed over the thousands of years of his life—but because he killed the man she loved. Arren enters in on a quest for revenge first—“an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”—and on a quest for justice second, and therefore Arren is a cross-section of should and is, and if I don’t have that in common with her, then I don’t know myself.

Unge S. Chickt is among the oldest of the bunch. I drew her before anime styling crept, poorly, into my artist’s hand. I drew her before there was a Khra or a Kriamiss or an Arren.. Unge came out of a time when anthropomorphic animals were new and exciting to me so that I took to drawing gelerts—strange, dog-like things from a website called Neopets—in skirts with big, lavender eyes. A terrible sight to behold. When I “adopted” a gelert someone had named Ungeschickt, the name disappointed me. I therefore had to make Ungeschickt—swiftly shortened to Unge for all intents, dues, and purposes—into the most badass of motherfuckers. And so, the first picture of Unge, ever, presented her as a femme fatale in a pink miniskirt and pearls, thoughtfully gesturing with her bloodied dagger. In this way, Unge was born of my love of James Bond, only to transmogrify, upon her entry into Khra, into a desire for a better world.

Unge stood at her window, overlooking the city of P’tak from its opulent heart. Xev had been dead for ten years.

It was 2 A.K., and Unge could hardly get used to the idea. Just the fact that the Demon was dead was nearly impossible to swallow after his reign of terror—the thousands of years of civilization burning under his sanguine gaze ended all at once, the shift demarcated by a change in calendar. Only the Elementals, who were as old as Khra itself, remembered a time before the Demon.

It had also been a year since Unge had met the hero who had slain Kifer: Arren Minetelle, a petite arctic fox raeth with ice blue eyes who arrived in P’tak wrapped in the crimson of a ranger’s cloak. At the time, the girl had pep, a raging fire in her spirit that did not compromise, and a conviction that hers was the right path, the just one. She appeared, determined to slay Kifer, armed with knowledge from that strange woman called Rhawen, and prepared to risk it all. Unge sent her to Nassab in search of an artifact the girl had called the Demon’s Eye and did not see her again until the Battle at the Elemental Fields. There, Unge had joined her forces—the agents of IMDP—with the Elementals’ and the Rangers’ in order to defeat Kifer and his army. Arren appeared amidst the fray, her left eye gone, replaced with a desiccated, angry orb more appropriate in the skull of a dead thing than that nineteen-year-old’s petite visage. Unge had naught to do but watch as the girl grappled with Kifer, tearing out the massive, glowing red stone that occupied his left socket. The Demon had screamed, his voice reaching an unearthly pitch of terror, and from Arren’s eye the desiccated thing leapt out with an angry hiss, falling into Kifer’s now-empty socket. All at once, the Demon exploded into dust. An entire Age sifted to the ground and disappeared into the soil.

After the battle, Arren was nowhere to be found, and the Ranger’s Head was discovered among the dead. Though Raeth celebrated Kifer’s death—such celebration Unge had never before seen—terror seized the Rangers’ ranks. For days they grappled with the sudden loss of Raeth’s and their leader while searching desperately for their hero. And then Arren returned, slogging out of the northern forests and stumbling westward to the Rangers’ Headquarters. The Rangers, the country’s populace, and even the Elementals, demanded that she be the new Head, this woman who had killed the world’s greatest evil. Yet she stood before them, her left socket still a ragged hole, the edges of the bone cracked, the skin scarring, and she said no.

Garron Baylinthe became the Head, and Unge should have been happy about that. The man was a native of P’tak, born and bred in the city’s love for technology, though woefully filled with its distrust of magic, too. Still, this should have been fortuitous for Unge, placing her and her city in a less precarious position with the rest of the nation. All the same, the moment filled her with an odd foreboding, and before long she found herself contacting Arren, asking one thing: watch the Rangers. Become a double agent. Miraculously, the hero had agreed.

Unge had never trusted the Rangers. They were, to her mind, a dangerous lot. Their Head was also Raeth’s Head, and while he was elected by the Raethian populace at large, Unge couldn’t help but wonder if the system could be rigged. Even when she was younger, breasts barely formed though she already yearned for a greater purpose, the fact that the Rangers were Raeth’s only police force, its only military filled her with dread, fear, and something acidic like bile. Where was the safety on that gun? Suppose, just suppose, that the Rangers ever went astray? Just suppose that they lost sight of their purpose, lost sight of their limits, lost sight of Raeth’s needs. What then? Who would be there to stop them? The Elementals didn’t bother themselves about Raethian business. The Mages were a scattered group of farmers’ helpers and wandering midwives. There was no one else.

For a long time, Unge struggled with that thought. Even when she set out from Nitemaer, determined to see the country in full, that sense of Ranger Danger followed her, with no feasible solution in tow. None, until Xev.

Twenty years ago, Xev said, “Aye, y’ve got th’ right regardin’ this Ranger thin’. We oughta do somethin’, t’change it, aye?” Xev was from N’zik, a small city surrounded by desert to one side and jungle to the other, previously the capital of an ancient Dragonfolk civilization, and now just one of the four Raethian settlements that could be properly called cities, one for each point of the compass. Unge was not terribly impressed with the southern city and found the accent unbearable, though she did think the use of sandstone was lovely.

“I know, but what’s there to do?” Unge was perhaps twenty-one at the time, a traveler for only two years who’d nonetheless done away with the decadent fabrics and elaborate constructions of Nitemaer’s garb in favor of the simple leather and cotton to be found in most Raethian villages. “I’ve been thinking about this for years, and still I don’t know.”

“No’ one though’ ‘t all?” Xev, a Dog Raeth all of sleek water hound blacks and dewy brown eyes, melted over the arm of his chair. He seemed impossibly long, his arms trailing across the floor, his toes hovering just above the ground.

“Well.” She paused, turning the thoughts over in her mind. “If you’ve got one organization in charge of everything, that’s a problem. But what if you had two?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Two?”

“Say you’ve got the Rangers, just as they are, but then you make, like, a second Rangers—‘cept call them something else obviously—“

“Aye.”

“—Well then you task the second group with not only defending the peace and all that good stuff, but also with keeping an eye on the Rangers. Then you go to the Rangers and say, ‘Hey, keep an eye on the new guys.’ So now you’d have double the police force and both would be making sure the other one didn’t slip up and go evil on us all.”

Xev smiled and reached out to touch Unge’s tawny hair. “Aye, why no’ do tha’, ey?”

Unge blinked, and one of her canine ears twitched. “Well, I mean, that’s not something I can do.”

Xev merely shook his head and offered her his hand.

Within a year, the foundations of IMDP, and the year after that, they began recruiting. Five years following that conversation, IMDP was complete with secret agents, a business front as an engineering corporation, and the cooperation of P’tak’s local government. The time had not seemed prudent to reveal themselves to the Rangers—much more effective to merely spy on them for now, until IMDP was of equal strength at least—and so the organization remained in shadow, its business practices slowly elevating it until the meaningless letters stood atop a skyscraper right at the opulent heart of P’tak, among the richest of the rich.

And then Xev died.

A knock, followed by Tarrin, Rien, and Arren Minetelle, all but Rien looking stoic. Unge turned, forty years of espionage squeezed into a tiny business suit, forty years of aggressive gaiety etched into her face. “Hello, my darlings.”

Tarrin and Arren sketched stiff salutes, each in their own style, and Tarrin pretended that she was not awed by Raeth’s Very Own Hero. Rien beamed, unfazed by the world’s going-ons, mind still tangling with gears and levers and electricity.

“What did Rhawen say?” Unge asked, settling into the plush chair behind her desk and gesturing for the trio to settle themselves where they saw fit.

Tarrin snorted, mouth opening to snarl about the peculiar woman, but Rien cut her off. “She doesn’t want to see anyone besides Arren right now.” The tiny girl adjusted her glasses. “Though she did like the things we brought her. Especially the mechanical pencils. Completely taken with them. She said plastic is a wonderful idea but to tell the folks in Nassab not to dig too deep. Not sure what she meant by that. ”

Unge rolled a pen on her desk. “But we can’t know where to find her?”

“No,” Arren said, a stone slab dropping. Her youth frightened Unge, sometimes. The ghastly eye socket, the runs in her face, deep-set, that made her look like marble, the ice blue of her remaining eye—just ice now—her hand never straying far from her sword’s pommel. And a sword in P’tak? It was strange. Arren looked entirely out of place in Unge’s modern office, and it was hard to remember that the office and P’tak were the anachronism here on Raeth, not Arren.

“No?” The pen rolled off of Unge’s desk.

Tarrin grumbled but held her tongue.

“Rhawen is not in a position to be as helpful as she’d like, and to that end it is better for her if as few people know her location as possible.” Arren allowed herself a sigh and continued, “I had thought that enabling you to go to her directly might not be asking too much, but Rhawen is adamant on this point. She is…”

“Yes, what is she?” Unge snapped, frustration surprising both her and the three women before her.

“Unge?” Rien squeaked. Unge shook her head.

One of the lines in Arren’s brow softened. “Rhawen is something of the world. Old. She has her reasons, and you will have to trust me that they are good. But I do understand your frustration… she has—”

“Well I’d feel a lot fuckin’ better about it if she’d just give us straight goddamn answers,” Tarrin growled.

The brow line reasserted itself. “Perhaps you should just get better at riddles then,” Arren said.

Unge pondered for a moment while Arren and Tarrin snapped at each other. She’d been working with Rhawen before Arren had killed Kifer, but the woman had never opened up to Unge the way she had to Arren, and even that was a chilly connection.

A wave of fatigue washed over her, and she missed Xev.

“Well thank you for trying, my lovelies,” Unge said, feeling herself sink onto her desk. “I suppose we’ll just do things the way we always have: we’ll wait.” Xev wouldn’t have tolerated this waiting. He’d have been trucking right up to Rhawen’s house and demanding answers, all with a pleasant smile.

Xev died on a mission of first contact.

Unge harbored two great dreams. The first: fix the Raethian judicial and political system to better prevent corruption. The second: re-establish diplomatic ties with Nassab and undo the political damage caused by the Great War, a thousand or so years ago. The trouble with this latter goal was, first and foremost, that a Human of Nassab would always kill and Raethian on sight, and most Raethians wouldn’t behave a whole lot more nobly. Oh, naturally, illegal trading had always occurred between the two continents—P’tak’s technological wealth was drawn directly from that fact—but Unge desired open trade. Raethian society was ruled by magic—the fact of the Elemental presence on the continent and lack of other natural resources ensured that—and Nassab, left without easy access to magic, had turned to technology. Unge wanted it both ways. Nitemaer was one of the few places that mixed the two lifestyles, and that hybrid mentality ran deep in Unge.

It was only natural that—observing the black market ships sailing between Bollen on Nassab and P’tak on Raeth—Unge determined that IMDP would certainly engage in some trading of its own and once begun, found their dealings with Bollen went well. Unge then thought to expand. To that end, she sent Xev to northern Nassab, and when he returned, he was merely a head in a box, a note pinned to the outside: “No Dogs.”

Unge shook the cobwebs from her mind. Tarrin and Rien had left, returning to their respective departments. Arren remained, sipping water and looking over Unge’s view of P’tak. Unge, at her side, pointed out through the city’s haze to where the ocean was just barely visible. “One of these days, that’s gonna be all boats all the time.” She smirked. “You won’t be the only Raethian to scoot around Nassab.”

Arren nodded, remaining eye closed. “Rhawen asked a favor of me.”

“Oh?”

From a pouch on her hip, Arren removed a small letter, some tiny object weighing down one of the envelope’s corners. It was sealed with orange wax—an odd choice—the imprint of what looked to be a dragon in flight squashed into the pumpkin color. An extinct animal for an ancient woman who didn’t look a day over twenty-five, apparently knew everything there was to know, and then refused to tell you? Sure. Why not dragons?

Unge took it to the desk and broke the seal. Alongside the letter, Rhawen had inserted a pendant matching the image impressed into the wax—one of those extinct dragons in flight. Unge ran her thumb over it, unsure of its connotation, though remembering that, on all the occasions she’d seen the woman, Rhawen had worn a pendant like it. She glanced at Arren, a question in her eyes, but Arren did not meet her gaze, sipping her glass of water instead. “How do you live in all this smog?” she wondered aloud.

Unge settled into her chair and read the letter.

Allow me just one more moment of your time, before you read Rhawen’s letter, before you decide if all this time spent poring over a day in Unge’s life and the moments of Rhawen’s and the musings of an author—the technical, real author, not Rhawen, the Narrator, who is the voice who tells these stories—was wasted.

Purpose applies to all of these situations. I don’t know what your life was like in 2001 or 2002, but I know what mine was like, and for all the material fortune in the world, I was nonetheless struck with a deep-seated misery that I couldn’t explain, and really I still can’t, at least not in a way that feels authentic. I was filled with guilt over this feeling—“There are children starving in Africa!”—and yet the feeling persisted until I became jealous of the starving children because at least they knew why they were miserable. It’s no surprise then that the characters I birthed were universally sad, universally restless, and universally struck with tepid misfortunes which, in theory, should be world-shattering, and yet in application remained ineffective. Kriamiss’s mother dies when he is fifteen, and he flees his home, finds the father that abandoned them and that man dies too, and then when he finds someone to love in the world, she kills him, and it isn’t until he’s been dead five hundred years that he has a second chance—to save the world, to become whole. My inability to feel anything at a degree less than acutely became his saga of misfortunes—too many to be useful, narrative-wise, but just enough to try to justify feeling the way I did.

So why feel so acutely? It’s hard to say. Do you blame a chemical imbalance; do you blame a spoiled upbringing; do you blame an inherent, genetic sensitivity; or do you perhaps put it down to some sort of flaw, a lack of the “right stuff”? I’m not sure; it’s all too far away to say anything concrete about. The memory is unreliable, the heart is unreliable, the mind is unreliable, even the evidence of the eyes is unreliable, because all is perception. In the present time, however, let us put it all down to purpose. There was purpose when we created, there was a loss of purpose when we stopped, and now we seek out purpose again—and so the whole world, the whole array of characters, have returned, because they cannot exist without us.

And how about Kriamiss or Unge? Why is it that every character I create is alone, at the end of the day, always by themselves, contained within the space of their own bodies, isolated? I am alone when I am with people; I am alone when I am not. Solitude, then purpose. We—the characters and me—travel alone and look for something to do. Something meaningful. Save the world, that’s always good, or maybe just improving it will do. Always with the epic narrative, always with the complete saga, and always with the search for purpose and the inescapable solitude.

I reiterate: the characters are me.

Unge—

Some twenty years ago, I sat on a café veranda in N’zik, and I watched a young Dog Raeth with tawny hair and a full bosom chitter and laugh with another young Dog Raeth, this one a sea of blacks and browns constructed into a long, lithe, lingering body. They laughed with one another, at one another, at themselves, caught in what I shall call puppy love. I saw, at that time, their histories and their presents, and while I have never been known to predict the future, everything I could sense about them suggested that they were bound for greater things. When, ten years ago, one of the two passed from this world on to Ahrk, I knew of this too, and I thought for a long time about how to make things right.

What answer can I give you? Arren sought out her own, and I supported her, and now, even with all the knowledge a mortal can be allowed, I find myself regretting. There lies Kifer, dead, and is not one girl’s youth worth the safety of thousands? But still the regret persists.

I digress.

You have a dream.

The Dragonfolk are waning, but their presence is still felt and revered in the northern climes of Nassab. Southern Nassab is, generally, filled with hatred for their once-oppressors, but in the north the sentiment is less present, the sins more forgiven, and so a Dragonfolk token can go a long way. Therefore, please find enclosed the symbol of the Dragonfolk; may it earn you passage to those places closed to all but the eldest. I will only ask that you do not use it to go to the Verde Isles.

With these thoughts in mind, I wish you well and tell you now that Xev died wishing for you.

Rhawen E. Fox

Unge choked and found, through her sobs, that Arren stood at her shoulder, merely holding it. The younger woman maintained that spot, one tired hand acknowledging Unge’s pain for the half hour it took the older woman to regain herself, her gaiety washed away by a ten-year-old memory of a dead man.

When Unge had subsided, Arren took herself to the other side of the desk and sat down. She folded her arms on the black, sanitized wood, her posture suddenly more like the girl she should have been. Eyes hard on Unge, she said, “I’ve known tears like that.”

Unge nodded. “Xev was—he made this. All of this. Just by saying it was possible. Just ‘You can do it, Unge. This can be done.’ And then it was. That was all it took. He said I could do it, so I did.” Her breath rattled. “How do you come back from that? How do you answer for that death?”

Arren took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Unge could feel every crease, every callous in the hero’s hand. Here was where her sword had worn itself a home, and here at the finger tips the place for her bow. These tiny nicks for every hour of traveling from one Raethian coast to the other and these weathered folds for every night spent alone beneath the stars formed a web in which to catch demons. Arren’s nails were dirty, but in spite of the usage written across her hands, Unge could see where once the delicate shape of a genteel woman’s glove may have fit, and Unge’s own palm felt suddenly fat and unwieldy in the grasp of one so conflictingly worked.

Arren withdrew, her whole self drawn back up into the raw eye socket, sucked behind a glacial mask. She stood, saying, “The Rangers will miss me momentarily. Baylinthe’s put his son and Brue Nadir as his top officers. Most of the men are terrified of Brue, which leaves me and the boy to see that morale stays up.”

Unge closed her eyes, nodding her understanding, but found Arren leaning in when she’d opened them again.

“The boy. Maroc Baylinthe. He might be trouble.”

There seemed something more she wanted to say, and Unge prompted her—“How so?”—but Arren shook her head and stepped away. “It may just be me. The men love him.” A tightness around her mouth suggested a deeper trouble, but Arren put it off. “No, it is nothing. He is a Ranger, after all.” With that, Arren saluted, said her farewells, and whisked out of the room, just a red cloak disappearing behind metal doors.

Unge considered the flapping of the cloak and fingered the pendant. She laughed without laughing. “Dragonfolk symbols and the great hero feels compassion? Oh dear.” She’d have to have someone look deeper into these Baylinthes. Arren wasn’t the most intuitive of ladies, but Unge wasn’t about to dismiss her discomfit out of hand. The Rangers had completely failed to exhibit corruption, these past ten years. Perhaps now was the time?

Unge left her chair, pendant still in hand, and returned to her favorite spot, staring out over the city—her city—where she contemplated reconciling the half-animal Raethians to their long-lost cousins, the Humans of Nassab.

Once upon a time, a thirteen-year-old girl named M[...] got onto the school bus for the ride home and saw a younger girl called R[...] reading a large book titled Lirael which had been written by a man named Garth Nix. M[...] thought to herself that anyone reading such a large book must be worth knowing and spoke to the girl called R[...] who, utterly unaccustomed to being liked, was terrified. Nonetheless, the two began to chat and over the course of the next year or two formed a comfortable acquaintance.

Then the girl called M[...] moved to Vermont with her family, entering a high school of only forty or so students while the girl called R[...] remained in Massachusetts, completing her last year of middle school with several hundred students. The two began to converse and then roleplay online.

They spent the next four years roleplaying all day, every single day, and developed a pantheon of characters with names like Xev, Unge, Kriamiss, Arren, Phoenix, and Pain. They wrote informally, and their characters carried on conversations with one another and sometimes with R[...] and M[...] while the two creators spoke in parentheses around their creations.

There was no other world.

R[...] often spent weekends in Vermont, visiting M[...], as it happened that R[...] loved Vermont, and, she began to realize, she loved M[...].

R[...], still only fourteen or so, had never conceived of loving someone, especially not a girl. It didn’t fit the fairy tale. So she thought about it, very hard, and determined that no, she did not love M[...] that way, rather, Mare was the first and only person she had ever truly trusted, and the love she felt for her was what she imagined to be a sisterly love.

Approximately two weeks after this reconciliation, M[...] confessed her love to R[...]. An awkward moment of backpedaling ensued and the two came out of the online conversation both certain of the bisexuality and certain that their affections for one another were purely sisterly. Or so they would have one another believe.

This of course was not the case, and so it may come as no surprise that two years later R[...] crawled into M[...]’s bed and initiated some rather naked activities which continued, in secret, for another two years, right up until M[...] went to college in Boston. R[...] had determined, almost as soon as the sex began, that she was not in fact attracted to girls at all. M[...], on the other hand, quickly discovered that she was attracted exclusively to girls and hopelessly in love with R[...], who saw the arrangement as purely sexual. That the arrangement continued for two years after R[...] declared herself straight seems, perhaps, ludicrous, but two individuals starved for human contact are liable to do crazy things. Their characters had been having sex for years now. Why shouldn’t they have some too?

When the arrangement ended, it seemed so too did the friendship. The roleplaying ended with it, and all of the characters went into mental storage, their worlds untouched. An insurmountable distance arose—how do you tousle with someone you know is in love with you? How do you watch the person you love date an obese, depressed, unintelligent excuse for a man for two years? How do you sort out the boundaries between friendly physicality and sexual physicality? What happens when one of you dates the other’s good friend who turns out to be rather jealous and paranoid?

It took nearly two years to weld the pieces back together such that something resembling normal could arise. It took another two to turn normalcy back into a close bond, a best friendship in which all resentments, attractions, and discomforts were nullified and significant others were not only deemed worthy but lacked a jealous bone in their respective bodies. And then, suddenly, M[...] began to create worlds again, and almost as suddenly, stealthily, R[...] wrote a screenplay about how Arren Minetelle defeated the Demon Kifer.

And they were reborn.

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bellsnuit · 2 years ago

Text

Baby needs love: Natasha, Wanda x reader (1/?)

Summary: You're a senior in school and your parents are shitty people who never cared about you. So you're looking for a way to earn money. Confused and innocent, you got the ad that you were being paid to be the baby of a couple looking for a baby girl. Maybe if you hadn't been so ignorant and innocent, if you hadn't choked with excitement at the idea that someone could give you some love, you wouldn't have ended up in that situation. And then, these nice women adopted you. And they gave you love, much more than you ever received.

Reader is 16, so consent from an older couple is doubtful. I'm not in favor of this, it's just a fanfic.

Okay, so tumblr don't let me post the whole chapter complete so I have to cut off. Sorry.

Main list

You're a senior in school and your parents are shitty people who never cared about you. Really never, so you're looking for a way to earn money. Confused and innocent, you got the ad that you were being paid to be the baby of a couple looking for a baby girl.

Maybe if you hadn't been so ignorant and innocent, maybe if you hadn't choked with excitement at the idea that someone could give you some love, you wouldn't have ended up in that situation.

You got out of class and adjusted your skirt that clung to your body. Your head kept telling you it was a bad idea, but you had seen how well they matched and you figured you just had to pretend to be the daughter of two women. You had seen their profile, they seemed so nice. Society sucked, you thought it was sad that they couldn't adopt or find a way to have their family: why can't the best people to have a child always?" Both redheads seemed so happy together, and you simply wondered what they would ask for: go shopping? watch movies? let them do your hair? Either effect would be enough for you and fill the void your parents had left you with all your life: existing but being shitty to you.

You saw the beautiful house at the end of the block and settled your coat, ringing the doorbell once you were in front of the door. You always hated the typical teenage skits: always the one who had family problems, was confident, challenged everyone, and had attitude. None of that applied to you, so much so that you were not only segregated at home but also at school. Everywhere you looked, it sucked. And maybe that's why it wasn't so crazy for you to get a foster family even for a little while. As soon as one of the redheads opened up, you noticed her warm smile. Your skin tingled the moment you walked into the house that smelled of jasmine and home-cooked food. "I'm sorry to receive you alone, little one. My wife is finishing some things, I already called her" you asked permission as you entered and drew a slightly shy smile. "You're pretty. Would you like some water?" you nodded toward her and sat down as she instructed. She poured water into a glass that was already positioned and held out the tray with chocolate chip cookies for you. You took a cookie and took a sip of the water, setting it down on the table. The house was sophisticated, and you sensed that there were no economic problems there. "Here I am, sorry I'm late" your eyes went up to a redhead coming down the stairs wearing black legging and a t-shirt. Unlike her other partner, who was wearing jeans. She smiled at you and you noticed the perfection of her nose. "So we finally meet" you waved your hand shyly. "She's shy" smiled the one who had greeted you, sitting down on the couch in front of where you were. her wife who had just come down sat next to her. They both looked excited, and you just couldn't help but smile. "But she has a nice smile too" Natasha assured. "So, little girl, how old are you?" "Sixteen" you whispered. Wanda and Natasha looked at each other mutually, you caught their surprise. "Oh, we thought you were a little older, honey" Wanda's voice was so calm and vibrant.

“Well, actually, you look like a big girl. You don't look sixteen”

“Oh, thank you” Natasha frowned sideways "So what made you make this decision?" You swallowed hard but felt restrained. Maybe because of the tone, the place, or everything. "I-I really don't have anything. I need money to get out of the house." "Bad childhood?" asked Wanda shaking her head slightly. "Very bad. And now I just want to get away from their drugs, alcohol, and all their shit. I want something healthy, I want a fresh start." Natasha went to speak, but Wanda put her hand in her wife's lap speaking first. Noticing how there was something that didn't match "Wait, wait, what are you looking for, honey?" at no time did she mean to be rude, but that question tinged your cheeks and you saw Natasha's expression confused. "I- I read that they were looking for a big girl to be and-" you watched as Natasha opened her mouth, nodding. Both women looked at each other, understood. "I'm sorry, honey" Natasha spoke, shifting her gaze to pity "I think you got confused." "What do you mean?" you asked somewhat humiliated. "It's just that... I think you've misunderstood. We're sorry we can't help you" "What didn't I understand?" Wanda looked at Natasha warningly and then looked at her with pity. "It's just that, honey... we are looking for a baby... in a sexual sense" that hit you hard on the cheeks and you felt your face burn. "Do you know what that is?" Natasha looked at Wanda and then at you. You shook your head. "Oh well, we take care of a little girl, we give her love, affection, and things, like money, in exchange for her doing everything we ask" you saw her insistent look to know if you understood, and you did. You really did and you felt stupid. "Oh" your mind took away the mental picture of the situation. You looked at the place. No, you were stupid for even considering it. You were shit, you even had a clue about sex at all. You'd never even had your first kiss. You'd never even imagined having sex with a woman. Much less two women. You stirred and remembered the four figures that were closer to five than three, every month. It would give you enough for rent and schooling. Maybe even for a while. "Leave me a moment" Natasha stood up and took her wife's hand. she led her into the kitchen "What the fuck are you doing, honey?" Wanda smiled slightly "She's fucking cute, Nat. She knocked on our door like a lost puppy. We can help her." "Fuck an underage girl?" "Did you see how she thinks about it?" Wanda toward the living room and bit her lip "Honey, look at her skirt and how she's blushing. Possibly she's never even had sex" Wanda watched Natasha with her eyes on the teenager, her gaze lowered and thought. "Maybe we can make a mutual agreement" Natasha caught her wife's eyes and moved to her lips. "You're crazy" she whispered brushing her lips. "I think if we can have our little one" whispered Wanda "We just have to start being gentle, show her what we can do, and how, teach her and then we'll have her to ourselves just the way we want her. If she had a difficult childhood, with a little love it's easy to corrupt her." "I'm not convinced" Nat whispered. "Then let momma help with that."

₊°︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ‧₊˚

Tag list: @natashaswife4125 @cxllicpx @marvelwomen-simp @sky-runs-off-coffee @river-gay @anastasiabeaverhousen87 @starsvck @srslynel @ohmymarvelll

Let me know in the feedback if you wanna be added to this taglist!

#wanda x reader #natasha x reader #wanda smut #wanda x nat x reader #wanda x natasha #natasha smut

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spinster-sisters · 3 years ago

Text

Pushover. psh jwy

TW: exhibitionism, fingering, oral female receiving, dirty talk, praise, degradation, grinding, slight bondage, good ole fashion fucking, cock stepping apparently, daddy kink, mutual masturbation, probably other stuff that have escaped my mind cuz writing this felt like a fever dream. So wooyoung is involved pretty heavily involved in this, like many of the kinks listed are done on him and by him so there you have it. Also yeosang is directly involved for like 4 seconds, also please just assume any tags mentioned in the first part that are not listed here may also pop up.

Part 1 (this is a direct continuation of this timestamp)

WC: 5k words of pure smut.

You were hardly aware of your surroundings. Nestled into Seonghwa’s lap, your head fell back onto his shoulder and your eyes screwed shut. You could hear the garbled sound of your boyfriend’s voice rumbling next to your ear, but the slim fingers working in and out of your wet hole stopped any thoughts from entering your brain. Your panties had been pushed aside only enough for him to slip two fingers inside you but you were already keening.

Seonghwa knew how to work you, knew how to make you fall apart and he would usually take his time doing it. Normally you had to put in the work for this kind of treatment, you would have to be especially good and listen to him well during the day, a single misstep or disobeyed words would leave you hopeless, but you had gotten very good at behaving. Why would you when he treated you so well? Not to mention that Seonghwa had something to prove today, without an exchange of words you already knew to be on your best behavior today.

“So what do you say, Woo? It’s your call.” Seonghwa spoke with a cool calm tone. His free hand tapped your side and you knew he wanted your attention for the next part, so your head lifted up and you pulled your eyes open to face the room.

Seven pairs of eyes were glued to you and your boyfriend, all in various stages of embarrassment to downright turned on, but the ones that caught your attention were none other than Wooyoung’s. Because it seemed for the first time the man was at a complete loss for words. His mouth was flapping open and closed like a fish out of water but his complexion was suddenly very pink. He was watching with careful eyes the way Seonghwa’s fingers slipped in and out of you, each time pulling more wetness from you, where it pooled on Seonghwa’s pant leg and made his fingers glisten.

“Are you going to answer me? I don’t appreciate being ignored Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s voice sounded again, this time with a much steelier tone. Snapped out of his reverie Wooyoung’s eyes flung up to your boyfriend's hard gaze and he made a confused noise. Wooyoung’s body twitched at Seonghwa’s disappointed sigh and somewhere in the room, you heard Mingi muttering to Jongho.

“I asked you a question Woo, do you have an answer?”

Wooyoung’s eyes flitted around the room, desperately looking for aid in the faces of his friends, but none came. They seemed perfectly content to watch the loud boy struggle for words. Eventually, he looked to you for help with pleading eyes, you weren’t quite sure what he wanted you to do but before you could even ponder Seonghwa slipped another finger inside you, stretching you open, even more, making your lips fall open with a pleased sigh and your brain clouded over again.

“Don’t look to her for help, she listened well and is getting her reward. You can’t possibly expect her to risk that to help you. Now, I don’t like repeating myself Woo, so I’m only going to do it once. Do you still think I’m too much of a pushover?” Seonghwa spoke with icy venom.

Wooyoung frantically shook his head ‘no.’ You almost felt sorry for the man when your boyfriend's face turned to stone. Wooyoung noticed it too, and in a moment of frantic panic he realized his mistake and pushed out the word “No!” With perhaps a little too much force. Your head turned to look at Seonghwa’s sharp side profile. He looked very pleased with himself. Rightfully so, taking charge was his forte in times like these.

Seonghwa returned your gaze with a smirk. Using his free hand he gently took your chin between his fingers and pulled you in for a deep kiss. The hand working inside you slowed it is ministrations, but you knew better than to voice your disapproval. Seonghwa’s lips effortlessly urged yours to open and his long tongue slipped between them. Seonghwa’s kisses were always so, strong? He put so much force into every press of the lips and every swipe of the tongue head spun with excitement. Your eyes feel shut almost immediately, moving your mouth gently along with your boyfriend.

It seems you got a little too lost in the feeling of the kiss and the gentle push of the hand working inside you because you were slowly becoming more and more vocal with each passing second. What started as soft groans were now developing into full moans that were only slightly muffled by Seonghwa’s lips. But a sudden squeal from across the room drew both of your attention. Seonghwa broke the kiss to peer across the room at none other than Wooyoung, whose pink complexion had turned bright red since you last looked at him. Also notable, was the way he kept clenching his thighs together and making small grinding motions.

He wasn’t completely alone in this, one quick glass around the room showed you that all of your friends seemed to be enjoying the scene before them, many of them sporting hard dicks of their own (San and Hongjoong especially had taken to slowly palming themselves over their jeans) but none seemed to be quite as affected as the boy directly across for you.

“Getting impatient?” Seonghwa asked with disinterest.

“No,” Wooyoung replied, trying to match your boyfriend's tone but failing miserably.

“We’ve barely started and you're already rutting against the floor like a dog, are you sure this isn’t too much for you?” Seonghwa asked in a tone of mock concern. Seonghwa pulled his fingers from you to instead gently circle your clit with care. You. Squirmed again. The truth was you were remarkably close to the cumming. A fact Seonghwa probably knew. You tried to reassure yourself, knowing that in the current circumstances a high reward was coming your way soon, but the sudden emptiness was disappointing none the less and while it showed on your face you dared not make a sound.

“Get on with it then,”

You winced. Knowing the kind of reaction Wooyoung’s words would bring. Seonghwa’s face hardened. Much darker than you had seen in a long time. One quick glance to the side told you that the younger boy's word had left Seonghwa seething. He stayed silent for a moment, but not inactive. His fingers dancing across your folds seemed to gain a sense of purpose, and with sudden and unexpected vigor, Seonghwa worked them in a way that made your legs twitch and your hole clench around nothing.

“Can I, please?” You asked aloud, though it was clear who you were talking to.

“Go ahead little one,” Seonghwa encouraged with a surprisingly gentle tone.

A loud whine came from your open mouth and the room watched with rapt attention as your body came undone. Even Seonghwa pulled eyes dangerous gaze away from Wooyoung who had been gulping with fear, to watch with soft eyes at the way his pretty girl fell apart for him.

It must have been a truly lewd sight. Your body spasming freely as your glistening core twitched, not to mention your chest covered with marks given to you by the very man who caused your pleasure. The helpless cries were only the cherry on top to the room of onlookers, Yunho had even let out a low groan of his own. But the man of the hour, as it seemed, Wooyoung had returned to his stunned silence, watching the way Seonghwa continued to toy with your clit, prolonging your orgasm as much as possible for the room to enjoy.

Seonghwa turned back to Wooyoung and stopped his work on you only after the majority of your orgasm had passed, leaving you breathless and panting. You felt Seonghwa’s hard cock digging into your ass, but Seonghwa had other matters to attend to first. He fixed Wooyoung with a hard gaze and gave a simple command.

“Come here,”

Wooyoung froze at his words, unable to look away. Yeosang, who had been enjoying Wooyoung’s torment far more than the others urged his forward with a small push on the shoulder, which snapped him out of his trance, and after a moment he slowly crawled across the floor to sit on the floor before you.

Everyone in the room seemed shocked by this turn of events, yourself included, but one quick look from Seonghwa’s encouraging smile settled your nerves. Besides, your brain way still basking in the aftermath of your orgasm so this all seemed much more exciting than you would admit out loud.

With a pinch on your outer thigh from Seonghwa your legs instinctively opened wider, giving Wooyoung an eye full of your now slightly swollen core. Seonghwa reached between your legs and spread your pussy open, exposing your still pulsing hole to the man on the floor, and with one simple sentence, changed the tone of the night for good.

“Get on with it then,”

“What?” Wooyoung sputtered helplessly, looking up to your boyfriend with wide eyes.

“Your attitude has done nothing but remind me how wonderfully obedient my pretty girl is,” as Seonghwa spoke you subconsciously cuddled further into his chest, his eyes flicked to you and he gave you a reassuring squeeze on your neck with his free hand, “and I think she should be rewarded before I deal with that mouth of yours.”

Wooyoung’s eyes shown with realization as it finally dawned on him exactly what his teasing had gotten him into. His eyes flicked around to the faces of his friends only to see them waiting expectantly for Wooyoung to do as he was told. He looked back to Seonghwa and opened his mouth, to apologize, to beg, to l say anything at all, but no words came out. Seonghwa frowned at him.

“Don’t you think she’s been good?” Your boyfriend asked accusatorily.

“Yes, she has-“ Wooyoung started.

Seonghwa’s finger slipped down to drag through your folds and collect the wetness gathering there. You were still incredibly sensitive from your orgasm and the movement made you shudder a gasp. Wooyoung’s eyes followed the action with a downright hungry gaze but something was still restraining him from acting. Seonghwa held out his wet finger in front of the boy's face, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight.

“I’m not going to say it again. Get. On. With. It.”

It seemed whatever defiant streak had been holding the boy back had finally broken. Wooyoung’s head snapped forward and took the Seonghwa’s long shining finger into his mouth and sucked it clean. A loud whinny groan came from the boy instantaneously and after a moment his lips pulled away with a loud pop. With his new resolve Wooyoung’s eyes zeroed in on your face blushing face and with an incredibly what look his eyes snapped back down and he dove in.

An unapologetic scream ripped from your open mouth. The first sensation you felt was pain, you have only fully come down from your high a minute or so prior and your clit was still incredibly sensitive as Wooyoung attached his lips to your cunt and rolled his tongue over the bud repeatedly. But the longer he kept at it, sliding his tongue over the length of your core in a wide lick, the more the full pain turned into biting pleasure.

“You look so pretty like this baby,” Seonghwa muttered encouragingly in your ear, but still loud enough for the room to hear over the obscene slurping noises Wooyoung was now making as he sucked at your entrance. “Doesn't that feel nice?”

Depends on how you define nice really, it felt like all too much all at once, it hurt yes, but every swipe of the younger boy's tongue brought more wetness out of you and made your body twitch and writhe with the slightest movement. Honestly, you should have been used to this by now. Seonghwa loved to do this to you, overstimulate you for hours till there were tears in your eyes and you had lost control of your limbs, he thought you looked best when completely at his mercy. But this was only your first orgasm, you had been trained well enough to keep some of your composure despite the abuse your aching core was suffering at Wooyoung’s hand. You turned to Seonghwa’s satisfied face, and gave him a weak smile,

“Feels good, Daddy.”

Somewhere in the room someone let out an “oh fuck,” and Wooyoung groaned particularly loud directly into your pussy and the vibrations traveled up your spine like lightning. Your mouth fell open as you looked into Seonghwa’s eyes with a dazed look. Your hips arched off your boyfriend's lap. It was Wooyoung who made the first move to push your hips back, eager to have his mouth back on you, but he had no sooner touched you than Seonghwa slapped his hand away from your body.

Wooyoung pulled away from your core, his chin dripping with your juices and his eyes shining with confusion. Seonghwa took your hips into both of his hands and pulled you back, flush against his lap and still hard cock, he then fixed Wooyoung with a glare.

“Your not here to touch. Make my baby girl cum in the next five minutes and I might just go easier on you.” Seonghwa spat.

Wooyoung blinked at him, before giving him the sweetest smile he could muster.

“Yes, Daddy”

This took you and the rest of the room by surprise. But you didn’t have time to ponder before Seonghwa took the boy by the roots of his hair and pulled his face forward into your swollen cunt.

“Times ticking, little boy, better get a move on.”

And so he did. Wooyoung ate you out with a burning passion you had never quite experienced. Seonghwa preferred to take hours going down on you, purposely going a slow and steady as possible to build up extremely powerful orgasms that would last for minutes. This was entirely different. Wooyoung was being incredibly messy. Wet sounds echoed around the room and into your ears, he seemed to be trying to eat you alive with the way his mouth moved desperately around your folds. His tongue had made its return to your clit. He sucked the bud between his lips and rolled it around with his tongue in such quick tight little circles your brain spun and if it weren’t for the iron grip one of your boyfriend's hand still had on your hip your sure you would flailing around like a madwoman. You certainly sounded like one with the way endless cries, whines, and groan spilled from your lips in increasing volume. Wooyoung had a clear goal, Seonghwa had given him five minutes? He would do it in three.

You were nearing the end of your rope, your entire lower half seemed to be vibrating with numb pain and pleasure it was almost unbearable but somehow nowhere near enough.

“Daddy? Can I cum please?” You spoke in a shattered voice. Seonghwa, who still had his hand twisted in Wooyoung’s hair looked down expectantly at the boy, who was already peering up at your face with wide eyes. Both you and your boyfriend watched as Wooyoung slid his tongue into your hole and began fucking it in and out of you in time with your breathy gasps. Your head flipped frantically to search your boyfriend's eyes, begging for permission.

“Please, please, Daddy, I can’t hold-“

“You can cum baby,”

And that was all it took. You practically screamed. Your eyes went white as your head fell back again. Having lost all control of the movement of your limbs Seonghwa took his hand from Wooyoung’s head and used both to hold your spasming body close against his. Your brain had gone fuzzy and the only two things registering in your brain were the gentle praise being whispered into your ear and the beat of Seonghwa’s heart against your back from how closely he held you.

Your recovery to much longer this time. To be perfectly honest, in your whacked-out brain it could have been hours.

Slowly you came back to reality. When you opened your eyes the first thing you saw was Yunho from across the room, he gave you a reassuring smile but it was offset slightly by the way his hand was down his pants, nevertheless you smiled back. You laid limp and spent across Seonghwa’s lap. His arm had come around your waist to hold you up and his other hand was rubbing soft circles on your inner thigh. He gave a gentle kiss to your temple as you stirred, leaving butterflies in your stomach. Shifting slightly so you sat sideways on his lap you curled yourself into him with an affectionate purr.

And then there way Wooyoung. He sat on his knees with his hands on his thighs looking up at you like he won a prize.

“You taste good,” he said with an almost happy hour lucky smile.

“Did you like it, Woo?” San asked from behind him, San was sporting his own wide eyes and looking overly jealous about the whole thing.

Wooyoung spun around to look at his best friend and spoke enthusiastically,

“She tastes so good Sannie, really, it was so much fun!”

“Don’t get too excited Woo, we’re not done yet.” Seonghwa chided. Wooyoung whirled around to face him.

“Didn’t I do good?” He asked with a confused look.

You nodded absently as Seonghwa spoke.

“Yea you did good, but that doesn’t excuse your attitude earlier. You still need to learn some respect. I’m sure our friends would agree all this attention you’ve been getting has gone to your head.”

Yeosang and Jongho snickered in agreement. Wooyoung turned to shoot them a glare but it was cut short by a strangled moan. Seonghwa had pressed the heel of his shoe onto the swollen tip of Wooyoung’s cock through his jeans. And to your surprise, Wooyoung’s hips bucked up into the sole of his shoe. Your brain short-circuited.

Wooyoung started to move away but Seonghwa took hold of his hair again and kept him in place.

“What’s the matter woo? Embarrassed? Embarrassed you almost got yourself off on Daddy’s shoe?”

Wooyoung shook his head no, but Seonghwa only dug his heel in harder and Wooyoung couldn’t help but buck against his shoe again with a pained moan. Your legs were clenching together as another pool of arousal pooled between them. Here’s the deal, you had always admired Seonghwa’s incredible level-headedness. In fact, it was one of the best qualities you could ask for in a lover. But for months now, you had been hoping for the chance that Seonghwa would show his true colors to the rest of the group. The idea had been a fantasy of yours for such a long time, but seeing it, here and now, and like this? Not to mention you had always wondered just how far Seonghwa would go if someone disobeyed him, perhaps you didn’t have the guts to do it yourself, especially since being good reaped such high reward, but this was far more than you ever imagined. You doubt whether you had ever been this turned on in your life.

Seonghwa noticed your reaction, of course, he could always read you like a book. He glanced around the room to the hungry faces of your friends till he found who he was looking for and locked eyes with them with a smirk.

“Yeosang, think you could help me for a moment?”

Yeosang returned the smirk and the room watched with bated breath as he made his way over to the scene, eyes zeroed in on Wooyoung’s mortified face.

“Who knew Wooyoung was such a pain slut.”

Yeosang’s voice was as cool as a cucumber, and if it wasn’t for the bulge in his pants you would think he was talking about the weather. Seonghwa dug his heel into Woo one last time before spinning the boy around to face Yeosang by yanking the hair in his grip. Wooyoung was whining pathetically at it all. Your hand was placed on Seonghwa’s hard chest. He glanced at you with a promising smile at your desperate face.

“Not had your fill yet, little one?” He asked you with a smirk. You shook your head ‘no.’

“No Daddy, you make me so needy.” You reply with wide eyes and a slight whine, grasping the fabric of his shirt in a tight fist. He grinned at you before turning to Yeosang again.

“I think it’s finally time to fuck my baby girl, but I don’t think Wooyoung has learned his lesson yet,” as he spoke Seonghwa began fiddling with his belt, pulling through the loops of his jeans. Handing the belt to Yeosang he continued, “Do me a favor, tie him up, make him desperate, don’t stop till he begs.”

Yeosang accepted the challenge with a smile. Seonghwa’s attention was finally on you and you alone. With his help as your body was still weak, he adjusted you to straddle his hips facing him. You looked a mess surely, there was no way you looked anything but obscene and sweaty, But Seonghwa took in your face with a smile.

“You look so pretty like this baby girl” As he spoke, Seonghwa’s hand came to your ass and kneaded it in his palms. The room could no longer see your face, but they could most definitely see this, and likely your still leaking cunt.

Directly behind you, you could hear rummaging noises and the distinct clink of a belt being done up. A quick glance over your shoulder showed you that Wooyoung was now facing the room, with his hands bound behind his back and a pillow between his legs, Yeosang sat to his side clearly satisfied with his work. After taking it in you turned back to Seonghwa who looked pleased himself.

“You’ve been so good baby, want Daddy to fuck you? Nice and deep how you like it?” You practically purred at his words. It’s true so far you had enjoyed yourself, but there was nothing quite like when Seonghwa filled you up with his cock.

“Please fuck me Daddy” you whispered, leaning in close to him with your biggest doll eyes, and your hands gripping his shoulder. Seonghwa smiled at you, content with your answer.

A moment later he had freed his duck from his jeans and was stroking it leisurely. Your mouth watered. Oh, the way he could make you feel, how many times he had made you cum. As Seonghwa sunk into the couch, taking a moment to watch you squirm on his lap he truly looked too powerful. The calm in the sea of chaos that had unfolded that night, it was unfair how he made your heart skip a beat. With one quick glance over your shoulder, he called out to Wooyoung one last time.

“I’d start doing as you were told Wooyoung, wouldn’t want the others to get impatient with you,”

At that, you heard the first grunt of Wooyoung grinding helplessly on the pillow, then whimpering at how the surface was too soft to gain any friction over his pants. The poor boy was at his wit's end.

But your attention was drawn back to the man in front of you before you had time to feel sorry for Wooyoung. One of his fingers had slipped inside you once again to test the waters. You flinched at the intrusion, your body was utterly spent, and the overstimulation would be hell, but as God, as your witness, you were going to take your boyfriend's cock tonight.

“Are you sure your ok baby? Wouldn’t want to push you too far after the night you’ve had.” He spoke with mild concern, but he already knew the answer.

“No! I want to! I can take it!” You spoke with urgency.

“Absolutely sure sweetpea?” He asked one last time. Your hand gripping his shirt twisted and shook. You looked at him with the most pleading look you could muster.

“Please fuck me, Daddy.”

“Ok then,” he replied with a smile. Not once today had you forgotten your manners or rules, after dealing with the whimpering boy behind you for an evening he was glad to have his perfect baby girl still being as good as ever.

Seonghwa hoisted your hips to be level with his. Seonghwa had a thing about eye contact while he fucked you, so you did your best to not break it as the tip of his cock teased your entrance.

To be completely honest, but the focus of the rest of the room seemed to now be on Wooyoung, who was still rutting against the pillow like a dog, and they all seemed to be enjoying the show far too much to notice the tender way Seonghwa pulled your body down flush against his hips and down onto his cock. Although the broken whipper that came from you at the feeling overwhelming sensation did turn a few heads.

Your knees were shaking and your hands trembling. You had been right, the overstimulation was making it too hard to move on your own. But Seonghwa was attentive as always. He wrapped an arm around your waist and used it to slowly work you up and down on his cock. Each thrust he made felt like pins and needles in the best way possible. After Seonghwa had worked up a steady rhythm a numbing pleasure had already begun to build. Looking deep into your boyfriend's eyes you placed and hand on your tummy and after moving it around for a bit you could feel him moving inside you. You groaned out, this position had always been the best for deep penetration anyways.

“Daddy I can feel you inside me,” you whipper as he picks up speed. The room was beginning to sound like a symphony of lewd cries and squelching noises coming from both you and Wooyoung. Not to mention the panting and groaning coming from the others in the room, who had lost any semblance of shame and were jerking off freely to the unexpected yet beautiful sight. The other boy's eyes kept flicking back and forth, unable to decide which one was more arousing to watch. Many of them had already gotten themselves off before now and were now sporting half-hard cocks as they were faced with the delightful scene.

“I know baby girl, I know how much you love to be stuffed full of cock. And now everyone else knows too.” Seonghwa replied clearly satisfied with himself. His hand came up to your jaw and he delivered a particularly hard thrust and pulled your hips down to match it. You were already losing focus of the world around you and the pleasure was mounting rapidly. At the force of the thrust, your eyes almost dropped closed but Seonghwa pulled your head forward and they opened a bit wider.

“Now everyone knows how good you are for me, baby. My good little girl, who loves taking my cock.” Seonghwa was speaking in such a low grumbling voice it was almost like he was talking to himself rather than you like he was reminding himself of what he had accomplished today. You could tell that after waiting all night for stimulation he was also getting close to his own edge, and if you listen to the whiny panting of the boy behind you you could tell he was getting desperate for the release that would never come from the pillow.

You almost lost eye contact again when Seonghwa’s thrusts became sloppy. Increased pace but with less consistency was the tell-tale sign that Seonghwa was going to cum, but luckily for him, it was this exact treatment that made your head spin. Your lower half was numb with biting pleasure and it was all you could do to keep your eyes open to watch the sweat dripping down Seonghwa’s forehead as he carried on with determination. The others had caught on to what was about to happen and many were now speeding up their ministrations to themselves to climax at the same time as you and your boyfriend.

Seonghwa’s hand wound its way into your hair and used it to crash your lips onto his is a heated, wet, and messy kiss. Any second now and you would lose yourself to the pleasure. You detached your lips just enough to pant into Seonghwa’s lips,

“Daddy, in cumming”

“Damn right you are,” he moaned in response.

It was wise of him to reattach your lips before you came undone. Even with him muffling your noises there was no way the sounds you made didn’t echo around the room and ring In everyone’s ears. Seonghwa kept his pace, pushing more and more whinnies out of you till you almost jumped away from him in overstimulation, butter grip on your waist didn’t let you get far. There were tears in your eyes by the time Seonghwa finally came. Your orgasm had turned silent almost immediately after and your mouth hung wide open in an empty moan. Your brain had all but shut off when the feeling of your boyfriend's cum spilling into you registered into your brain.

Saying you blacked out would be a strong word. But when your eyes fell closed they didn’t seem to want to open. You and Seonghwa stayed connected for what seemed like an eternity before he pulled out of you with a groan and laid you gently down onto the couch to his side.

You were dead weight at this point. But when you felt Seonghwa stand up you pried your eyes open the slightest bit once you realized that the unmistakable noises of a begging Wooyoung had filled your ears.

Seonghwa walked around to stand in front of him. Most of the others in the room were now basking in the afterglow of their own orgasms but had perked up to watch.

“Please, please, please, Daddy. Please let me cum. I promise I’ll be good, I promise I won’t bother you as much, I promise, please-“

Wooyoung ramblings we’re cut short by Seonghwa taking hold of Wooyoung’s head and turning it up to look him in the eyes.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Seonghwa replied. Wooyoung gasped a sigh of relief. Seonghwa motioned for Yeosang to come over and untie the poor boy and hopefully get him some relief. But Seonghwa didn’t care about that part, his eyes were now back on you. His sweet perfect, obedient little girl.

Tag List: @deja-vux @txtbbys @darlingmulti @emotionally-intellectual @mingishoe @eonghwa @galaxteez

@a-soft-hornytiny @yunhospuppy @barnesbabee @woowommy @hyetiny @multidreams-and-desires @spacepiratehongjoong @pikacuuuuuuu

if your wondering why your tagged, its either because you expressed interest in a part two or are otherwise a homie or I would like you to be a homie and this is my olive branch

#ateez smut #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez timestamp #seonghwa smut #wooyoung smut #yeosang smut #hongjoong smut #mingi smut #yunho smut #jongho smut #san smut

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vicious-vixxxen · 3 years ago

Text

SugarDaddy!Enji X SugarBaby!Male Reader <3

Not entirely sure where this came from, but couldn’t help myself once it started :3 nothing crazy, and kinda short, so apologies for that, but I hope you guys enjoy it! Prompt fills should be out later this month: In the midst of a move, so slow going getting fills, out, but hopefully soon <3 thanks for the patience, and the continued support. Much love to you guys! Enjoy :3 Sugar Daddy!Enji x Sugar Baby!Male Reader

(Sort of, kind of, it is but also not entirely the focus)

“What would you do without me, dad,” Fuyumi sighed, though her smile was palpable, even if Enji couldn’t see it- as she’d stepped behind him to lint roll his dinner jacket. Enji adjusting his watch, and catching the time, puffing his chest up a bit as he shooed his daughter back, and glanced at himself in the full length mirror once more, briefly. Enji would lie down and accept the sweet, bitter kiss from the grim reaper, before he ever told his daughter just where he’d found his date from. But, and as hard as it was to so much as admit it, Enji did know when to wave the white flag of defeat, and after three hours of trying to pick his own outfit, he’d shuffled off to her room and mumbled the bare minimum about having a date from an app tonight. Fuyumi had freaked out for all of ten minutes, before growing startlingly serious, and rifling through his closet for articles of clothing Enji had no idea were even there. And now...well, he looked more presentable than he had in ages. Granted, his wardrobe consisted of his hero suit ninety nine percent of the time, but still. Bidding Fuyumi goodbye was a whole other ordeal, but soon enough, Enji found himself- or rather, his driver, pulling up along the curb of the restaurant he’d asked you to. Not even a moment to gather himself, or suck in a few lungful's of crisp evening air, before his eyes landed on you. Your dazzling smile so bright, Enji had to keep himself from squinting, as you hurried over, and without so much as a hello first, threw your arms over the hero’s broad shoulders, and brought him down into a tight, warm hug. Enji squeezed back awkwardly, though your cologne was mouthwatering, and the feel of someone wanting to be in his arms almost made the older man dizzy, as he pulled back, and smoothed out the front of his jacket. Just to busy his hands, as you eyed him up, and your smile grew softer. More intimate. “It’s so nice to meet, finally. In person.” You laughed, gesturing for Enji to follow you to the front door, as there was already a man waiting to escort you back to your table. Well, Enji thought. Here goes nothing.

“You’re nervous,” you pointed out quietly- gently, reaching across the table to lay one of your hands over Enji’s much larger one: meeting the older man's gaze as he stopped jiggling his leg, and focused his full attention on you. “Observant,” Enji huffed, though not unkindly, as he took a deep breath, and reached up with his free hand to tug at the neck of his sweater. Cheeks flush, both from the heat within himself, and his nerves. You were much more...handsome? Pretty? Drop dead gorgeous?- than your profile pictures had given you credit for, and even then you were one of the most beautiful specimens he’d ever laid his eyes on, so that was really saying something. “I try to be,” you laughed, bringing your other hand around to sip at your champagne, before laying your glass-chilled hand over the other covering Enji’s, to clasp them on either side- just holding his hand, and smiling. Awkwardness creeping back up Enji’s neck as his throat worked around the words he couldn’t quite find. “I could talk, if you’d like? And you can interject whenever you’d like. No pressure to, if you’re not ready. I could probably talk enough for the both of us.” You we’re trying to cut the man some slack, bless his big confused heart. Your online chats hadn’t divulged much, though you did get the gist from Enji. Bad relationship with his children. Not too close to anyone of his own age. He was lonely. And so were you. You were also broke as fuck, but all thoughts of monetary value flew out the window the second you hugged the man when you’d arrived. Seen the restaurant he’d asked you to; and the private balcony dinner he’d arranged. Enji was trying so hard, and it made your heart beat a little too fast. Your smile almost too bright. “That...would be preferable, thank you,” Enji replied gruffly- though he cleared his throat after like he’d done it by accident. It only made you smile wider “Of course. A very considerate daddy you are,” you teased, referencing the website you met on jokingly- or at least, half jokingly- though the way Enji’s blush deepened had you stuttering around your first few sentences- glancing down suddenly as Enji turned his hand palm upward- holding your hands in return, as you laughed, suddenly, and began speaking smoothly. Squeezing the man’s hands in silent thanks, as he listened intently to you rambling on about your life. Where you went to school, what instrument you played, your favorite movies, and books. He really /listened/, grunting every so often to show you he was- and even interjecting with questions every so often; Enji really wanted to know about you. He wanted to listen. You’d never quite had anyone like that before. Not even close friends who cared enough to really listen to you. Your chest felt tight suddenly as you began touching on your most recent life happenings. Pausing slowly, voice getting quiet as you held Enji’s gaze, you lifted the older man’s hand to press a kiss to his palm. Snickering into it as Enji’s flames burst across his face at the contact. “Ah-Ahem. What uh...what’s that for?” He questioned, voice husky as he turned away slightly. Embarrassed at his flames for the first time since he was a pre-teen. “Just thanks, for listening,” you admitted with a shrug, kissing his palm again, even softer this time. Enji turned then, pure honesty in his gaze as he gathered his courage to speak clearly, “I could listen to you speak...for hours, if I’m being honest. You have..a lovely voice.” “Ah,” You nodded, your cheeks just as flushed as the hero’s as you swirled your champagne in its glass gently. Missing completely the way Enji’s face fell, and he withdrew his hands from atop the table, and back into his lap. The rest of the night went pretty much the same, though you noticed Enji seemed slightly more reserved, and gruff than before. Still just as attentive, still nearly mute, just more...withdrawn. Less open then he’d become as you spoke. It wasn’t until the date had come to an end, and he was escorting you out of the restaurant, and to the car he’d called to take you home, did you realize why. “Here you go.” Enji spoke quietly, yet clearly, crowding you in slightly so the valet couldn’t see the wad of cash he was holding out to you. Crisp bills neatly folded into a money clip, engraved with Enji’s initials. “Oh.” You’d almost forgotten by this point that this was sort of part of it. Or...well, it was the whole point, really. Or had been. “That’s….quite a lot of money,” You thought aloud, frowning at the way Enji’s brows drew down tightly, and he thumped the money into your chest gently. “I apologize for the evening. Please, just take it. It’s triple the amount we originally spoke of. Compensation for the poor company I’ve been.” You froze, staring between Enji’s eyes, that wouldn’t meet your own, and the cash being held out to you, Enji’s grip so tight on it his knuckles were white. /Oh/. So that’s what he thought. Earlier in the evening, your reaction to his sincerity, he’d read into it wrong. ….Sweet old man. “Silly daddy,” You sighed, smiling despite the situation- reaching up to tug out one solitary bill from the stack, before pressing Enji’s fist back into his own chest with one hand- the other snaking up and around the man’s neck, to ease him down to your level gently. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a more wonderful time with anyone before in my whole life. You listened, and saw me. And only me. For hours. I don’t think I can properly describe how absolutely wonderful that was. Truly. Silly,” You laughed again, watching the way Enji’s shoulders hunched, and tensed, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face, before he settled on bewilderment it seemed. The tiniest flames danced across his cheeks as you leaned up on your toes, brushing noses briefly, before capturing Enji’s lips in a soft, chaste kiss. Hand carding up and into the soft hair at the nape of Enji’s neck, scraping your nails through his scalp gently as your lips began to move against one another. Unsure, and hesitant, before that quickly melted away, leaving only the deepest desire, and want. A soft, needy noise leaving your mouth, that Enji swallowed up happily. Panting into your face as he pulled away, breath a wash of champagne, and the chocolate cake you’d both had for dessert. “Tip...for your driver,” You breathed, slightly dazed as you fell back into the car, feet firmly on the ground now- tapping your pocket where you’d slid the bill from the stack he’d held out to you at first. “I...should get going. But if I don’t have a text from you with the details of our next date when I get home, i’ll be one very disappointed boy,” You admitted quietly, cupping Enji’s cheek briefly- thumb sliding across his plump bottom lip, before you opened the back door of the car, and slid in. Wishing Enji a goodnight, before the door was shut, and you were being driven off towards home. Enji checked the time briefly as you pulled away, and once more when he finally was able to get his legs working again- nearly an hour had passed, in which he’d tried and failed multiple times to collect himself. Had that really just happened? The feel of his lips twisting up into a smile felt strange, and foreign for the pro hero. And as he walked home, to allow himself a chance to breathe finally, he began to laugh. Cupping his own face, and touching his lips, an incredulous laugh bubbled from deep within him as he threw his head back and allowed it to overtake him. Smiling in a way he hadn’t in...so, so long. Pulling his phone out, he immediately began texting you, checking your schedule for the next night, before suggesting going to a play. A quiet, private balcony just for the two of you. Close seats. Beautiful music. He could watch your reactions under the bright stage lights. It sounded fantastic. A text from Fuyumi chimed into his phone as he was nearly home, and still smiling like a love struck teenager. So? How was it!?-FT Enji sighed heavily, catching himself in a nearby shop window- looking too happy to be real, and recalling your words from earlier. Wonderful.-ET It was wonderful, Fuyumi.-ET

#bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x male reader #mha x y/n #enji todoroki x male reader #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki x y/n #endeavor x reader #endeavor x male reader #endeavor x y/n #endeavor #enji todoroki #viciousvixxxen

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taechaos · 4 years ago

Text

Freaky Idea

Pt. 2 of New Idea

pairing: Stepbrother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, pseudo-incest, smut

synopsis: The last guaranteed day you have with Taehyung is spent with his choice of adventure. You learn a lot of things about the history of freakshows, and how much of a freak your brother is as well.

warnings: mention of murder and somnophilia, riding, manipulation

word count: 3.8k

When Taehyung agreed to being your slave for a month, he wasn’t lying. He was attached to your hip throughout the whole time span, obeying your every command without complaint. You didn’t deem him forgiven, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy his company and compliance. The whole month was a bliss for you.

The first week, the morning after the… event, you had him prepare breakfast for you and your mother walked in on him cooking an omelette for you. She was perplexed, and with her morning drowsiness asked, “You’re home?” before smothering him with a hug. Your father gave him the minimum acknowledgement, and it went by quickly with your mother being surprised every time she saw him in the morning.

The second week, he drove you around and paid for your every need. You don’t know how he has so much money, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he sells drugs or had robbed a bank. You decided to reward him by kissing his cheek every time he bought you clothes and jewelries per your request. He realized he enjoyed spoiling you, and took you shopping in different malls for 7 days straight.

The third week, you met his friend. You had insisted, and he gave in after a short while of you begging because it was difficult to say no to you and rules are rules. His terms were: 1. You're going to act like his girlfriend, and 2. You sit on his lap. Maybe you didn't get it, but his friend Namjoon didn't seem dangerous enough for you to be behaving the way you were forced to. Sitting in front of a burning barrel in the middle of nowhere, Taehyung and Namjoon smoked weed together while you watched them. The conversation was fun, and you wanted to see him again. Taehyung didn’t allow you to question the ordeal. Rest of the week went by a breeze.

Fourth week was relatively calm as well, and now Taehyung is on his final day of slavery. It’s somewhat melancholic for you because you don’t know if he’ll vanish once the clock hits 12. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your dangling legs while your step-brother inspects the fridge to find you something for lunch. The two of you woke up late this morning, well, afternoon, and you don’t know why you feel so exhausted and sore. You’ve been feeling this way for a whole month now, but you’re growing somewhat used to it.

“This bitch is empty,” Taehyung grumbles before closing the fridge and standing up straight. When he notices your soft pout, he slithers his way between your legs. “What’s wrong princess? Are you tired?”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” you blurt without beating around the bush and peek at him under your lashes.

His brow ticks as he tilts his head. “Did you want to do something?”

“Well, no,” you drawl, “I just wish… you were here more often.”

"You know I can't stay away from you for long," he counters your worries, "especially if you allowed me to…"

"Stop." You distance yourself by pushing him away; you don't want to think about what he was implying. You made it explicitly clear that anything remotely sexual wasn't allowed to be brought up when you were around, and he’s been sticking to that rule until now - to your knowledge, at least.

“Stop teasing your sister, Taehyung.” your mother enters the kitchen while tying the knot of her robe, now checking the fridge herself.

He rolls his eyes before turning to her and retaliating, “I didn’t even do anything.” You giggle to yourself and bite your fist. “Did I tease you?” he asks innocently with his neck craned in your direction.

“Yes, he doesn’t even make me breakfast,” you joke with a grin.

“The fridge is fucking empty!”

“Language,” your mother warns strictly before taking out a box of frozen pizza. “And it isn’t empty. Could you turn on the oven for me, love?” You nod and arrange the heat to 200 degrees while Taehyung scoffs, “I can’t survive in a house with women.”

“Man up,” your step-father butts in monotonously. “You have to rely on your mother to cook to this day. When will you move out? Act your age Taehyung, you’re 21.”

The light-hearted atmosphere dims with the presence of Taehyung’s father. There’s a distinct contrast between your two parents, and you can understand why your step-brother is so rebellious around them. The only thing holding them together is their dedication to religion.

He only huffs and crosses his arms in response as his dad grabs a carton of juice and a glass from the cupboard. It’s tense in the room until Taehyung leans into your ear and whispers, “I’m only here because of you.”

A light blush tints your cheeks at his sweet confession, although it also makes you guilty. He later convinces you to eat with him in your room, and it’s comfortable in your bed as you chomp on the slices hungrily.

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Taehyung asks as he chews on his pizza.

“Let’s do something you want for a change,” you answer after swallowing.

Though he hasn’t been showing any lack of interest around you, you are aware that you haven’t been doing anything fun by his definition. You’re worried that you’ve bored him throughout this whole timespan of being together.

A smirk grows on his face and there’s that glint of mischief in his eyes that you’ve missed. Fair, the last time you saw it was before he traumatized you, but you try not to think about it much like you ignore the constant ache between your legs.

“There’s this circus,” he begins slowly, “I hear it’s interesting. Would you want to come with?”

You know he’s leaving something out, his cautious tone and aura implicit he knows something you don’t. But you nod anyway, because you still stupidly trust him.

Taehyung’s car is old and retro, but he must have upgraded the engines for how fast he is driving. You like admiring his side profile as he holds the steering wheel, but the view is much more interesting when he catches you looking. It’s a far location, and you’re out of the city by the time he parks his car in the woods. How did he memorize the directions when it took an hour to get there?

“We’re here,” he announces before shifting the manual stick gear with a screech. You exit the car and he is not gentle with the way he slams the door closed, so you do the same. You can see hints of red colors between the cracks of the thin trees.

“Is it open?” you question apprehensively. The sun hasn’t set yet, but it should be getting dark soon in the evening.

“Hasn’t been open for a century. You wouldn’t believe the amount of history this place has.”

He takes the lead in his steps, and you follow behind though your gut doesn’t approve. The path isn’t long, and only then do you see the circus when Taehyung moves aside. It’s run down, worn out colors in the curtains, broken glasses on the ground and the circus barely holding itself up. There’s a huge cannon in the middle of the stage, the tip balancing itself on the ground. It’s kind of creepy, but Taehyung doesn’t leave you in the dark for long.

“A lot of crazy shit happened here, you know,” he piques your curiosity, “the clowns were fucking freaks. Any type of physical disorder landed you in here, whether you liked it or not. Even for babies,” he picks up an idle shard of glass, “these were jars. They had deformed fetuses on display on a stand, but the wind must have fucked it up.”

“Deformed fetuses?”

“Yeah, like, conjoined and some other stuff.” You grimace at his description, although it stirs empathy in you. The 20th century sounds inhumane.

“Are these real stories?”

“Yeah. And the cannon: they rocketed people from this very bad boy,” he points at it before standing under.

Your stomach sinks as you panic, “It could fall on you!” You pull at his hand and the force makes your chests meet. He smiles down at you before pecking your lips. You stammer, a little mad as he chuckles before walking to a wooden wheel. He makes a star pose after stepping on the metal stand, stretching out his limbs to fit the whole circle.

“This was the Wheel of Death; they threw knives at targets on this. I think they only targeted females actually...” He nods at you to replace him as he hops off. You go along with his idea and climb on the stand, though it creaks weakly. He takes out a pocket knife from his pocket and you’re about to yell before he hurls it at you. It lands above your shoulder and you immediately scold, “What the fuck, Tae?! Why would you do that! I could’ve died.”

He shrugs with a bright grin, clearly unbothered by your stressing. “My aim isn’t too bad.” He walks over to you and collects his floating knife. “Besides, when have I ever hurt you?”

You bite your tongue and purse your lips with a glare.

“See?” he whispers. “You can’t even name one time…”

He’s teasing your silence, how you can’t even dare to voice the specific night. You haven’t even told your parents and slept with him right after, and he finds that so interesting: that you trust him with your life.

“You actually can’t? Wow, I didn’t realize I was such a good brother,” he grins lopsidedly before snapping his fingers. “On with the tour.” He is enthusiastic as he struts past the circus. You shake your head with a sigh but follow him regardless. “So there were sword swallowers, acrobats, strongmen, anything that drew attention. They had a shit ton of accidents and deaths, but you would die if you got boring as well.” Taehyung holds back a bush to let you pass; the place he’s leading you to is a lot more crowded with sages and trees than the previous path. “Once the initial attraction wears off, you’re a goner. They couldn’t survive in that society with those deformities, so it was suicide either way.”

“That is so cruel,” you mumble sympathetically. “This place was like a fractured fantasy.”

“At least they lived for a bit… up until someone ended it.” When he pushes away the woodruffs, you’re met with another rundown site with a few… cages? “This is the trailer. Where they stayed and got ready for their shows. Some were held against their will, and slept with the animals in those cages.”

You gape at your surroundings in shock. The trailer is missing one side of the wall, and the rest have been vandalized with random phrases written in spray paint. You don’t give much attention to the torture cages, because the trailer has a lot more to show. It still has couches on the incomplete hardwood flooring, and Taehyung plops on one. The fabric is torn and dust rises the moment he’s on the seat. “That’s so dirty, Tae,” you pull a displeased face.

“Don’t be rude to the past occupants. Their ghosts might still be around.” He wiggles his fingers as if imitating a monster. He then pats his thighs, beckoning you to sit on his lap. You begrudgingly do so, and he wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you flush against him. “Any theories on how this shitshow ended?”

“Police intervention?”

“Something like that, I guess. One of the acrobats went nuts and shot everyone, so the place was shut down.”

“What?” you widen your eyes at him. “Why did they do that?”

“He was going to be replaced, so he got rid of the competition. Very chilling,” he casually states. “There must be some bullet holes in the walls, but we can check that out later.” His head snuggles into your neck while you’re still processing his words, but you go blank when he starts leaving feather light kisses on your neck. “Right now,” he murmurs, “I just want you to ride me.”

“Ride you?”

“Don’t act innocent, you know what I mean. You said I could choose what we did today… and I want to fuck here.”

“Taehyung… I specifically told you we aren’t allowed to do anything sexual. You hurt me last time as well,” you frown at the mention.

“I asked you if I ever hurt you earlier. Did you say anything?” he asks condescendingly.

“No…”

“Why are you saying I hurt you now? Don’t tell lies, baby. Besides,” his hand slides down to your thigh as he speaks in a low, sultry voice, “I’ve been loosening up your cunt. You don’t even wake up at night anymore. It won’t hurt this time, I promise.”

You had an inkling, the stupid inkling that you tried so damn hard to brush aside. “You fucked me in my sleep?” you force out, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. “And you brought me here just to–”

“Christ, no,” he cuts you off offendedly, “I’m not that sick in the head. I didn’t plan it, but I can’t say I wasn’t hoping. It’s not like I’m going to rape you.”

“You did it once!”

“I was on a lot of drugs then! I’m clean now,” he huffs in irritation. “I’m sorry about that, and I know my apology is long overdue or whatever, but give me a break. I’ve been into you since I was like 16.”

You turn to look at him - really look at him. There’s not a trace of guilt on his face; the roots of his messy teal hair have grown out; the beauty of his naturally downward lip corners; you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess because you don’t know what to make of his confession. He has manipulated you countless times, coerced you into doing things you would never do, and for once you reflect on his personality. This could be one of his schemes in order to get you to do what he wants, and ironically, he was supposed to be doing that for you. Through all of your scrambled thoughts, you only muster a meek “really?”

“Yes,” he affirms, “that’s why I want to be intimate with you.”

Lies, lies, lies, you think before gently pressing your lips against his. Despite your attempt at kissing him softly, he doesn’t cooperate by instantly sucking on your nether lip with vigor, his hands immediately meeting at your hips to gently rock them against his crotch. He bites your lip before swiping his tongue against it, coaxing, “Suck on my tongue.” The awkward angle from where you’re kissing him makes him turn your body to completely face him, your knees landing on either side of him on the uncomfortable chair. It doesn’t matter, because you’re starting to forget the whole setting, just about everything except for him as arousal begins to seep in. Heat pools in your stomach at the switch in mood, and he’s enjoying your compliance as he quietly moans into your mouth.

While you’re busy relishing in his swirling tongue, he starts tugging down your pants and you help him without looking. You sit up to push it down your ankles and throw it on the floor along with your panties. “What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles breathlessly before leaving wet kisses on your lips and pulling away to take off his wrinkled shirt.

“What do you mean?” you ask, equally breathless.

“I don’t know, you’re just… so hot when you’re horny.” His boyish smile grows on your flustered face as he says, “Take off your shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits again.”

You bite your lip to suppress your insecurities, but it doesn’t help when you’re left in your bra as you cover your chest. “Don’t be shy now,” he teases knowingly and removes your arms before unclasping the garment. “Take out my cock now.” His tone is gentle with encouragement. You unzip his jeans timidly, but your eyes grow in wonder at the outline of his erection. “I’m so hard for you,” he assures you in a whisper and takes your hand in his to rub himself. “You’re so pretty, and sexy. I fucked you every night because you’re just so irresistible. You understand, don’t you, baby?”

“I… Yes,” you agree and finally push down his briefs. His throbbing cock stands proudly and you’re intimidated by the size until he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you.” He lightly touches your bare pussy, slick with your arousal as you shudder. He coats your vulva with all of it, giving special attention to your clenching hole as he inserts a single finger. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, and you’re confused by the lack of pain and the desire for more. It feels good and that is a surprise for you as you sink down lower on his finger. He curls it, adds another finger and stretches your walls, emitting a moan out of you. You’re liking it, and you don’t know why; he was so cruel the last time that you were convinced something would go wrong now. Nothing does, and if anything, his fingers make you feel the best you have ever felt though it is not enough. “More,” you beg and he replaces his fingers by pulling you to the head of his cock. He’s staring right at you with hooded lids as he rubs it up and down, making you release a needy whimper. “Please, Taehyung.”

And like the slave he was meant to be, he shoves it in with a grunt. Your scream catches in your throat at the initial sting, but it’s worth it when he screws his eyes shut in pleasure and bites his lip to hold back a groan. He looks angelic under you, although he is anything but. You realize he is waiting for your cue to move, and it flutters your hearts because he is more attentive to you this time. Rather than letting him take the lead, you act on your instincts as you roll your hips. It’s unsteady at first, the foreign position making it difficult for you to adapt to so fast. His audible quick breaths encourage you to take your time in angling your pelvis comfortably, and when an involuntary moan leaves you, you place your hands on his shoulders before sticking to the current stance and going up and down on him.

“Oh shit, you’re doing so well,” he praises you between gasps, supporting your body with his hands, “feels so fucking good. My good girl.”

It gets to your head, how much he’s enjoying your motions. He meets them with thrusts of his own, perfectly hitting your cervix and blinding you with pleasure. What is it that makes you feel so wonderful in this situation? Is it the touch, or the complimentary fact that you’re the only person Taehyung wouldn’t get bored of?

Could it be that you’re two of the same?

Maybe he’s the one desperate to please you, you think as he massages your breasts, flicking your hard nipples with his thumbs so graciously. The eerie silence is broken by both of your loud moans, ecstasy sensually building up in knots in your stomachs. Sweat accumulates on your forehead, your hair sticking to your face but not hiding the sight of his erotic expression. You arch your back and grind down on him, and he’s limp on the loveseat as he takes all that you give him so submissively.

It’s your turn to use him, and you actually start understanding what makes him so rash and impulsive in hopes of receiving this amount of serotonin. It’s worth it, the release of control and morals to be with him. “Taehyung, h-how did you do it?” you moan. “Every night, what did you do?”

“I,” he tries to catch his breath, “I used my fingers to stretch you out. One finger, then two, then three.” He groans and thrusts into you fast and hard, “I fisted you at some point, and you came in your sleep, and then on my cock. Moaning and whining every fucking night, like some filthy whore.” You mewl at his crude words. He’s so obscene with you, and you clench your walls in response. “You like being my whore, hm? Little freak.”

“Yes, yes,” you confirm in a whimper, nodding your head as you pass the dominance onto him. He’s fucking into you while you stand on your knees, eyes rolled back with drool about to drip from the corner of your mouth. He starts to rub your clit and kisses your neck for you to tighten around him over and over again; it’s heaven in an empty graveyard. It’s so fucked up, yet he can’t stop. You’re panting as he manipulates your body to mold with his. “I’m close.”

His hands fall on your ass, greedily kneading it as your hips begin to stutter, your orgasm climbing up just as your energy is falling down. It hits you like a truck: the peak of pleasure, accompanied by a silent scream, nails digging into his skin as your muscles tense. “Fuck,” you breathe once his thrusts begin overstimulating you, but it’s not for long as he shoots his load inside you with a groan. He’s twitching as his erection becomes flaccid, and you feel it as he pulls out.

“Bet it didn’t hurt,” he jokes while you recover from your climax. You’re leaking with his cum and he uses his shirt to wipe you clean, making you shake from how sensitive you are. “I’ll buy you the pill on the way home.”

“Thanks,” you plainly say and stand up to pick up your clothes. You’re trembling slightly and a little achy, but it’s nothing compared to losing your virginity.

“What? You gonna give me the cold shoulder now?” He’s only in his loose pants and has his shirt thrown over his shoulder. He buckles his belt while you put on your bra.

“Why did you make us act like a couple in front of Namjoon?” After hearing his confession, the interaction before bugs you.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it because you didn’t want him to think I was single? Because you like me?”

“No, he’s a convicted felon. Crazy motherfucker killed his ex’s new boyfriend,” he reveals with a scoff. “Besides, if you like me, you’d like him as well.”

Putting your shock aside, you realize one thing: Taehyung doesn’t want to be replaced. Does that mean you hold power over him? Or will he do anything at any cost to be in your life? Regardless of your internal monologue, you only reply with, “who says I like you?”

It’s a joke, and he knows it. As promised, he buys you an emergency pill and another shirt for himself on the way home. His days of slavery are over, and you wonder: where will he be tomorrow? Maybe take his father’s advice…

#bts imagines #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts smut #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts fic #taehyung fic #kth smut #bts #thekpopnetwork

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queenshelby · 3 years ago

Text

The Last Semester - Part Three

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

Words: 3,345

Original Blog:

@queenshelby

Previous Parts: Part One; Part Two

***************************

The Blind Date

It was 7 o’clock when you walked into the local Irish pub, looking for your date Patrick in a crowded room. Luckily, Emma had shown you Patrick’s Facebook profile and he certainly was handsome and easily recognisable.

Unsurprisingly, when you saw him standing at the bar with a pint of Guinness, he had already caught the waitresses’ attention and she tried her best to flirt with him until you approached.

‘Hi, Patrick?’ you asked and he nodded before shaking your hand and suggesting that you find somewhere else to sit.

Eventually, you located one of the high-top tables on the other side of the pub and sat down with your beers and began talking.

Patrick was a doctor at the university campus who had graduated medical school as little as two years ago. But, whilst he clearly was smart, you quickly realised that he was somewhat arrogant and lacked a good sense of humour.

Regardless, you tried to make the most of the night until, eventually, Patrick sought some reassurance from you that you would be going home with him that night. According to him, he didn’t like wasting his time if there was nothing in it for him.

His comments caught you by surprise and you quickly advised him that you were not that kind of woman and you certainly wouldn’t go home with someone you barely knew.

Patrick was disappointed and the conversation escalated quickly when he called you a prude and referred to you as being a woman who simply uses men to get free drinks.

You were speechless and, at half time, you put $10 pounds onto the table for your drinks and excused yourself quickly, grabbing your bag and headed for the bathroom.

There was no way you would be putting up with a man like this and you couldn’t believe that Emma thought that you would like him. Did she really think as little of you, you wondered?

Later that Evening

‘Cillian, hey’ you said as, after spending ten minutes in the bathroom collecting your thoughts, you walked out towards the entrance of the pub.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ Cillian asked as he immediately noticed your red and somewhat teary eyes.

‘Well, let’s just say that my roommate set me up on a blind date with a total wanker’ you laughed but, really, you weren’t sure whether you should laugh or cry after what he had said to you. It certainly didn’t help your self-esteem and that was something you struggled with.

What you were, however, sure about was that you were ready to leave even if that meant that you would miss the second part of the game.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’ Cillian asked, his hand resting on your shoulder and his eyes giving you a concerning but yet reassuring look.

You quickly nodded and Cillian responded with a simple ‘common then’ before dumping his half full pint of beer and walking outside with you.

Once you made it out of the door unnoticed, you inhaled deeply. ‘Damn and I really wanted to see the game. Ireland is so close this time’ you pouted slightly disappointed.

‘I am going to watch the rest at my place. You are welcome to come along’ Cillian offered and you took a moment to think about his offer. You knew that your flatmates were having a party and the game was only available on pay tv and you would much rather sit on the lounge with Cillian and watch the Ireland beat France than clean up vomit and empty bottles of booze at home.

‘Uhm yes, why not. Thanks’ you said shyly and followed Cillian to his apartment which was only a five-minute stroll from the pub.

Finally some Privacy

‘Wine or beer?’ Cillian asked after you took off your shoes and sat down on the lounge in his living room.

‘Whatever you are having’ you responded and Cillian was quick to open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

‘Thank you’ you said as he handed you a glass and sat down next to you. You really weren’t much of a red wine drinker but pretended to enjoy it.

There was an awkward silence between you as you watched the second half of the game but you enjoyed it nonetheless.

You struggled paying attention to the commentators as your mind focused on the man sitting next to you instead. The smell of his aftershave mixed with detergence he had used to wash his clothes drove you absolutely crazy. And then there were his hands, which you watched every time he reached for his glass of wine.

But it wasn’t just you watching Cillian. He watched you as well and often gazed over to you, focusing on your soft facial features.

Eventually, after about twenty minutes into the second half, you couldn’t bare the silence any longer and started a conversation.

‘So, you wanted to ask me something yesterday when I came to your office. But then you didn’t. I am curious though. What was it?’ you said shyly, slightly encouraged by the wine in your system.

‘I was actually going to ask you whether you wanted to watch the game tonight’ Cillian murmured, looking somewhat embarrassed when he looked over to you.

‘So why didn’t you?’ you went on to ask, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘Because I realised how inappropriate that would have been’ he admitted and you smiled, cheeks flushing red.

‘Well, here we are’ you said nervously, looking into Cillian’s deep blue eyes for a moment before trying to look away shyly.

But, Cillian wouldn’t let you, reaching for your face with one of his hands.

‘Hey’ he said quietly as his thumb ran over your chin gently. ‘I like when you look at me’ he then went on to say and, just like that, you leaned forward and pressed your lips onto his once again.

The kiss you shared was gentle and tentative, not rushed and not forced in any way. It was a simple kiss, brief but exciting.

‘I am sorry’ you said after your lips drifted apart, but this time, you didn’t look away and your eyes got lost in his.

Cillian shook his head briefly before drawing your face closer towards his again for yet another kiss. Again, it was tentative but, this time, you parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth and explore.

‘I shouldn’t be pursuing this Y/N’ Cillian said quietly as, eventually your lips drifted apart. ‘It’s not right on so many levels’ he went on to say but you quietened his lips with a third kiss, a passionate kiss which drew your body even closer towards his until you found your way onto his lap, facing him, pressing your body against his as your tongues moved with each other in sync.

‘I am a grown woman Cillian. I can’t see anything wrong with this and I certainly don’t want you to stop kissing me’ you said as your lips drifted apart again, a shy smile escaping you as you did.

‘I am also twenty years older than you and supervising your drama project’ he then went on to say somewhat concerned.

‘I don’t care about the difference in age and, technically, you aren’t my supervisor anymore, Aidan is’ you reassured Cillian, smirking at him as you did.

‘Still, not a good look getting involved with one of the students from the project’ Cillian said reluctantly but without making any attempt to push you away.

‘Well, I could leave now and you can ask me out again in three weeks when you finish up your volunteering position’ you then suggested all while you started to grind against him, feeling his erection strain against his jeans beneath you.

Your suggestion fell on deaf ears as Cillian already struggled to contain his emotions and needs with you on top of him and, just as you finished your sentence, he affirmed what he wanted with another passionate kiss.

The kiss you were sharing soon became heated and desperate and Cillian’s hands started to roam over your warm skin beneath your thin jumper.

His touch instantly sent shivers over you skin and down your spine and sent you into overdrive when his hands began to cup your small breasts.

You moaned into his mouth and, just after you did, you pulled back slightly, allowing him to pull your jumper over your head.

As he did, you suddenly felt a little nervous and self-conscious but it was obvious. He wanted you and his lips soon met yours again.

‘Cill…’ you said in between kisses and he looked at you, responding with a quiet ‘hmm’ as his eyes were questioning what you wanted to say.

‘It’s been two years since I have been with anyone and I don’t really do one night stands’ you murmured quietly and Cillian simply smiled, caressing your face with one of his hands before responding to your comment.

‘Good’ he said before giving you a quick peck. ‘Neither do I’ he reassured you without telling you that it had been six months for him too, which is when he broke up with his last long term girlfriend Nadine.

After another minute or two of more passionate kisses, Cillian picked you up and, before you could really prepare yourself for what was about to happen, you were in his bed.

Nervously but eager at the same time, you looked up at him with what you hoped were bedroom eyes.

He got the message and hoovered over you, kissing you gently before continuing to undress you, gentle but a little hurried.

You had already lost your jumper in the living room earlier and now he was pulling on your jeans, getting rid of them in a haste and leaving you exposed in your grey cotton underwear.

‘I didn’t quite plan for this’ you said nervously as you weren’t really dressed to impressed, your underwear simple and not sexy at all.

‘You look beautiful just the way you are Y/N’ Cillian reassured you before leaving a trail of kisses on your warm skin.

The anticipation was already killing you. With each passing second, his lips trailing over your bare shoulders and up your neck, you felt yourself shiver, the heat traveling right down to the taut muscles inside you, right between your legs. It was slick there, the result of your growing arousal.

It wasn’t long until Cillian unclipped your bra, exposing your small and perky breasts. You were impressed that he had immediately noticed the clasp of the bra at the front. He certainly paid attention to detail.

By now, your nervousness had sat in and your cheeks began to flush as his eyes gazed over your body.

Cillian noticed and simply responded with a warm smile before nudging your nose with his.

‘We can stop if you want to’ Cillian began to say but you immediately interrupted him.

‘I want you Cillian, please’ you whispered and he responded with a gentle nod.

‘Relax’ he then whispered before kissing you again and you took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

‘Cillian’ you eventually moaned as he nipped your throat with his teeth before sitting back.

You opened your eyes again and watched as Cillian grabbed his shirt from the back, and pulled it down over his head. Next off were his jeans, and then his briefs.

You couldn’t help but stare at him. His body was perfect, his chest was only lightly covered with some hair and his skin was covered in freckles.

But, when you lowered your eyes, your sense of shyness returned and seeing him completely naked in front of you caused you to flush.

He was clearly aroused by you, hard and ready, even though you only just started.

As you nervously looked at him, Cillian leaned forward and began to gently run his hands over your stomach, leaning down to kiss it, before hooking his index fingers into the hem of your panties and pulling them down your legs.

You inhaled sharply, almost forgetting to breath out again as he exposed your soaking wet mound.

What now, you wondered? Like the two men you’ve been with in the past, would he proceed directly to the main event?

‘You are so sexy, you know that?’ Cillian went on to say and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘Sure’ you said nervously as he spread your legs before bending down and pressing his hot mouth right against your sopping wet slit.

You didn’t expect that and immediately let out a sharp gasp.

‘Oh god’ you moaned in pleasure as you put one of your hands in his hair and gripped the sheets beneath you with the other.

Cillian’s tongue ran through your slit several times before it swirled around over your clit gently.

‘Fuck’ you cried out, throwing your head back as he began to eat you out, his tongue working wonders on your sex-deprived pussy.

His hands were on your thighs, pushing them farther apart, fingers digging into your skin.

‘Please’ you eventually said, not even sure what you were pleading for. You just knew that he couldn't stop or you would scream.

Your pussy was sensitive, and it had been so long since you had sex and even then, you never quite experienced any sensation like this.

‘Cillian, oh god’ you moaned even louder as he sped up the movements of his tongue.

Within bare seconds, you came with a cry and a shudder. Unable to hold back, you let go, shutting your eyes to ride out your orgasm.

Involuntarily, you were grinding up on him, your hips lifting off the bed, toes curling.

‘That was quick’ Cillian chuckled after you came down from your high and before giving your inner thigh another quick kiss.

‘I am sorry, I don’t know what just happened’ you said somewhat embarrassed as you never had orgasmed before when being with someone else. In fact, you never even gotten close to climaxing when someone else pleasured you orally.

‘Don’t ever be sorry’ Cillian said, kissing you gently before sitting back again and reaching for the bedside table draw to his right.

You couldn’t wait to feel him inside of you and, shamelessly but also somewhat nervously, you watched him pull out a silver condom wrapper from the draw.

You bit your lip in anticipation was you watched him open the wrapper with his teeth before rolling the condom onto his hard shaft.

Cillian then leaned forward again, spreading your legs further apart with a nudge from his knees. He looked powerful above you, his body trained, stomach flat, waist trim, looking at you with such lust that you forgot for a moment that, just days ago, you were trying to forget all about him. He leaned down, kissing you, tasting you, making the heat spread all over your body as he slipped two of his fingers inside of you, curving inward.

‘Still so sensitive’ he chuckled while you gasped at the sensation.

‘Cillian, please’ you begged. But he didn't seem to hear you and put pressure down, jerking his hand and thrusting his fingers right against your previously unexplored g-spot.

‘Oh my fucking god, no no no’ you cried out, bucking your hips again almost instantly, this time squirting right into his hand. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your pussy still clenching on his fingers, desperate and needy.

‘Cillian, oh fuck’ you whimpered, not realising that you left a wet puddle on the sheets.

‘Wow’ Cillian grinned. He looked pretty pleased with himself as you sat up somewhat shocked, which is when you noticed what had just happened.

‘Oh my god. This is so fucking embarrassing’ you said when you noticed that you squirted for the first time.

‘Shh, it's okay’ Cillian murmured, calming you down and kissing you.

‘In fact, I think its fucking sexy and I hope I can make you do this again’ he smirked before guiding your back onto the mattress again.

‘I think you might’ you chuckled as you held out your arms and he melted into them, supporting himself with his arms.

‘I want to feel you so badly Cillian’ you moaned as his cock finally slid between your legs, making you squirm and buck your hips.

‘Patience’ Cillian said softly, and planted a kiss on the tip of your nose.

‘How can you restrain yourself?’ you asked, surprising you both.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, impossibly amused.

‘I’ve been restraining myself from wanting this for weeks’ Cillian said, and pressed his lips to your neck, kissing, nipping, biting and sucking. You closed your eyes, toes curling again, and gave into the pleasure. You did your best to wrap your legs around him, and he began to grind his cock down between your legs, right along the slit of your wet pussy.

When he finally entered you, you both let out a hiss of satisfaction, clutching at one another. The friction slow, drawn out, was enough to numb your mind. Your fingers dug into his back, his hands gripped the sheets, and he made love to you, driving inside of you with careful, deliberate movements.

‘Cillian’ you moaned as you felt him thrust in and out of you over and over again. But, hearing his groans and moans was exciting you just as much as the pleasure he gave you with his cock.

Cillian and you adjusted, getting familiar with one another, your bodies moving in slow grinds as he snapped his hips, making you shift yours off the bed. His pace quickened, and so did your breathing, and in one swift motion, you were a shuddering mess, feeling his cock hit that spot again, making you shatter.

At this point, Cillian was relentless, pounding into you, making you cry out in pleasure. You gripped his shoulders, fingernails leaving crescent marks behind, little slivers of moons, leaving your mark. He was yours and you were his.

You writhed under him, your pussy clenching around his thickness. His hands visibly shook, his breath wild as he moved in you, kissing you almost roughly, smashing his lips against yours, and in seconds, his tongue was sliding against yours as you tasted each other.

You anticipated each movement, feeling the bulge of his cock hard inside of you, filling you. Just when you thought you would come again, he withdrew and helped you to your knees, and when he entered you from behind, it was a whole other experience. He was deeper, and you seemed to drift together. You could smell his spicy aftershave, could smell your coupling in the air, thick and hazy, making you dizzy with desire.

Your bones seemed to ache from the feeling of his stomach muscles clenching hard against your back as he rutted into you. You pushed your ass back against his cock, and you found your rhythm, bodies slapping, panting and grunting in the dim light of his bedroom.

He was thrusting into you and with each passing second, you came closer and closer. You were whimpering, your entire body a mess of tightened muscles. An all-encompassing moan left your lips as his fingers found your clit, and as he rubbed, circling it, you came again, hard and fast.

Blinding gratification. Earth-shattering spasms. A delicious high, an overdose of emotions your body began to shake and your walls began to contract tightly around his thrusting cock.

‘Fuck Y/N’ Cillian groaned into your ear as he reached his high shortly after you did and you could feel his cock jerking inside of you.

His name was on your lips, but you couldn't say it; you couldn't say anything. You could feel every pulse inside of you, could feel every grunt and groan slip underneath your skin, could feel his taut muscles flush against your body. This wasn't just sex. It was heaven.

Just as you both finally came down from your high and while Cillian was kissing the back of your neck gently, he carefully pulled out of you and, just as he did, you could hear him swear.

‘Fuck’ he said in a trance as he pulled back, away from your body.

‘What is it?’ you asked and turned around immediately, looking down, noticing his cum leaking from you and down your inner thigh.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine

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