#Fermentation Eye Cream

[banicraft]

Potion Ingredients

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ a shot of lust ]❜

ft. claude clawmark x f! reader — ttt, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ while testing out potions, you take an experimental sip gone wrong & your friend isn’t half as innocent as he seems┊2.2k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub claude┊slight dubcon, reader is mean but claude is into that, unintentional (high-key nonconsensual) drugging with an aphrodisiac, kinda unrequited feelings but requited lust, making out, marking & biting, slight masochist claude, spit as lube, degradation, unprotected piv on a chair (because you guys are nasty like that), implied multiple rounds

➤ author's note: oh my god, i’ve been starving you guys again, i’m so sorry, i’ve been hit full force with squid game brainrot. this isn’t my best work, but i’m slowly getting back into niji because it’s my first vtuber family and i miss them :( 

potion-making is a refined art that is desirable to all with its effectiveness in battle or healing properties yet mastered by few with how dangerous or explosive results could be with something simple as an extra drop of dragon’s blood becoming fatal. personally, you’re willing to take the risk of the deadly consequences when it comes to elixirs of speed to slay your opponents before they could even blink.

for these very reasons, you study the craft under your fellow adventurer and close confidant claude clawmark. admittedly, he wasn’t your first choice regarding mentors with his messy workspace and questionable habits, but he was willing to teach you for free so you agreed. even victoria and kunai were unsure of your decision but figured that if anyone could handle the eccentric cleric, it would be you. even though this was something you took upon yourself to learn, you really didn’t like being cooped up in his shop all day while taking orders from customers and spending all day mixing strange components. you miss going out and looting dungeons with your guildmates, but learning through experience would certainly be worth it in the amount of gold you could save by making your own potions (people really pay for the expertise of a professional rather than the collected common loot dropped to make them).

the wooden table in the center of the room had a batch of roughly fifteen glass vials filled with strength potions for a customer, a finished half of the order while working on producing the other half of invisibility. you placed a sealed jar of fermented spider eyes on the table for your partner to brew and went to go grab some night vision potions for the base, but you noticed an odd bottle filled with a shimmering pink liquid that stood out among the batch of dully-colored royal blue potions on the self. it clearly wasn’t organized on the right shelf, but it didn’t have a label nor did its appearance match any of the others. “hey claude, do you remember what this is supposed to be?”

he turned his head to examine it for a second before continuing his work, “eh, i’m not actually sure. maybe you should test it out.”

oh yeah, another thing about potions is that if you aren’t sure what it is, you have to try it out yourself. there are tons of healing medicines all over the place in case someone got poisoned, so you drank it without hesitation like you’ve done plenty of times before. it tasted artificially of strawberries and cream, not an uncommon flavor to mask the usual strange medley of ingredients, but it left a weird aftertaste of bittersweetness on your tongue. you didn’t feel any different nor see any change looking in the mirror so perhaps it was simply a base potion that didn’t have any magic added yet, leaving you to go on with your day after placing the empty glass into the sink.

it didn’t hit you full-force as soon as you swallowed it, but the effects were slowly but surely taking hold of you. it started with you feeling warm, taking off your jacket and touching your face, wondering if there was a sudden change in room temperature for some reason. your breathing steadily became more labored even though you weren’t moving around much, trying to take deep breaths through your mouth in a futile attempt to clear your fogged mind and soaking a towel in water to pat away the perspiration beginning to form on your forehead.

were you ill and coming down with a fever? it didn’t feel like any virus you’ve ever had, felt more like… it was definitely from that unlabeled potion you drank earlier, but why would he leave such a thing lying around if it was really what you thought? this was really why you were warned to get a proper tutor instead of a cleric known for fumbling his belongings. the sun had begun to set and the shop would close in about fifteen minutes anyway, so you decided to wait it out even though it felt borderline unbearable. leaning back on the table, you think there must be an antidote or something somewhere to counter it, but you were interrupted before you could get up and look for it.

“are you okay? you look sick,” claude mentioned, taking off his tool belt equipped with various gadgets and moving away from his station to check in on you. “do you… need help with anything?” he took off his glove to gently press his hand against your forehead followed by your cheek to test your temperature, suddenly feeling conscious of his presence with the proximity and feeling his breath on your skin as he stared intently at your face.

you never paid too much attention to his looks, but you suddenly found yourself studying his appearance now that he was so much closer to you: his long opalescent locks that were neatly tied in a ponytail tossed over his shoulder, his sleepy eyes that shifted from magenta to aquamarine, how built he actually was with his broad shoulders that well defined his frame— was he always so handsome?

“hey… claude…” you felt like a living furnace with lit coals that were bursting at the seams, fire burning into desire at your core and could only be quenched by the man standing in front of you. vivi and kunai aren’t the best at keeping secrets (especially when it’s past midnight at a sleepover), you knew he had a crush on you or at the very least found you attractive. either way, he wouldn’t reject you at the moment unless he considers the friendship on the line, and you were willing to bet everything on that.

his eyes met yours, staring deeply into them while waiting for you to finish your sentence. the tension was so palpable that it could be cut with a knife and you sighed, closing your eyes and leaning forward to break it with a kiss. you couldn’t see his reaction, but he didn’t flinch nor did he pull back, instead reciprocating it once he seemed to process it.

it took some of the edge off, but you still felt insatiable and starved for more of him. slipping your hand to the back of his head and intertwining it with his hair, you deepened the kiss and began to dart your tongue out to ask him to part his lips. you had no way to know what he was really thinking, but he seemed to be understandably confused about the whole thing and yet he didn’t deny you or offer an ounce of resistance. he obediently followed your motions and let you take the lead, just how you liked it, even whimpering slightly when your tongue gently brushed against his and felt the cool titanium pierced through it.

oh, when you heard that sound escape his lips, something feral awakened within you. “fuck…” you placed your hands on her shoulder and swung him around, roughly shoving him down onto a nearby chair and splitting his legs apart with a knee in the middle while continuing to kiss him roughly. fiddling with the hem of his clothing, “is this okay?”

he blushed a deep red as if the gravity of the situation was only hitting him now that you were requesting for content, “y-yes! of course! totally!” he mentally cringed, his ass did not just say ‘totally’ when his crush of over a year was asking if it was okay to fuck him.

thankfully for him, you didn’t seem to mind in the least bit and fervently began to strip him of his clothing, pulling his black top over his arms and tossing it haphazardly on the floor. his strapping frame was even more evident with his bare chest exposed to you, pretty unblemished ivory skin that was just begging to get marked up and bruised. you were quick to leave one last kiss on his lips before lowering your head to suck on his neck, watching a dark purple-red hickey bloom on the spot. you repeated this process a few times before outright sinking your teeth into his tender flesh, finding yourself unable to refrain from behaving like a wild animal even though you were trying your hardest to hold yourself back. 

meanwhile, claude felt like he was dreaming and was almost light-headed by your touch. he allowed you to use his body as you pleased, like a doll for you to play with and abuse. the pain didn’t even register as such to him, feeling more like ecstasy shooting through his veins wherever your mouth found itself as his eyes rolled back like the pathetic fool he was.

“fuck, i feel like i’m going crazy,” you groaned, adjusting your position to sit on his lap and pulling back his pristine white pants to reveal his leaking cock before holding out your palm. “spit.” he complied, taking a moment to gather saliva in his mouth before spitting a clear glob into your open hand which you smeared all over his dick to act as makeshift lube.

the heat was really beginning to get to you like the wrath of a thousand suns, prickling at your skin and causing you to pause your actions to remove your own clothing. you didn’t notice until you were fully nude the way he was staring at you like he had just witnessed the unfiltered beauty of a goddess for the first time. maybe if it was another day under different circumstances, you would have felt soft at his obvious affection and admiration towards you, but unfortunately, you were feeling nothing but irritation due to the effects of the drug.

you extended an arm to push him back so he was sitting properly against the chair instead of slouching, moving to straddle him and finally, finally, lined up his angry red tip with your entrance before sinking into it. claude gasped as he buried his face into your chest, unable to rut into you as he so desired with your purposefully straining your weight on him. 

despite not being able to think straight, your dominance over him was made clear as you set your own pace, ignoring the strain beginning to form in your thighs as you worked your way up and down his length. his size was perfect, not too difficult to take, and also able to hit all of the right spots.

despite not being allowed to put in any work, claude’s heart was hammering in his chest like he was running a marathon with strands of hair sticking to his face thanks to the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead. he struggled to find a place to put his hands with your hips moving too fast for him to grip and the little groan you would let out in the precipice of pleasure and disdain each time he tried to touch you elsewhere led to him simply gripping the sides of the wooden chair he was seated on, basically hold on for dear life while chasing an orgasm to snap you out it. 

“you did this on purpose, didn’t you, you little freak?”

“h-huh?”

“you wanted me to drink that potion, didn’t you? so that you would get fucked like a whore, just how desperate are you?”

he opened his mouth to deny the accusation but found himself unable to and let out a pathetic whimper instead. how could he deny it when it was completely true? he didn’t think you would actually drink it, only planted it on the table and allowed for chance to take the reins, but he didn’t think anything was actually going to happen.

still, there wasn’t a single ounce of regret in his body, even if you were being a little mean to him. he didn’t mind how your sharp words cut into him, it made him dizzy if anything. 

you began to slow down as the ache of constant bouncing was catching up to you, moving your hand to circle your clit and crying out when you felt yourself unravel at the contact. feeling your velvety walls pulse around him had him following shortly after when you lifted yourself off of him, causing him to finish on your lower stomach in pretty white splatters.

both of you were exhausted at the exhibition of energy on top of the long day before this situation occurred, breathing heavily as you got off the chair in favor of leaning against the table with your shaky legs. 

he couldn’t read your reaction, if the gravity of what just happened had sunk in yet or if you were still basking in the satisfaction of your climax. it made you glow in a way, making him dumbfounded and unable to meet your eyes. “i-i should go…” in a matter of minutes thanks to his stupidity, he just went from a good friend to a lowly slut in your eyes all because you were able to see right through him like glass.

however, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back towards you, nude bodies pressed flushed against each other, kissing him fervently again with a slightly crazy edge to your actions. “yeah, no, you aren’t going anywhere. you started this mess, you’re going to help me out until the potion wears off or until we both pass out.”

[nikibogwater]

Life-Saving Minecraft Tips that I almost never see anyone else using (am I just bad at the game...?)

Always carry a bucket of water in your hotbar, especially if you're going caving.

Keep a Warped Fungus handy when traversing the Nether. Hoglins can't attack you if you're standing near a Warped Fungus. I also like to keep a Flower Pot on me just in case I run into a pack of Hoglins somewhere I can't place the fungus directly on the ground.

Use potions. Idk if it's just the kinds of lets-players I watch or what, but I can't believe how many people are sleeping on these.

Night Vision for the Deep Dark (Nether Wart + Golden Carrot). Keeps you from waking up the Warden with a single careless torch placement, and also negates the Darkness effect if you activate a Shrieker.

Invisibility Potions for death runs back to your items (Night Vision Potion + Fermented Spider Eye)

Slow Falling for the Ender Dragon fight (Nether Wart + Phantom Membrane)

Fire Resistance negates like 85% of the danger in the Nether (Nether Wart + Magma Cream)

Adding some Redstone Dust to any potion will increase the duration of its effects to 8 minutes. Three max-duration potions will keep you covered for a little more than one full day-night cycle.

Wool blocks are soundproof (but carpets aren't 😕). Completely covering a Skulk Sensor or Chest with wool blocks before interacting with it will prevent chain reactions from other Sensors.

Set up a safe base with a bed at world spawn (usually around coordinates 0, 0) so that you don't have to sprint buck naked through the night if you lose your respawn point.

I actually like to put my main base near world spawn because I easily get disoriented when trying to navigate by coordinates alone, and it's much simpler for me to just follow a Compass back home (I think that's an exclusive-to-Niki problem tho. I've never heard of anyone else wanting to do this 😅).

This is only tangentially related, but I can remember a time when Zombies dropped Feathers instead of Rotten Flesh. You'd think I wouldn't die so often, having played this game for almost 13 years...

[fanaticsnail]

Countdown From Ten

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,000

Synopsis: Wire is adamant on starting the new year off with fireworks. If you'd have thought the type of fireworks he was wanting to burst into the new year was him edging you until the count down begins, you might've never agreed to it.

Themes: Wire x afab!reader, edging, orgasm denial, confessions, time skipping, mdni, NSFW, 18+, smut, P in V sex, oral, fingering, love confession, cream pie, size difference.

Notes: Happy new year! I loved writing this one, and adore Wire so much. I can't wait to write more for him coming into the new year.

Ten.

Your back arched off the bed as you felt your encumbering high reach ever nearer. One large, skilled hand reached over your belly to push you back down onto the bed, splayed over your flesh and engulfed your much smaller form beneath their palm and fingers. While the intensity of the world began to ebb away from the cusps of reality the closer you drew, his fingers hastily left your dripping cunt and gently tapped your thigh.

“Not yet.”

Nine.

You had made a grave mistake in front of your crew a few nights prior. When they had asked everyone if they had any regrets coming into the new year over a few pints, you should’ve remained quiet. Instead, the boldness in the burn of alcohol rid your body of inhibitions as you spoke up. While Heat had suggested he should’ve dedicated more time to learning how to swim, and Killer had said he desired to learn how to perfect the most delicious lasagne, your regret was far more personal.

“I wish I had orgasmed at least once this year.” 

In lieu of an uproar of laughter that the others claimed from unearthing their wants, yours was met with a grave silence and a few empathetic clashes of tankards against your own. 

“Not even once?”

“You took a few to bed over the past couple raids. Didn’t they make you cum?”

“There was all kinds of fun happening at the pleasure district last week. I know you were there, one of the employees took your hand and lead you up to the rooms. Not even them?”

“Are you sure?”

You answered all of their questions by simply gulping back your drink and placing the container upside down on the benchtop in front of you. Shaking your head, you gave a variety of answers ranging from: “They were selfish lovers,” to, “It was my fault. Made them cum too early and they were tired,” and, “I don’t actually think I even can cum anymore,” or, “I didn’t have time to touch myself at all between the fights, workload, and sailing to different islands. Can't even fuck myself.”

While three of the commanders listened to your plight while clicking their tongues and shaking their heads, another reacted a little differently.

Wire had other plans.

Eight.

A keening whine left your lips as your clit quivered in sorrow. You had been so close to eruption that you felt the tingles lingering beneath your skin and your toes curling in annoyance. With a few quick motions, you thumped your head back against the pillow behind you. 

“Wire, please!” you called while clawing at the hand on your belly holding you down. A warm chuckle fled from his lips as he gently carved intricate circles into your skin by the caress of your thigh. 

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he gently chastised you before leaning forward towards your glistening cunt, “Just hold out a little longer. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Seven.

After finishing his drink at the table and watching as you drew Quincy onto the dance floor, the cogs began to tip behind his eyes. A new bar, a new day, a new raid that ended in victory by the skilled labors of the Kid Pirate crew - yet, Wire sat stewing in his mind while fermenting the many possibilities on how to repair one wrong he would see righted. 

“What’s got you all up in a tizzy, man?” Heat asked as he slumped into the chair beside Wire. Wire recoiled and looked down at his shorter friend with perplexion over his face. 

“Firstly, ‘up in a tizzy’? Really?” He furrowed his brows and turned back towards the dance floor, “Secondly, not cumming for a year.” 

“You still thinking about that?” Heat queeried as he gently nudged Wire’s shoulder with his own, “To be honest with you, so am I. A whole year? Nothing? No…?” He gestured crudely with his hands a depiction of an eruption with his fingers demonstrating a hasty fling. “Must’ve found a few shit partners. Why not ask the crew for help?”

“I have a feeling the stupid saying: ‘don’t shit where you eat,’ has something to do with it,” Wire nodded, watching as Quincy wrapped her arms around you and drew you into a playful kiss. You reciprocated with a smile on your face, breaking away thereafter and laughed with her. “Quincy could do something about that expression, or I could take matters into my own hands.”

"Oh?” Heat quirked up his brow in interest, “Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d get sweet on someone. Not gonna let Quincy do her thing?”

Wire stood without a further word, giving a pointed stare at one of his oldest friends, and turned to make his way towards you as a few hours were left on the countdown clock. Taking your hand in his own, he led you away from Quincy towards the upper rooms of the tavern you’d claimed as loot. 

Six.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered as he drew his face towards your pussy. His lips curled up into a smile and indulged in flicking a fat stipe against your dripping slit to your clit. He hummed enthusiastically as he latched onto your pearled bud and sucked on it. Each motion was him mouthing and indulging in his every fluid momentum. He was romancing your pussy with his motions, his eyes meeting yours as he felt the call of your bliss reach the cusps of ecstasy.

Reaching behind his head and grasping a heaved fistful of his salt and peppered hair, tugging him both into you and away from you to grind your body against his assaulting lips. Wire muffled a soft, “nuh uh,” sound into your body and removed his face from your pussy immediately. 

“Just a little longer, and I promise it’ll be worth it,” he offered sympathetically, “You’ve waited so long. Surely you can handle just a moment longer?” 

“Wire-!”

Five.

Drawing you up the stairs to the rooms they’d acquired with minimal effort was likely the longest walk of Wire’s life. What was he to say to you? “Hi, honey. I feel so bad about the thing you disclosed to me a week ago and want to fix that for you? I want to make you feel so good, cum so hard, and force you into the cusps of overstimulation until every fibre of your being feels nothing but pleasure?” 

Not a chance. 

Formulating a conversation internally as to how to bring it up himself, he was broken out of his looping mind by a small squeeze against his hand. Closing the door to the room behind you both, you gently latched the door closed and flicked the lock switch into the iron fastening. 

“You alright, commander?” you asked softly before turning to meet his eyes with your own, “I’m not in any trouble am I? I didn’t do anything I wasn’t supposed to-?” 

“-No! I, uh, I mean… No. You didn’t, honey. I just,” Wire stumbled over his words, releasing your hand in favour of withdrawing his hood and ruffling his hair, “I was just thinking about what you said the other day when we were all talking about the regrets.” 

“Oh.”

Four.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you keened for him as he added a thick finger to your center and hooking it up to grind against your g-spot. Your eyelashes fluttered as your glossy lenses began to tear up over your lashline.

“That’s it, honey,” He praised you as he used his larger hand as an anchor to draw down your waist and press your ass back into the bed. “I’ve got you. You just wait on that edge, and I promise I’ll make you feel so fucking good. Just hold on.” 

Three.

“You said you hadn’t cum all year,” Wire clarified with you as he unfastened his cloak from his shoulders and rolled the joints back to remove the weighted material, “Did you mean it?”

Shock eclipsed your face as your lips drew slack. Wire followed your vision from your eyes to his bare shoulders now unshrouded by the tarp he usually wears to shield it. His own eyes drew wide as he stumbled over his words once more. 

“No, no, no, no, I, uh, I mean-,” he waved his hands to halt any thoughts that you may have felt regarding his disrobing in place, “It’s fucking stuffy in here, and I didn’t want the damn cloak on. I’m not meaning anything by it, I swear.” 

Your laughter erupted through your lips immediately, prompting Wire to do the same. You hadn’t even thought about the initial conversation earlier in the week. Nothing about it passed your mind due to how much fun you were having with your crewmates in the few days before the new year. 

“I don’t mind, Wire. Truly, I don’t,” you nodded while teetering off your laughter, “I honestly thought you guys would let it slide-, pass it off, even.” You shrugged nonchalantly while you moved to the other side of the room. A jug of water and a few glasses decorated the space, and you elected to pour two: one for Wire before one of your own as respect for his rank. 

You handed the glass to him and took the other for yourself. Both taking small drinks from your respective glassware, you spoke up to verbalise your woes.

“I don’t want or need your sympathy, commander,” you nod while looking down into your glass. “It was my own fault. I made a whole heap of shitty decisions, didn’t enjoy a few of the consequences, and I can live without cumming-.”

Two.

“-You’re gonna make me cum!” you whined before he halted all motion and removed his hands and tongue from your core. You mourned the loss of his attention before he replaced the hand clawing bliss from your center with his blunt cockhead. The small stretch took the wind out of your body as he pushed on in. Inch by inch he drew himself down into your smaller frame as he bit back his own groans of gasping pleasure.

He was thick, girthy, and made you feel fuller than you had in your entire life. The size difference between his nine foot frame and your smaller stature was adamant, but all of the earlier edging paid off as your cunt sucked him in. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispered softly as he sunk himself down to the hilt. With his entire length now inside your walls and dragging against your walls. “You’re squeezing me so tight, honey. Fuck me.” A release of stringed, babbling curses fled his lips as he shallowly thrust inside you. 

Reaching down his hand to caress your face, he smoothed back skin and gently rubbed the pad of his thumb against the apple of your cheek.

“How are you feeling about it all?” he asked you while he gently rocked in and out of your hot, slick, cunt. “Too much, not enough, not like this, with something else to make it better like this?” His questions lingered in the air as your eyes squeezed shut. 

Each second that passed earlier had been almost a form of torture as you felt your orgasm fizz up, only to snuff out by the works of his lips, hands, and tongue. His cock had you feeling engulfed by his girth and stretched to your maximum capacity, but your body felt as if it would never reach the high it needed without him completely sheathed inside your cunt.

“Just like this, Wire.” You nodded up at him with your brows triangulating in the center of your forehead, “Please. Please, Wire? I need to cum. Please let me cum? I need you to make me cum. I can’t go another second without you inside me. Fuck me, Wire.” 

Wire found a new rise of determination swell within his abdomen as he set a brutal pace fucking into your desperate heat. At each cruel and unforgiving ‘plap, plap, plap,’ of his hips meeting your own, a small gasped and choking moan would spill from your parted lips each time his hips would still. 

“You’re being so patient, darling,” he praised you as he changed his position to cradle you up into his chest, “And you’re doing so well. This whole y-, fuck,” he rolled his eyes as he drew you up onto his lap. You straddled his hips and fucked yourself down desperately against his lap. Your clit brushed against his pelvis and neatly trimmed pubic hair, and your hands immediately drew themselves up onto his shoulders. 

“F-Fu-huck,” you cried out desperately as your edge again called to you. “Please, can I cum? Please, Wire? Can I cum? Will you let me cum now? Please?” Your desperation was picked up in every hitching syllable of your crying lips. Wire could do nothing but to cradle you against him and feel the way your walls began to rhythmically contract and squeeze him to the capacity you could. 

“Wait,” he gasped as he felt his own high ebb on the knife’s edge. He was so worked up from edging you for so long, he couldn’t let himself release before you had been given the chance to. The way your body felt made for him caused his brows to crease and eyes to squeeze tightly shut.

“Now.”

One.

“-I refuse to let your year start off without at least one orgasm under your belt, pardon the pun,” he chastised you firmly before rephrasing his ill-temper, “I mean, I… fuck. I’m sorry. Honey, we’re pirates. We sail, we drink - or some of us do, we fight, we fuck, and we cum. You… you deserve to cum.” 

“Wire-,” you started, only for him to strike you down with a further warning.

“-I won’t have it. You said, and I quote: ‘I wish I had orgasmed at least once this year,’ am I right?” he asked you softly while stepping towards the altar where you drew water for you both, “To make myself completely clear as glass: I am propositioning you. I like you, honey,” he confessed so plainly it seemed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world to you. 

He gently raised his hand up to hover at your cheek, not yet bringing it to caress your skin and waiting for you to make a decision. Should you back out, he would leave you there to return to the party, or to sleep - both of which were more than viable options.

Or.

You were now given the chance to lay with your commander and experience being the central focus for a channel of lust. For too long had you laid back and endured the mediocre. For too long had you done all of the work for your partner to experience that encumbering high, only to roll over and slumber almost immediately. For too long had you journeyed with the Kid Pirates and withheld your feelings for the tallest commander in the hopes that they would die down and never rise once more.

But here he was, the man of your desires, offering himself to you in a way you had only ever dreamed of. He was willing to not only fuck you, but make you achieve the one thing you had long-since deprived yourself of. 

“I… I like you too, Wire,” you gasped softly while leaning into his palm with your cheek. You closed your eyes on impact and felt the emotions begin to trickle over the edge in every breath. Wire gasped as your head met his hand, a small moan fled his lips as he gazed upon you with nothing but longing and love. Lust lingered below the depths of his persona, but his love was adamant. 

“When do you want to do this?” he asked you while thumbing over your cheek and leaning in closer. His lips gently brushed its borders against your own, tasting the breath he longed to share with every soft touch. 

“Now.”

Happy New Year.

Pleasure crested in your chest as the encumbering heat bloomed in your abdomen. The long wait and long edge finally met your body with an eruption you had not anticipated. As he denied each orgasm he called you to earlier, a longer and more substantial release atop your lover’s lap. 

“Hhah-, fuck, m’cumm-ming-!” you slurred and babbled amongst your moans and whimpers. Your pussy throbbed and rhythmically squeezed Wire’s shaft in hot pulses as your release finally engulfed your senses. Wire continued to fuck you through it, keeping the pace steady as his own pleasure mounted inside your heat.

“Sh-Shit, I-I-,” Wire began as he felt your cunt continued to contract around him and milk him of his precum into his own high. “Fuck,” he called out a breathy exhale of your name as he shot his release deep inside your body. 

Cheers and hollers ricocheted from the group on the lower grounds of the occupied tavern as the crude slapping of your hips meeting his continued to clap against one another. Your high seemed never ending as his own fucked itself deep inside your body and punctuating every babbled word with its intensity. 

Your breaths caught one another as you came down from your crashing highs and riding the few lingering waves in the arms of one another. His cruel motions moved into rocks for comfort of both you and himself. His cum begun to spill out of your pussy and form a creamy ring around his cock as he kept you on top of him. 

“I… I, uh,” Wire halted in favor of a small chuckle, “I wasn’t going to allow myself to cum, you know? This was meant to be about you, honey.” You laugh alongside him as you nuzzle into his chest and brace his larger torso against your face. You whimpered into his touch while feeling his firm cock begin to deflate the longer the moments passed between you both. 

“I am glad you did. No way we both can’t start our year by cumming into it,” you smiled, only to sigh deeply into the way his heartbeat thumped against your ear. Your inhales and exhales were in perfect unity as your bodies still fit together as one. The sentimentality took you as you moved your head to gaze up into his eyes. 

“Happy new year,” you whispered in barely a breath. His lips found yours and hovered in his own response before claiming you entirely with a passionate and heated kiss to shepherd you into the new era. 

“Happy new year.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[greenxgloss]

Nothing Rushed (Chang-kyun) MDNI 18+

Summary: In the quiet intimacy of your nightly routine, you and Kyun move from playful banter and shared skincare rituals to a slow, emotionally charged night where every touch speaks volumes. Themes: SMUT, Unprotected sex, fem recieving, Fem!reader, Needy!kyun, SoftDom!Kyun, fluff, silly and cute teasing, light mentions of overstimulation, porn (barely) with a plot Word Count: 3.3k

A/n: this is dedicated to @playboi03 . An early birthday present for my bestie bc there's a drought in monsta x fics and because I wanted to bring her dream to life to an extent. I HOPE YOU LOVE IT. i re-read and edited only this for like 10 hours so I really hope you liked this pooks.

The sound of running water echoed in the bathroom as you and Kyun stood shoulder to shoulder, brushing your teeth like a well-rehearsed ritual. Your elbows bumped now and then, toothpaste foamed at the corners of your lips, and you caught each other’s gaze in the mirror with a muffled snort.

“Don’t even start,” you warned, mouth full of foam.

He grinned, toothbrush dangling from his lips like a lollipop stick. “I’m just saying… you look real sexy with that mint mustache.”

You spat into the sink dramatically. “And you look like you’re about to sell me vitamins in an MLM scheme.”

He laughed so hard he choked slightly, pounding his chest with exaggerated flair. He sighed once he caught his breath. “You suck.” The unamused look on his face earning a laugh from you. 

Once the toothpaste was rinsed away and you began your skincare routine, he lingered in the doorway watching you, leaning on the threshold, arms crossed over his chest and bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he watched you intently before speaking up.

“Remind me,” he said, eyes twinkling, “Is this the serum that costs more than our electricity bill or the one that smells like fermented pear juice?”

You rolled your eyes but handed him the dropper. “It’s the one that keeps your skin soft enough for me to kiss. Sit.” You instructed him, pointing towards the toilet seat.

And he did—quietly, reverently. With his eyes closed, he surrendered to your touch, his posture relaxing beneath your hands like an animal finally safe enough to sleep. You pressed your fingertips into the gentle angles of his cheeks, smoothing moisturizer over skin already soft but always a little too dry around the temples. He leaned into it, the way one might lean into sunlight on a cold morning.

You worked carefully, massaging the cream upward along his jawline and over the bridge of his nose, your movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t speak, just let out the occasional sigh, lashes fluttering slightly but never opening. When you dabbed eye cream just beneath his lower lids, he muttered—halfheartedly, almost affectionately—something about being too pretty to need it, the corners of his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile.

“Skincare isn’t just for emergencies,” you murmured, thumb smoothing away the excess in soft arcs. “It’s maintenance. Like tending to a garden.”

He scoffed lightly but didn’t argue. When you finished, he reached for your hand and, without fanfare, brought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle—one after another like they were sacred. His breath was warm, his pace unhurried. The gesture wasn’t showy or romantic in the cinematic sense; it was quieter than that, more meaningful. Like he was trying to say something he didn’t yet have words for.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was soft—comfortable. The kind that came only when two people had nothing left to prove.

He rested his forehead against your sternum, arms looping loosely around your waist as you combed your fingers through his hair. 

-

By the time you both made it to bed, the lights were dimmed, while some random YouTuber ranted about conspiracy theories on your tv. Your body fit perfectly against his under the blanket, your legs tangled, your head on his chest.

“Today wasn’t terrible,” he murmured, voice low and a little scratchy from the hour, fingers drawing idle shapes on your upper arm—lazy spirals, the occasional circle that trailed off into nothing.

You exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that only comes at the end of a long, demanding day. “It was just... a lot. Like my brain’s still buffering.” you tilted your head to look at him.

That earned you a pause—brief but telling. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes flickering over your face like he wasn’t sure where to land. Then, he dipped forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. The kind that wasn’t rushed or performative, just honest.

And then, right on cue: “You know what else is long?”

You groaned, forehead dropping to his chest. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m always serious,” he said, trying and failing to suppress a grin. “I was building romantic tension. You ruined it.”

“You ruined it the second you turned a heartfelt moment into a dick joke.”

He wiggled his brows, smug. “Artfully.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Oh but you love it.” He rolled his eyes as he chuckled.

You giggled against his collarbone. “Touché.”

A quiet moment passed. His hand was still tracing patterns—now slower, more deliberate.

“You know,” you added, “I had that meeting this morning with the manager who still thinks ‘synergy’ is a personality trait. I was this close to faking a connectivity issue on Zoom.”

He snorted. “You should’ve. That’s self-preservation.”

“And then the train was late. Again. Sat next to a guy who kept coughing like it was his full-time job.”

“Maybe he was trying to court you. In 18th century plague language.”

You nudged him with your foot. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m multifaceted.”

“Mm. And how was your day, Casanova?” You asked, leaning up on his chest and cupping his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.

He sighed dramatically, gaze shifting to the ceiling as if to look back at the memory. “Well, I spilled coffee on myself at 9 a.m., nearly emailed a client a meme instead of a contract at 1, and accidentally joined the wrong video call where people were mid-argument about expense reports.” His brow twitched like he was fighting off a full-body cringe.

You tilted your head up. “So, wildly successful.”

He smiled. “All downhill until I got home to you.”

You stared at him for a second, skeptical. “You’re not about to set me up for another innuendo, are you?”

He gave a half-shrug. “I was debating it, but you looked too cute. I’ll save it for bedtime.”

“God help me.”

His hand began to roam—slowly, deliberately—across the dip of your waist. You shifted onto your side, the sheets rustling softly as your leg brushed against his. His eyes met yours just as your nose gently grazed his, your breaths mingling in the quiet.

“You’re impossible,” you murmured, voice low, intimate. “It’s like you get more beautiful every time I look at you. It’s honestly exhausting.”

He inhaled sharply, his gaze faltering for the briefest moment before returning to you, darker now. “Don’t.”

You tilted your head, searching his face, the corners of your mouth pulling upward. “No, really. Your hands—God, your hands are stupidly perfect. And your eyes just ruin me. And that mouth?” You paused, letting the silence speak. “It’s the worst. I think about it constantly.”

A strangled groan escaped him before he dropped his face into the curve of your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he exhaled hard. “You can’t say things like that while I’m doing everything I can not to lose my head.”

You smiled, fingers threading gently into his hair, your nails grazing his scalp. “Who said I wanted you to keep it?”

You straddled him before he could reply, your thighs bracketing his hips. His hands flew to your waist instinctively, eyes wide, mouth parted.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, voice low and frayed as he pressed his hips against yours with a slow, deliberate roll. “You don’t even realize what you’re doing to me.”

The tension between you was electric—each subtle grind a heady collision of restraint and want. His arousal, firm and insistent through the thin fabric between you, drew a soft, involuntary moan from your lips. The sound hung between you like a confession.

Your foreheads touched, breaths mingling, uneven and shallow. He was so close, too close, and still not nearly close enough.

“More,” he begged. “Please. I need to taste you.”

You nodded, heart pounding, and in one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back. Kyun eagerly pulled down your pyjama pants and slipped down between your thighs like it was second nature. He kissed your inner thighs with reverence, hands spreading you open, and when he finally tasted you, it was slow and deep, like worship.

You gasped, back arching off the mattress. “Oh, my God, Kyun—”

But he didn’t stop. In fact, he moaned into you, like you were his favourite meal, his reason for breathing. He lapped at you with long strokes, teasing and circling, sucking just hard enough to make your legs shake. His grip on your thighs never faltered. You were unravelling under him, tears in the corners of your eyes from the intensity, and he only pulled away to catch his breath and whisper, “You’re so good for me. Let me make you feel good. I love this—I love you like this.” Your legs were trembling, your fingers buried in his hair. He moaned again as he felt you come undone, like it was his orgasm, not yours, and he didn’t stop. Not right away. He licked you gently through the aftershocks, like he couldn’t bear to part from you.

He crawled back up your body, kissed your lips like he hadn’t just ruined you, then looked into your eyes with a flush across his cheeks and a desperate ache in his voice.

“I need you to touch me. I don’t even need to cum, I just need to feel you.”

You reached down to stroke him through his boxers, loving the way he trembled under your touch. “You’re perfect, baby,” you whispered, pecking his lips softly, “so perfect.”

He buried his face in your neck again, whispering filth and praise in equal measure, but it was the emotion behind his voice that really made your heart twist.

When his fingers slipped between your folds again, this time from above, he moved with such care—watching your face, praising your body, pressing kisses to your breasts while you clenched around him. You rode his hand slowly, every breath ragged, every sigh soaked in devotion. He talked you through it, murmuring how proud he was, how beautiful you were, how good you felt.

And you knew—more than anything—that he loved making you feel like this. Not just physically, but completely. Worshipped. Cherished. His.

His eyes, normally filled with mischief, now looked dazed—consumed by something heavier, needier. You’d never seen him like this: drunk on the taste of you, the high of your pleasure still thick in the air around him. His pupils were blown out, jaw slack as he panted. “You feel like something I shouldn’t be allowed to have.”

“You say that like I’m not already yours,” you whispered, voice trembling from the aftershock still rippling through you.

His breath hitched. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Kyun.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his forehead resting against yours as if the weight of that truth grounded him, sobered him from whatever haze your body had pulled him into.

“I want to give you everything,” he said quietly. You kissed him softly, coaxing him onto his back. As you straddled him again, the weight of your body made him exhale like he’d been holding his breath since the moment he laid eyes on you.

You leaned down to kiss his neck, his jaw, the hollow of his throat—soft, slow. Your fingers ghosted over the waistband of his boxers, feeling how painfully hard he’d gotten, how he twitched under your lightest touch. You could feel his pulse beneath your lips, hammering as you licked a path down his chest.

He let out a strangled moan when your palm finally cupped him through the thin cotton, and his hips bucked instinctively. “Oh my God,” he whispered, eyes rolling back as you pressed your lips over the outline of his cock. “Don’t tease me. Not tonight. I’ll beg if I have to.”

“You don’t have to beg,” you said, biting gently at his hip. “You’ve been so good to me. Let me make you feel half as good.”

But he caught your wrist before you could pull his boxers down. “No,” he said, voice shaky but sure. “Not yet. I just want to feel you like this first.”

Your brows knit, but you let him tug you back up, guiding your hips to grind against him again. This time, it wasn’t playful. This was desperation—wet cotton dragging against his aching length, your own arousal soaking through the fabric. You moved together slowly, breath catching in each other’s mouths, every press of your bodies building a heat so sharp it was unbearable.

He gripped your hips tightly, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so good. Even like this—I can’t take it. I need more.”

“Tell me what you want.”

He groaned, his voice hoarse and reverent. “I want to be inside you. I want to hear you cry my name again. I need to taste you again. Please. I need it. Let me.”

You’d never seen someone plead with so much adoration. And how could you say no?

You slipped his boxers down with a gentle tug, your fingertips trailing along his skin. He shivered under your touch, breath hitching as your hand closed around him. You stroked him slowly—curiously—watching his face for every flicker of pleasure. His head fell back against the pillows, lips parting around a low, unfiltered moan. He was beautiful like this, undone and trusting, all sharp lines softened beneath your hands.

“God,” you whispered, smiling through a quiet laugh, “you’re so cute.”

His eyes fluttered open, dazed but warm, and he reached for you. You leaned down and pressed your forehead to his, both of you breathing in sync, pulses drumming just beneath the surface.

Carefully, you positioned yourself above him, the moment stretching in the quiet hum between your bodies. When you began to sink down, both of you gasped—a mutual unravelling. The stretch was slow, willful, and overwhelmingly intimate. Your hands braced on his chest as you took him inch by inch, your bodies adjusting to each other with wordless understanding.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, almost tenderly, as though grounding himself. “You feel…” he couldn’t finish the thought—just groaned, deep and helpless.

You rested there for a moment, breathing heavily, your foreheads touching again. There was nothing rushed, nothing frantic. Just the two of you—bare, open, and impossibly close.

“I’ve missed you,” he said hoarsely, eyes locked to yours.

You kissed him slowly, tenderly. “Then don’t let go.”

“Has it been that long since we’ve fucked like this?” You asked, grinding your hips down softly, fighting your desperate need for friction. 

“A- a week.” he cleared his throat, clearly struggling to keep his composure when he felt you flutter around him. You smiled and began riding him. A symphony of moans flowing from the both of you, filling the room. The youtube video long forgotten but illuminating the both of you on your bed.

Your gaze glued down to him and he tried to keep eye contact but it was like he was under your spell. His head was thrown back on the pillow, face contorting and hands trailing to your waist like he still wanted to feel you if he couldn't look at you.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said. “You don’t know what it means to make you feel like that.”

“I do,” you whispered, rolling your hips and picking up your pace. “I feel it too.”

“You’re so good,” he whispered, words shaky— breathy. “So responsive. You open up for me so beautifully. That’s it—just like that.”

You could feel yourself tightening around him again, your stomach clenching with another release building too quickly. He stroked your hair with his free hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re doing so well. Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

And when you shattered, when he kissed your name into the curve of your shoulder, you didn’t feel like a body anymore—you felt like his home. A place he’d come back to again and again.

Because in that moment, the sex wasn’t the highlight. It was the way he saw you. The way he loved you—body and soul.

When you both came you sunk into his chest, melted into him and peppered soft— lazy kisses wherever your lips allowed and he dragged his hands up and down your back. 

The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the slow rhythm of your breaths syncing back into harmony. The adrenaline had passed, the last tremors of pleasure still ghosting along your skin like a memory.

Kyun hadn’t let go of you once.

Your cheek was pressed to his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat anchoring you. His fingers, slow and unhurried, traced soft shapes along the bare skin of your back. He wasn’t saying much—but he didn’t have to. You could feel the love in every touch, every gentle squeeze of your waist, every press of his lips to your damp temple.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured finally, voice husky from exertion, but laced with a kind of sacred concern.

“Mhm,” you replied, too sated to form full words yet. “I’m good. You?”

“I’m perfect,” he whispered, like it was the only truth he knew. “You’re always so good to me.”

He reached over to the nightstand, pulling the drawer open with a quiet slide, and you watched through heavy-lidded eyes as his hand found the soft towel he always kept there, folded neatly atop a bottle of water and a spare hair tie—because of course it was. He always had everything ready, like loving you was something sacred he took seriously, like intimacy was a ritual he never rushed.

Now that warmth bloomed across your skin as he brought it to your inner thighs, his touch devoted but unhurried. He moved with quiet purpose, his fingers brushing over your most tender places with care—wiping away the mess with all the delicacy of someone handling something precious, something he didn’t just desire, but deeply respected.

As he worked, he murmured to you in a voice so low it was almost just breath: “You did so well for me, baby… so beautiful.” Each word fell like a kiss against your tired body, grounding you. Then came his actual kisses—first to the inside of your thigh, then to your knee, and finally to your ankle, soft and slow, like he was thanking every inch of you for letting him love you like this.

You couldn’t help it—you stared at him like you’d never seen anything so tender in your life. There he was, crouched at the edge of the bed with nothing but devotion in his posture and gentleness in his hands, and your heart ached with the weight of how much you loved him. Not just in the heady, breathless way from moments ago—but in the quieter, deeper way that lived in bone and breath and time.

“I think you were actually created in a lab,” you said, teasing but breathless. “No one is this thoughtful by accident.”

He grinned, and then climbed back into bed, gathering you against him like you were the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“I’m just trying to earn my place next to the best person I’ve ever known.”

You snorted softly into his shoulder, even as your arms snuck around his waist. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“As if you’re not absolutely over the moon about it?”

“Unfortunately.”

He chuckled, then tilted your chin up with two fingers, studying your face in the low light like he was seeing it for the first time again. “You look so pretty right now,” he murmured. “Like my wife. My entire life.”

You kissed him—slow and deep and grateful.

Kyun held you close, tightly— possessively.

Married life, you thought, didn’t mean routine. Not with Kyun.

It meant comfort. Ease. A love that still surprised you, still made you nervous sometimes, still made you want to kiss him for hours just because you could.

“You know,” he said, rubbing your arm absentmindedly, “I’d marry you again tomorrow. Even if we’d just met today.”

“Yeah?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. He turned the tv off before looking back at you. He nodded. “No hesitation.”

Your heart twisted sweetly in your chest. You settled deeper into him, murmuring, “Then it’s a good thing we already got it right the first time.”

➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[mariacallous]

Schnitzel is one of the ultimate comfort foods. It’s hard not to like a food that is fried and golden brown. Schnitzel is commonly made from chicken or veal, but you’ll also find vegetarian versions made from celery root, or in this case, cabbage.

Any recipe for schnitzel always catches my eye, and I’ve often come across cabbage schnitzel in Russian and Eastern European cooking. Meat in that part of the world could be scarce, and cooks came up with creative solutions for making vegetables taste richer. Cabbage was also often one of the only fresh vegetables available during the long winter months. Even after immigrating to the United States with its year-round abundance of all foods, cabbage is still a favored vegetable among families from the former U.S.S.R. We ate a lot of it in my own Russian Jewish home: cooked, fermented, in soups, or in salads. I especially love cabbage as a meat stand-in for its texture, volume, and versatility.

Cabbage schnitzel can be made with boiled cabbage leaves that are folded into envelope shapes that then get battered, coated with breadcrumbs, and fried just like a chicken schnitzel. But my preferred style of cabbage schnitzel requires less work, and instead employs a thick batter of shredded cooked cabbage, breadcrumbs, and beaten eggs to form the schnitzels. This style of cabbage patty ends up with a schnitzel shape and thickness, golden brown outer layer, and crispy edges.

You can serve this unexpectedly rich entrée with a squeeze of lemon and fresh dill for added brightness. Cabbage schnitzel can also be topped with a dollop of sour cream, and I’ve been known to use some hot sauce for heat. While there are a few steps to this recipe, each one is simple, the ingredients are few, the cooking time is quick, and the payoff is big. Cabbage schnitzel tastes little of cabbage and instead transforms into something savory, caramelized, meaty and satisfying.

[adachimoe]

2009 Persona Club P4 Profiles

I've posted Adachi and Yukiko's before, but this is a collection of all their "YHVH" (Yasogami High Visual H) social media profiles.

The protagonist doesn't have a profile due to him being the silent protagonist.

Yosuke

Nickname: Isn't "Prince Walking Disappointment" kinda mean?

Greeting: Yo!-Sup? This is Yo!-Su?-Ke's room (... I tried ...)

Favorite music: Something you can listen to and play. Guitar owns!

Favorite Food: Fruit flavored throat drops cause they're good for karaoke (Yosuke can give the protagonist a Fruity Fruity Throat Lozenge in dungeon chats; also in the evening hangouts during Golden)

Least Favorite Food: Tofu - sorry Rise!

Dislikes: Cockroaches they're black and rustle around and move so quickly ugh

Clubs: People who commute on bikes, Wanna go to Junes?, Delicious Homemade Food, Trial of the Dragon

Inbox: "DVD!!! DVD!!!" (from Chie)

Parting words: Saving up for a scooter (these profiles are before Golden came out)

Chie

Nickname: Kung Fu Girl

Greeting: Check this! Hyah!

Gender: Girl!!!

Favorite food: Meat

Favorite animals: Hamsters, bunnies, and other tiny animals

Dislikes: Math, insects - the enemy of all mankind

Favorite movies: Kung fu

Clubs: Trial of the Dragon, Burning Dragon, Fans of Animals w/Tiny Eyes, Meat Lovers

Inbox: "Return my world history notebook" (from Yukiko)

Yukiko

Nickname: Yukiko, the lady of the house... Sigh...

Greeting: Hello~ Chie invited me

Likes: Japanese food, dogs (you see, one fateful day on the Samegawa... [omitted]) (Talking about her and Chie meeting due to a dog from Chie's SLink and the Golden audio drama)

Dislikes: Nothing in particular, but I don't take well to sex jokes / dirty talk

Special skills: Kimono dressing and table / place setting

Clubs: Japanese clothing fans, the Go Home club (for people who aren't in clubs), Let's visit the dam, Fans of Showa Era music

Inbox: "Lemme bathe in the hot springs again" (from Yosuke)

Kanji

Nickname: If you call me bald, imma punch you in the face

Greeting: I'm Inaba's Runaway Train

Likes: Ototo (animal crackers), Homerun Bars (topsicles)

Hobbies: Sewing, knitting, peeling the wrappers off of Homerun Bars

Clubs: Let's Sew, Knitting Cafe, Delicious Shops in the Central Shopping District, Hawaiian Quilt Enjoyers

Ideal fight: One without rules

Inbox: "Hey, I got the rare submarine!" (from Yosuke; this was "rare penguin animal cracker" in English)

Rise

Nickname: Risechi / Risette, duh!

Greeting: Where a young maiden's secrets get revealed

Likes: Hagakure special from Hagakure Ramen

Hates: Japanese ginger and royal fern

Favorite people: Senpai / the protagonist, grandma

Least favorite people: Indecisive and unreliable people

Clubs: Cafes and Sweets of Okina city, Tofu Lovers, How about Kanami Mashita?, Fans of Animals w/Tiny Eyes

Inbox: "The best sweets around are..." (from Teddie)

Naoto

Nickname: The detective prince

Greeting: Hi there, my upperclassmen invited me

Gender: No comment (As in, Naoto wrote "no comment")

Favorite book genre: Detective novels due to work

Likes: Putting myself in danger (longer explanation of what it says in Japanese)

Dislikes: Women's clothing - especially anything revealing

Specialty: Working with machines, been doing it since I was young

Clubs: Linux Fans, DIY PC Builders, Fans of Mystery Novel Narrative Tricks, Beginners Fashion

Inbox: "Let's get a bucket ice cream parfait tomorrow" (from Rise)

Lastly, Nanako, Dojima, and Adachi don't have the high school social media profiles, but they still have regular profiles nonetheless.

Nanako

Likes: Dad, big brother, Risechi / Risette, everyone else in the Investigation Team, Junes

Dislikes: Fighting, shiokara (fermented fish guts; it seems that Dojima keeps these in the fridge in P4 lol. She uses some of them to make the Slime chocolate in Golden.)

Specialty: Singing the Junes theme

Dojima

Likes: Nanako, beer

Dislikes: Working, physical tasks that require attention to detail (I'm clumsy)

Specialty: Judo, reading one's character

Adachi

Likes: Sushi (especially uni), beef, cabbage dishes

Dislikes: Paperwork, cleaning his room

Specialty: Revolver maintenance

Here's the full post of Adachi's profile w/the fanart pages too

Teddie's is. Uh. An experience. I'll post his sometime else cause I think I'm not 100% sure how it should be handled. Like he fills out [gender/sex] (they're the same character in JP) as an emoji of a woman and the words "I live for love". Which I feel like is best interpreted as, "Sex: Yes please". But hmmmMMMmmm.

[the-sum-of-many-poets]

care label

he’s holding a boutique drink

made with pine bark extract

for brain clarity

great power bestows to those who hold it

the label shines like a latin motto

all the mothers of vinegar are turning in their graves

he cracks a rodent’s neck

opening the lid comes with its own subtext

a fermented recipe hisses from the bohai sea

oh bewildered sun

the clouds are lanterns waiting to burn

dawn is a wasted redux

we tilt to the satellites

drown them in white noise

then there’s the sigh

all living things have their own version of it

we unfold arms

some to embrace

some to break

a butcher bird speaks

from the root

of the tooth

of the word

monere

for the ghost of the moment

his arm is a mercurial coastline

paper boats have drowned on this impasse

& yet

palm trees

lanky friends that they are

bow down to blonde surfers

flaunting the nepotism of poseidon

this deep fried town

its gallery of faded ice creams

a tidy town to ease its self loathing

her name means hope

amal

the sun is there

such as it is

to ruin or gild

it tells a story of loneliness

a sermon to no one

of feeding humanity through a crack in the wall

salsify

waist high in the reckless wind

tuba down amongst the isms

runs a milk tear

falls on her shoulder

a goatsbeard mantilla

he removes his luxury knit

washes it with his bloody knuckle

hemlock tea & madeleines

a gossamer forest of aryan hairs

he fashions the flag into a cape

& makes it his patriotic screensaver

they’re rebranding snake oil again

please

make great

uncritical rah rah

for the house of mace

kin to kin

crow to murdering leaf

woven into wilds

woven into jawbone crowns

do not lynch

lie flat in the shade

the sun briefly hides behind a cool green elegy

they come with a call of blades

the necromancer

it writes with a left hand

tie it to a drowning stone

the withering sparrow will sing a hijacking song

into the tawny owl’s flooded eye

©️david sichler

[hannahssimblr]

For a brief period last year, I had this thing about wasps. Miss O’Reilly spurred the whole thing on after poring over my sketchbooks with me. She made some offhand comment about how nice it would be to see some animals too, amongst the endless scrawl of human arms and legs and feet and heads on every inch of every page, because it would expand my anatomical knowledge. This had never occurred to me.

So across town to the zoo I went. Where, through the spring and the earliest days of summer I would draw gorillas in their glass enclosures, giraffes, sloths, red pandas, while parents and children looked over my shoulder at my work, ogling as though I too was part of an exhibition. 

I returned that August, late, in that last week before school starts when the sun still warms you, but the wind carries autumn with it. By then, the leaves had lost that vibrant green and hung tired from branches, curled and russet at the edges. It was wasp season, when they emerge, as though from nowhere, angry, confused, in a ferocious pursuit of sugar. 

One landed on my sketchbook, near the thumb that held the page, and I resisted the tingle of fear in my body, the urge to swat him away. Instead I watched him, and then I drew him, his alien eyes and hairy body, papery wings and the abstract black and yellow stripes like caution tape wound around his horntail. I feared wasps - I think. One had never stung me and had no reference for the pain, but coincidentally, I had read about them in an insect encyclopaedia from the school library. I’d learned about their sad Augusts, when their purpose had been fulfilled, and their queens cast them out of the nest to die. 

That wasp, eating the ice cream fingerprint from my page, was no different. Here he was, addicted to sugar, drunk, perhaps, from the fermenting fruits he had managed to find. If I swatted him away, could I really blame him if, in his desperation and pain, he attacked me? He really was just another creature fulfilling his purpose, adapting to the new environment in which he had been thrown. 

“Oh, God!” Michelle cried, and whacked him with her zoo map. His insides left a stain on the paper, and I turned to her, outraged. “Why did you do that?”

“It might have stung you!” 

And things escalated, as they normally did, to an argument by the elephant enclosure. She erupted in front of a family of four and asked me when I became such a fucking vegetarian about wasps. We didn’t speak a word to one another on the bus home, and then, come September, we forgot about wasps for another year. 

A wasp lands on my arm. I feel it first, the weird little legs tickling my skin. Someone splashed cider on me in the Foo Fighters’ mosh pit. That’s what he’s looking for. For the first time in a year, I think about wasps again, while the rest of my friends plan their next move. He shouldn’t be out at night. He must be confused. Maybe he’s about to die. 

“Oh! Gosh! You’ve a wasp on your arm!” Claire waves her hand about me and the wasp makes a drowsy departure and swoops toward the overflowing bins by the barriers. 

Several seconds pass before it occurs to me to react. “Yeah.” 

As the others head towards the bar, she and Shane hang back, peering at me with that wary concern, as though there’ve sensed something deeply unhinged about me. “Are you okay?” She says gently. “You look like you got a bit of a knock there in the mosh pit.”

“No, it was fine. It felt good to kind of shove everyone around.” It’s true. I wasn’t thinking in there where I was thrashing to The Pretender, but I know how I must look. She eyes the collar of my t-shirt, stretched completely out of shape from where some beast of a man grabbed me to fling me out of his path like a rag doll. it was violent, but it felt good, like something that I needed.

“Look,” Shane scratches his head, “The lads there, they were talking about going to that rave at midnight. They wanted to grab some shots first, but like, if you don’t want to go, and you’d rather go back to the tent or something, that’d be okay.”

Claire nods. “We could even go with you, right? I wouldn’t mind just hanging out and taking it easy if you wanted company.”

Do I really seem that bad? I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just do what everyone else is doing.”

They pause, and I press the issue. “Do I seem like I won’t be able for it?”

“Not that.” Shane says. “You just seem a bit wrecked.”

“I’ll survive another concert.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying you won’t, like.”

“Right then.”

They exchange a look, and I sigh. “I don’t know what you think is wrong with me, but I’m not drinking, I’m not on drugs,” I lean down to show them my pupils, which I realise too late is quite a manic, on-drugs thing to do, but I don’t know how else to prove my sobriety. “It’s just been a day, okay? I’m just… it’s been odd.”

“We can talk about it if you like,” Claire says, in that very kind, Claire way, but I shake my head. 

“Let’s not bother. Come on, we’ll just go to that rave thing and dance, yeah? Then I’ll go back to the tent and we can take it easy.”

“Okay, if you say so,” she says, and with her arms around herself against the midnight chill, she and Shane march past me, towards the big top of the marquee across the bottle-littered fields. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[cowboyfromh3ll]

OKAY BESTIE I'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE

It's John's turn this time.

The reader is Dutch's daughter still.

Dutch starts dating John's mother, and they have a dinner to introduce the kids. (They're 18 ans 23 but) since Dutch is serious about this woman, he wants her son (who still lives at home... also maybe has an emo band but thats besides the point) and his daughter to meet each other.

Cue another stereotypical porn scenario, except this one of the Stepbro variety

I absolutely loved Cola.

Have you heard the song "She keeps me up" by nickelback? (Ik nickelback is kinda cringe but this song 💋👌)

It reminded me of this prompt because one of the lines is:

"Funky little monkey, she's a twisted trickster.

Everybody wants to be the sister's mister

Coca cola, roller coaster

Love her even though I'm not supposed to."

MX

(StepBro!John Marston x Dutch’s Daughter!Reader Smut)

WOOOO MY GOD this was sooooo fun to write and it's one of the best pieces of literature I have ever written. Enjoy.

Warnings: Stepcest, age gap, unprotected piv, reader is a pervert with a wild imagination

You had a near giddy sense of optimism at the thought of that day's coming events. The lust was like an IV drip in your veins, spreading through your body rapidly enough to make you feel lightheaded from excitement. You tumbled out of bed and pranced towards the bathroom like a deer frolicking through a field, though with your hazy state of mind, it felt more like dragging yourself towards the bathroom with the helpless awareness of someone realizing they’d been slipped a drug. You swung open the door with such great ferocity you thought you might rip it off its hinges if you weren’t careful.

You tried to take relief in the surging water of the shower, cranking the handle the furthest you could; the bathroom filling with steam within minutes. You stood underneath the water, watching the way each droplet drummed against the bottom of your tub hypnotically. You thought of the boy you were hours away from meeting in an introductory dinner, your father informing you he was named John. From pictures your father had so graciously shown you, you knew he was your type. He looked considerably older than you, though not by too much. Young looking enough that people wouldn’t give you questioning looks if they saw you walking together in public hand in hand, or perhaps sharing a milkshake; seductively licking the whipped cream off the corner of his mouth before dipping your own finger in the fluffy confection.

His skin looked nearly wet in the picture your father showed you, standing next to his mother in some outside area (You barely remembered what she looked like, far too focused on him). The oily lubricants of sweat caused his hair to cling to his forehead; the effortless feather of his side-swept bangs that were just slightly too long framing his left eye. You’d imagined that if you pushed them back, the path of his shining forehead would be exposed. The thought alone made your heart quicken as if he had just stripped naked in front of you. You went on to imagine that after pushing back his bangs, you’d lick his forehead; likely tasting of the sweat on his inner thighs and the crevices of his torso.

You smiled at the thought as you slathered the syrupy body wash across your breasts, hoping your skin would ferment with the scent and create an intoxicating alcohol in the air. You began to imagine John inhaling the rousing fragrance of your cherry vanilla shampoo as you massaged your scalp; the result of accidentally leaning far too forward next to him while he showed you something on his phone screen, a swath of velvety hair brushing against his nose as he tried his best not to deeply inhale you. You soon became so dizzy from your own thoughts that you clumsily supported yourself on the shower wall before sliding down. You extracted the shower head from its holder before turning the notch to a narrow stream of high pressure and holding it between your legs the same way a medic would put an oxygen mask on a patient slipping from consciousness.

You chose your outfit for the day carefully. You decided that today you’d brandish a mini baby pink slip dress, the material imperceptibly sheer; slight enough that they wouldn’t be able to discern the outline of your lacy underwear; but sheer enough that upon closer inspection, they’d be able to make out the prints of your hardened nipples and the color of your smooth breasts. For the special occasion, you wore no bra but donned a simple white cropped cardigan. Only upon entering the privacy of John’s bedroom, if allowed, would you discard the fabric to allow the cold air of the house to make a show of your hardened nipples for your target. Until you were able to engage in true contact with the man, you’d use his hungry stares as sustenance. You’d imagined John had never been with someone so deliciously supple, someone so curvaceous and tempting, that he couldn’t mask the direction in which his eyes traveled and the delight at what he was looking at.

When you check the weather for the day, your heart swelled in satisfaction at the realization of what the record high southern heat would bring. You licked your lips as you watched the news anchor on TV, almost able to taste the flavor of John’s sweat on your tongue. The piquancy would cause your mouth to water in delight, and you began to clench your legs painfully together as if to muffle the screeching desire that clawed away at the ornately papered walls of your meridional mansion.

As you shuddered, your father walked into the living room with an equally blissful smile on his face. “Goodmorning, sweetheart.” He called before walking over and planting a tender kiss to your temple. “Are you ready for tonight?” You nodded enthusiastically, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as you realized your own excitement. In the past, you had never been particularly keen on meeting your father’s girlfriends, but it wasn’t often they had a hot son under their wing and this situation seemed too good to pass up.

The ride to their house was torturous; restless in the passenger seat of your father’s corvette as he drove down the road. Even though he was already driving above the speed limit, a part of you wanted to shove your father out of the driver's seat and drive there on your own at record speed, pushing the gas pedal to its limits. You tried your best to not bite your nails, painted cherry squares that gleamed like red vinyl; it was a habit you had ditched in the throes of your childhood. As you and your father pulled into the driveway of a quaint suburban home, all judgment you might’ve initially had left you as you remembered the prize that awaited you inside; like a parcel sitting inside an ornately wrapped gift box. You squinted your eyes against the bleached out concrete of their driveway, looking past the beat up looking 1900 Audi 100 and towards the doorway. The stone paved walkway served as an umbilical path to the inside; the bottom of your Repetto Camille heels scraping against the granular surface of their front steps, each strike of your heel against the ground a sharp reminder of what awaits you. It felt like a daydream, like you were walking a path of luminous sugar.

The rap of your father’s knuckle against the front door snapped you back to reality, and you stood there skittishly. You straightened your posture and flashed your father an enthusiastic smile which he returned. The door creaked open in front of you, revealing the woman of your father’s affections, but not the man of yours. Nonetheless, you held your smile and greeted the woman. You watched as the two exchanged kisses on the cheeks, before she turned to face you.

“Oh it’s so good to meet you, (Name)!” She stuck her hand out to shake yours, which you gingerly accepted and shook. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She went on to say, which made you smile wider.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Marston.” You nodded, your eyes skidding to look behind her to see if John was there. A sense of disappointment began to swell within you as you considered the fact that he may not be there; he was a grown man after all, and he could decide whether or not he wanted to be present to meet his mother’s new partner. The realization felt akin to the bittersweet pain of heat leaving your genitals upon retracting your hand before you could reach orgasm.

“Please, step inside. Dinner is nearly ready.” She stepped aside to allow you in, and you did so in a sluggish manner. The woman led you down the hall, presumably to her living room. When you turned the foyer into the living room, you nearly crumpled to your knees.

There, on the couch, you beheld the love of your life. Your chest began to surge when he turned to face the three of you, at once standing in a show of practiced politeness. His awkward gait as he walked over nearly made you screech in desire. Now that he stood before you, you drank in details you weren’t able to capture from mere pictures. Healed scars almost white in comparison to his tanned, stubbled skin. The small bump on his nose as it curved to a rounded tip. The girth of his generous biceps, decorated in embellishing ink designs, not revealed in the portrait style pictures you had seen. The slight downturn of his brown eyes contrasting his rough features.

Before you knew it, he was standing before you, seemingly last in the assembly line to be greeted by him. “Nice to meet you, I’m John.” His southern drawl made you shiver, your teeth chattering as you lifted your hand to his. The initial feeling of skin to skin contact made you want to cry out; the single touch alone would’ve been enough to satiate you for the entire night and until your next meeting. But your longing grew teeth, and you were ready to maul the man before you. There was a distinct gentleness in the way you took his hand, flashing him your best smile as you batted your eyelashes. “I’m, (Name).” You chirped. “Pleasure to meet you.” And what a pleasure it would be, indeed, you thought. You noted the calluses on the tips of his fingers, imagining what their roughness might’ve felt like grinding into your clit. As the two of you parted hands, you smoothed the tips of your fingers over his wrist and slid them over his palm. You watched his face to pick up on any reactions to your strangely intimate gesture, relishing in the way his adams apple bobbed harshly.

“See, they’re already getting along.” Your father joked. You offered genuine laughter, finding amusement in the unintentional literalness of his statement.

“Oh, yes! Let me check up on dinner to see if it’s ready yet.” John's mother began walking towards the kitchen, to which your father followed closely behind her.

“I’ll come with you, the two can acquaint themselves for a bit.” He patted her shoulder, offering you and John a polite yet expectant smile. You and your father seemed to have a hive mind that night, because the set up couldn’t be any more perfect. You stepped around the arm rest of the couch and sat down on the cushioning, seemingly assessing the comfort of the pillows to see how well of a surface they’d make for cunnilingus.

Your attention was drawn back to John, who was sitting in a reclining chair vertical to the loveseat you sat on. “There’s some water on the table if you’d like some.” He motioned towards the tray on the table, which held 4 glasses.

“Thank you.” You said, a small purr in your inflection as you reached for a glass and brought it to your lips. John watched with near a hypnotized demeanor as you tipped the cup back, your rouge lipstick leaving a print on the side of the cup. He watched as the pink flesh of your tongue flicked over the rim of the cup tentatively, catching a few loose droplets of water. John looked so nervous he looked like he might throw up all over his shoes, and your small gestures were enough to start up a tremble in him.

“So,” you began, the sound of you setting your cup down causing John to jerk. “Tell me about yourself, John!” You said enthusiastically. You hadn’t noticed how wide you were grinning, perhaps too excited for a simple meeting. He looked at you as though you had just asked him the meaning of life. You gave him an encouraging nod, something you would’ve never otherwise done if this were any other boy. But you could make special exceptions.

He sat up and drummed on his thighs, deep in thought. “Uh, well… I’m twenty three-”

You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the mention of his age, passing it off as blithely wetting your dry lips. You listened attentively as he recounted the rudimentary details of his life, your eyes focusing on the scars littered across one side of his face. You imagined what it’d be like to skate your tongue across them, allowing your tongue to linger on one end before sliding back down the other direction.

“The car out in the front is mine, actually.” There was a small inflection of pride in his voice, though you couldn’t remember the conversation having gotten to the point of discussing cars in your daydream.

“Oh really? It’s quite nice.” You supposed talking up a man’s ego would be the easiest way to get him out his pants, and his car seemed to be a soft spot for him. Though comparably, if you were talking cars, you’d be doing him a service driving him around in yours. Imagine the fun you two would have! You’d pick him up in your baby blue audi roadster; he’d sit a bit awkwardly at first on the passenger side, his legs bent up too far to avoid having the skin on the back of his knees touch the hot leather of the seat. You’d drive him down an isolated road with the top down as you floored the gas, letting the wind hit your bodies in some form of foreplay. Before long, you’d be surrounded by overgrown greenery and untamed woods, and you’d tell him to slide his jeans down so you could pull his cock out and fellate him.

“Y’know, I actually have quite a few cars. Maybe you can check ‘em out sometime?” You offered, feigning innocence. His eyes widened slightly at your mentioning of having several cars of your own. “Yeah?” He asked in disbelief.

You nodded. “Yeah! Maybe I’ll even let you drive one.” You giggled, feeling exultation at making him laugh as well, even if it was nervous laughter. You hoped that upon accepting your invitation to view your cars in some impromptu meet, it’d be easy to seduce and fuck him in the back seat of one of your coupes.

"Ha, never imagined my mom would find herself a rich fella. Now I'll be able to borrow my rich sister's cars." Having him call you his sister felt like a kick in the skull, it was like being unwillingly pulled into a group project you had no intentions of being a part of. "Well, I'm not quite your sister." In an act of defiance, you shed the thin cardigan and puffed your chest out, pulling the thin strings tying the front together like you were unwrapping a gift; the lighting from the chandelier made your dress appear subtly translucent. You suppressed the smirk that threatened to come onto your face when you heard him cough and clear his throat. "Think of it as borrowing your friend's cars " You turned to look at him again, flashing a toothy smile that dismissed any ulterior motives.

"Uhm, yeah." His porcelain voice shivered with forming cracks. He crossed one thigh over the other, leaning back in his seat and sucking in a deep breath. Now that he was actually in front of you, you could take a moment to study his clothing of choice. It seemed that that day he himself had decided to brandish baggy black jeans that bunched around his ankles, and a black band shirt that read 'Alice In Chains'. Not only that, he had a few studded leather bracelets around his wrists. You wondered what he'd look like with a similar choker around his neck, attached to a leash as you sat on his back with a leather crop like he was your mount of choice.

"I like your style!" You complimented, taking another sip of your water. The remark seemed to work in your favor, causing him to sit up straight and smile in pride. Indeed, the way inside a man's heart, and pants, was to talk him up.

"Thank you, I like yours too." His tone was hushed, briefly flickering his eyes down your body before your father walked in. "Hey you two, dinner’s ready." He announced. You dropped all seductive pretenses and faced your father, pulling your cardigan back on while smiling. "Alright daddy!"

The two of you promptly followed behind Dutch, who already seemed to know his way around the house as he led you towards the dining room. John mechanically set the table as his mother droned on about how excited she was to have finally met you, putting a hand on your shoulder with familiar proximity. You did not mind the touch, but you detested the idea of it being perceived as motherly by your father or John. You sat across from John on the mahogany dinner table, which was a heartland expanse of wood long enough for you to lay down on as John pillaged you. Though the four sharp corners of the table were somehow symbolic; a reminder to not go out of bounds on this dinner.

The dinner went on as planned by your father: blithe introductions and a lighthearted atmosphere, your father encouraging you to speak of your achievements casually to show what a great unit the two of you were without sounding pretentious. Though you supposed speaking about all your pageantry awards and college certificates along with your impressive resume was anything but; feeling instead like you were in the middle of some high stakes interview that determined the rest of your life. In a way, you thought it did though. Afterall, the man of your dreams was sitting across from you, and you wanted to impress him. But John seemed to sink in his chair the more you spoke, his eyes flickering occasionally towards his mother, who's jaw only seemed to open wider the more you shared.

"Quite a daughter you've got, Dutch! You should be proud." She cheered, flashing you a warm smile in the process. You returned it before looking over across from you, and John himself seemed to be impressed. But it was more of an ashamed look, as if he were trying to telepathically communicate to his mother 'don't be disappointed in me because I don't have all those achievements under my belt'.

In an act of consolation, you slipped your foot out of your shoe and ran it up his leg, not once looking at him as you did so, stopping to rest your toes on his knee. Perhaps a rush of your judgment, but you felt his entire leg go rigid beneath your foot as he froze, his fork stopping mid way on its path towards his mouth. You continued conversation with your father like it was nothing, a skill born out of practice. You retracted your foot momentarily, an imaginary static shock connecting the two of you as you flickered your eyes towards him briefly, who was staring back at you with aroused disbelief.

"Would you like some more water, (Name)?" John's mother asked, pitcher in hand. You nodded and thanked her, watching the way the cup filled before flashing John a more sultry smile, knowing and empathetic. It said all the words you could not speak out loud. You rested your chin on the back of your hand as you listened to John's mother speak about the multiple clients she saw a day as a real estate agent. You took John's reaction as a green light, opting towards a more bold move. The initial touch had been a pop quiz, now this was the big exam. Once again, your foot traveled up his shin, stopping only for a moment at his knee, as if waiting for one last sign of rejection, before reaching past his thigh and landing at his crotch, rubbing front to back again and again while your father spoke of his own business. Upon applying more pressure to his half erect genitals with the sole of your foot, John's knee reflexively jerked and slammed up into the table, causing you to pull your foot back and shove it into your shoe before anyone could see what you were doing.

Dutch and John's mother looked at each other before looking at John in confusion. "Are you okay, hon?" His mother asked. Her concern-laden question made you want to laugh. John cleared his throat and nodded, shifting in his seat.

"Yeah, mom." He confirmed. She didn't appear too convinced, but she didn't want to rouse any sort of uncomfortable conversation in the middle of dinner. You smiled to yourself in satisfaction, a small victory cheer playing out in your head. The rest of dinner went without a hitch, occasionally stopping to rest your foot on top of John's shoe. He still held an expression of confusion and disbelief, a tinge of arousal; but not once did he move his foot away.

By the end of dinner, John's mother insisted he show you to his room so you could see all his rock memorabilia, something she thought a woman of your age would enjoy seeing. And while you had never dabbled in the more alternative side of fashion and music, it was certainly something that you thought made a man more attractive. John had a stiff air about him as the two of you got up and excused yourself from the dinner table, and you reveled in his tenseness as you walked alongside him. He was quiet the entire walk as if in deep contemplation, not once looking at you out of fear that if he did, he might turn to see some sort of succubus had taken your place. Though once you reached the steps leading up to the second floor, you made a point of stepping directly in front of John as you traversed upwards.

You could feel his eyes train on your ass, the shortness of your dress and the movement of your hips affording him a peek beneath the hem of your dress and to your lace clad ass. As if you were a magician hypnotizing him with some sort of mystical locket by swaying it back and forth, he followed you up in a trance. It wasn't until you stopped at the top of the stairs, turning your torso to face him, did he rip his eyes away from your posterior and up to face you. You smirked unabashedly, as if to tell him you caught him staring.

"Which room is yours?" You asked, looking back to the hallway.

"Oh, right this way." There was a small pep in his step as he led you down the carpeted hall. When he reached the door, he pushed it open and stepped aside to allow you in.

"Ladies first." He said, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

"What a gentleman." You said as you stepped in. You stood in the center of his room, looking around at its slightly disheveled state. He clearly hadn't anticipated having anyone in his room that night, only expecting a quaint dinner. His walls were decorated with several posters of bands, all dressed in a similar fashion as him while carrying electric guitars and wildly thrashing their hair. His navy blue bed sheets on his unmade that you so badly wanted to throw yourself onto face first before inhaling deeply. He had a few guitars of his own propped up against the wall, and you took an instant liking to the bright red one. There were stray t-shirts littered across the floor; his closet door bulging open to reveal more black clothes.

"I like your room, it's so you." You smiled at him, crossing your arms beneath your chest. John stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him but leaving it slightly ajar.

"Thanks, I'd say it's real uh, expressive." He said, which made you giggle.

"You play?" You pointed towards the instruments, only then taking note of the amp positioned behind them.

"Yeah, I'm actually in a band."

This new piece of information was absolutely delightful, and it made you perk up. "Oh really?" You asked, leaning forward in interest. He showed that same bit of pride, gaining confidence at your sudden inquiry.

"Yeah, I'm the lead guitarist." He boasted, sitting down on the bed behind you. You looked at the spot directly next to him, and asked "May I?"

Before he could realize what you were asking, he nodded yes. The realization of what he agreed to came when you sat down so close next to him that your thighs were shy of touching each other. He made no comment about it, only deeply inhaling to steady his breath. The casualty of your prior conversation almost made him nearly forget about the little trick you pulled downstairs at dinner.

"Uhm.." He began, opening his mouth to speak but closing it as if unsure how to start. He looked at you and squinted his eyes, confused by the perplexed expression on your face feigning innocence.

"Downstairs, uh…" You cocked your brow in faux confusion, as if you had no idea where he was going with this. The action alone made John feel crazy, as if he had imagined the whole scene in its entirety and by mentioning it, you'd look at him in appalled disbelief for even imagining something so lewd with his new step sister.

Before he could continue, you cut him off. "Hey John, I have a question."

He pursed his lips before gulping. "What is it?"

"When your mother showed you the picture of my dad and I, did you touch yourself to the thought of me?"

The forwardness of the question made John’s eyes widen to gargantuan proportions. He raised one of his brows at you as if to assess whether you were serious or not, and for a moment, you felt the unfamiliar fear of the possibility of your assumptions being wrong. To emphasize how serious you were, you began undoing the front strings of your cardigan again, letting it slide down your arms along with a singular spaghetti strap, which you made a point not to fix as it slid down your shoulder.

“Uhm… I…” His hesitancy to answer was an answer of its own. You smiled and leaned into his arm, feeling the rigidity of his body. You looked at his face; he looked as though he were weighing out his options. You were sure that if you could read his mind, one end of the balancing scale would have “Remain decent during this joining of two families”, and the other end would read “Fuck my super hot step sister who clearly wants me.” And you were certain that the latter was outweighing the former.

“Well,” You began, ghosting your fingers on his thighs. “I have.” His breath hitched, eyes fixed on where your hand was. “All I can think about is touching you. I want to touch you so badly, and I want you to touch me.” You brought your face closer to his, awaiting any sort of response. He didn’t seem quite as convinced as you wanted him to be though.

“I know you want to.” You purred, laying your palm flat on his thigh, shy of a few inches from his cock. “I saw the way you were looking at me in the living room. And I know you were looking at my ass when we were going up the stairs. Just admit it.” John looked off to the side shamefully as though he’d been caught walking into a room he wasn’t welcome into. You were sure that if this were under any other circumstances, John would’ve pounced on you with as much fervor by now. But the step siblings aspect added an extra layer of shame that you viewed as unnecessarily tedious.

“John.” You said more firmly, cupping his stubbled cheek and turning him to face you directly. “Touch me.”

His hands came to the sides of your face as he lowered his mouth onto yours. You felt his pulse strike against your fingers as you continued to hold him, willfully opening your mouth in the beginning of a hungry kiss. Instantly, John shoved his tongue into your mouth, the nascent feeling of metal on his tongue as he created a sucking motion with each kiss making you shiver. You moaned into the kiss, sucking and kissing anything your mouth came into contact with. He abandoned all hesitant pretenses as his hands began to roam your body, groping and squeezing anything that filled his palm. His touches were so confident and intentional, it appeared as though he had never been scared at all. He seemed to have a perfect lexicon of your body inside his mind, knowing exactly where to touch without looking.

You turned to face him better on the bed, swinging one of your thighs over his lap. As you two separated from the kiss, his needy hands came to your straps and hooked two fingers around them, looking to you for permission before he pulled them down.

“But you’re my brother.” You joked, faking a pout.

“Your STEP-brother.” He clarified. Without another word, he yanked the strings down, exposing your pert chest and hardened nipples. He lowered his mouth to a nipple before taking it in between his lips, pulling it along with his teeth as he sucked. You lowered your head and watched the pink on skin contact, your nipple beginning to glisten with John’s saliva. You gasped and threw your head back, holding his crown in place as his tongue piercing swirled around the bud.

You reached your arms across his back and began clawing at the shirt he was wearing, pulling it up along his back until he helped you pull it over his head, temporarily interrupting his ministrations. After delivering the same attention to your other nipple, he began yanking the rest of your dress down along your body. You lifted your ass in assistance, giggling at the way he flung it across the room, hanging on the headstock of his red guitar.

“Damn, girl, you are stunning.” He smirked, taking a moment to admire your perfectly taut torso before smoothing his hands over the skin. “And you smell amazing.” He added. His comments nearly made you blush. You flung your heels off across the room, leaving you in only your red lacy underwear.

“Your turn.” You whispered, winking at him. He stood hastily and began removing his studded belt, dropping his jeans quickly after and clumsily pulling them off his ankles. His excitement made you laugh, you thought he might trip from how quickly he was moving. You licked your lips at the sight of the trail of hair dusted across his naval, disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers; it appeared as if it were some wispy chocolate confection drizzled over his body. At this point, he joined you back in bed, remaining in his own underwear. You eyed the noticeable bulge in his underwear, a tiny wet spot where his tip lay.

“Someone’s excited.” You teased, tracing the scar that ran along his cheek.

“Shit, with someone as smokin’ as you, who wouldn’t be.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse. The two of you shared a moment of lighthearted giggles as he pulled you along further on the bed.

“You ever had a girl?” You asked. You supposed you knew the answer, but you wanted to hear it come from his mouth. Your hands wrapped around his cloth covered cock and began to stroke leisurely.

“One, but besides that, I haven’t done much.” His labored breath sounded like he was running from something. “How come?” You asked. “You’re certainly handsome.”

He shrugged, shaking his head as he tipped it back on his sternum. “No one will have me, I guess.” He laughed in self pity. In response, you squeezed his cock before lifting your hand from the wad of fabric shaped around his erection. You hooked your fingers on the elastic of his underwear, pulling it down as the head of his cock snagged on the waistband before springing free. You smirked at the sight of his Jacob's ladder piercing.

“I like it.” You complimented, looking back up at him. “Real adventurous.”

“I guess the pain would have been worth it after all.” He joked.

You lowered your head above his cock, your hair falling around you. You exhaled onto him, bathing his tip in your warm breath. With that, you licked your lips, lowering them over him, leaving a pink print wherever your lips paused. You heard a guttural moan above you, his fingers resting over your scalp as if debating whether he should grasp your roots or not. You slowly arched your neck, extending your throat until it came to his base. You delighted in the feeling of metal against your tongue, fluttering it against his underside. He made gasping noises and began bucking his hips, writhing in a disoriented way that made the tip of his cock bump against the back of your throat.

You gave him a few minutes of skilled sucking, your throat producing various wet slurps and gags as you fucked your own throat on his cock. You brushed your hair behind your ear, looking up at him through your lashes. His face twitched and contorted in pleasure, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan. You began tasting the salty bitters of pre-ejaculate on your tongue, hollowing your cheeks as you pulled your head back on his tip, giving a few more harsh sucks before popping off of it. His erection glistened and bobbed in the air as you looked up at him seductively, licking your lips before leaning back up towards eye level. His eyes remained trained on his own cock, looking as if to see if it was still attached.

“Your turn.” You whispered before placing your fingertips on his chest, pushing him back to lay on the bed, his head landing comfortably on his pillow. His lips twitched into an excited smile as you shuffled over him, your knees on either side of his torso. His shaky hands came to grip the back of your thighs, his pointer fingers digging into the plump flesh where your thigh curved into your ass.

You couldn’t believe how close the two of you were to actually fucking. You had a small growing sense of paranoia that your father or John’s mother may decide to walk upstairs, the carpeted floor cushioning their muted footsteps. That they’d throw the door open and see the clothes strewn across the floor, before landing on you sitting atop of John. You sweeped the thought away, deciding to enjoy this for as long as possible. You gripped the head board as you walked your knees to the sides of his neck, looking down at his excited face.

“You know what would be really hot?” You asked, squaring your cunt in front of his mouth. “If you took ‘em off with your teeth.” He leaned up with the obedience of a dog, pinching the elastic between his front teeth before sliding them down, his canines lightly scraping the tender flesh of your thigh. You shuddered as goosebumps wracked your body, the feeling of his nose traveling down your pubic bone making you want to cry out in ecstasy. Your thighs nearly sandwiched his neck, and as your panties pooled at your knees, it only required a slight tilt of your pelvis before you straddled his face fully, releasing your weight onto his mouth. His hands came to grip your ass, squeezing and pulling the globes of flesh in opposite directions.

His lips quickly latched onto your clit, sucking before he opened his mouth and flattened his tongue along your cunt; the feeling of cold metal making you yelp. Without waiting for the green light, you began grinding down onto his face. You bit your lip to avoid the risk of being found out, scrunching your face up at your best attempt to keep quiet. The bottom half of John’s face quickly became marinated in your enthusiasm, eating you out with the same eagerness as if he had just got a new car and was driving it for the first time.

He moaned into your pussy, his tongue laving between your lips and labia, circling your clit before sliding back down to your molting hole. He slid his wet muscle inside you, effectively tongue fucking you as you ground your clit into his nose. He gave your ass a playful spank, a sharp quick cut into the static haziness of your wanton acts which made you keenly aware of the fact either of your parents might’ve heard that. But you couldn’t find it in you to chastise him, he was far too engrossed in eating you out, and very excitedly.

John gripped your ass more forcefully now, manually shoving your cunt further onto his face as he continued to suck and lick. He was doing this with the full intention of making you cum. You bit the back of your hand, grinding so hard into his face you thought you might break the mattress. With a few more harsh sucks, you felt a flash of heat as you came all over John’s mouth and chin, barely able to suppress your cry of euphoria. He wrapped his mouth fully around your cunt, swallowing as much of your cum as he could before going back to sucking on your oversensitive clit. Your grinds slowed to a halt before you climbed off his head, seeing just how spent and drenched his face was.

You laughed in amusement. “My god.” You continued to giggle, feeling a sense of tenderness for him. He had a satisfied smile on his face as he laughed.

“How’d I do?” He lifted himself on his elbows as you moved off of him, leaning your back against the wall as you shed your panties off of your legs fully.

“Well you made me cum so I’d say pretty fucking good.” You giggled, patting him on the knee. Your cunt was a spent pool of pleasure, but the ache inside you continued to burn. You imagined he felt the same way, his cock somehow harder and in more need of touch.

“Take these off fully, already.” You pouted, moving to yank his underwear fully off his legs, throwing it into the pile of clothes next to his bed. You turned to face him. “How do you wanna fuck me?” You asked. He sat up suddenly and moved to the side, patting the pillow where he once laid.

“I wanna look at you while we do it.” Wordlessly, you followed his order and laid on your back, hugging your knees to your chest as he positioned himself above you. He took your ankles and settled them on his shoulders, giving the sides of your feet a kiss before gripping his cock and guiding it inside you. You nodded in encouragement, your mouth falling into a silent o as he slid in slowly to the hilt. He sucked in shaky breaths, trying his best to contain any sounds. He decided to lean forward and over to his night stand, pulling out a random CD before popping it into the player atop. At once, the sound of guitars and drums and smooth vocals filled the room, masking any sounds you made. He cranked the volume up, hastily beginning to thrust inside you.

It was the perfect cover up, one John’s mom wouldn’t question. It made sense, after all, for John to be sharing some of his music taste with you up in his bedroom, no matter how obnoxiously loud it might be. The two of you began in a chorus of moans and grunts, the wet sounds of skin on skin accompanying the playing of the band. John paused his movements momentarily to reach for an extra pillow aside your head before shoving it under your hips, helping him in elevating your pelvis. You let out a particularly loud squeal at the newly reached depth, letting loose a stream of obscenities about how good John was fucking you.

His hair began sticking to his forehead the same way it did in that one photograph, the sight of it making your cunt tighten around him. You dragged him down toward you by the arm, before sweeping his bangs to the side and landing a stripe of saliva on his forehead. The racy flavor made you shudder in delight, and you moved to wrap your arms around John’s neck to hold him in place. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, gripping the headboard as both of your bodies jerked from each movement. If the bed was squeaking, you wouldn’t have known; far too stimulated by the sounds of your bodies moving in tandem along with Chino Moreno’s singing.

John lifted his face to press his sweaty forehead to yours, an expression of pure ecstasy on his debauched features. The functioning awareness of his brain lagging behind his own body as it tried to register what had just happened, what was currently happening, and what was about to end. His eyes opened momentarily and you saw a sense of bewilderment for his own actions, before shutting slowly again in bliss. An involuntary and guttural noise left his mouth as he came inside you. The uncontrolled wince of his face combined with the spreading warmth in your abdomen tipped off your own orgasm, and you came harder than you had before. In the moment, you hadn’t registered that the way you screamed was akin to the primal screech one would release upon being fatally wounded.

As the next track on the album came to an end, the two of you remained in the same position catching your breaths. John seemed to snap back to his senses when he looked down to where you connected, a ribbon of cum dripping out of you. When he removed himself his horrors were only confirmed further.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I-I’ll pay for your plan b, I-” You sat up and waved your hand dismissively.

“On the pill, don't worry.” You reassured, which seemed to effectively calm his nerves. You sat up again, resting your back on the headboard.

“Wow.” He said, smiling at you widely.

“Wow, indeed.” You said.

“That was the best sex of my life.” He slapped your thigh before rubbing it, which you welcomed by placing your hand over his. “There’s more where that came from.” You winked once again and leaned forward to kiss him. The two of you shared a non-sexually charged kiss before separating.

“Alright.” You pat his knee, “Let’s get dressed now before my dad or your mom come up.”

The two of you got dressed simultaneously, slipping your dress on quickly before studying your hair and makeup in a nearby mirror. You picked up your panties and tossed them back towards John, who just barely caught them.

“Keep 'em, as a trophy.” You giggled as you watched him stuff them in his pocket. “Will do.”

The two of you made a haste trip to the bathroom to clean yourselves up and make sure you looked presentable before going back downstairs again. The two of you shared a tender moment where you dabbed away the sweat on each other's foreheads with crumpled up tissues. Upon your return downstairs, you found your respective parents sitting on the couch chatting, before they turned to face you two.

“How’d you two get along?” Asked Dutch. John’s mother looked on in enthusiasm, clapping her hands together. “I’m assuming well, John put on one of his favorite CDs to show you after all.” She cooed. The two of you looked at eachother knowingly with blithe laughter that suggested nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

“Yeah,” You began. “I think we’re gonna get along great.”

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MX - Deftones

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 rookanis origin story feat. davrin enjoy 🪶

"Is anyone else hungry? Maybe I should cook something."

Lucanis doesn't even get to finish his sentence before the sound of Rook's rumbling tummy drowns his words out entirely. So that's a yes on the question.

Rook wraps both arms over her belly, her blush even visible on her tan skin in the candlelight.

Davrin says something to her, but Lucanis' mind is already on the food. The dough he'd made in the morning should be good to go; if there's still some lardon left, maybe a firecake.

Rook sits down in the chair next to Davrin, kicks off her sage green friulanes and pulls up her legs to hug her knees as she answers.

"Neve and Harding didn't tell you about our hunt for Solas, then?"

Funny how her voice halts all other thoughts in his mind and makes him hone in on the sound of it, now.

"They don't tell it the way you would."

She hides her shy smile behind her knees.

"I mean, it ended with the elven god of lies in my head. Is that enough to win the 'worst job' contest?"

"You're joining us, then?" Rook nods, then hits her chin on her kneecap so hard it audibly knocks her teeth together. She holds her jaw in both hands like a scraped elbow.

"Fine," Lucanis says, and puts down his coffee cup. "I'll cook something, if Rook's staying."

"Oh, you don't have to cook just because I'm here," Rook mumbles into her fingers. "I was gonna get some fruit and chocolate to melt."

He doesn't tell her his mind about cooking was made up the second she walked through the door.

"It's no trouble. I have some overdue dough sitting around, anyway."

"Can I help?"

"No, no. You sit down. Let me get you some juice." Davrin groans and takes a generous swig of sugar rum straight from the bottle.

Lucanis had forgotten he's even there.

"Gods, you two are gross."

Lucanis can feel Rook's eyes on him as he walks to his dough basket, and knows the way she's relaxing into her seat, hears the playfulness in her voice as she retorts.

"We're not doing anything!" A creak, as someone leans over and plucks some fruit from the platter. The sound of the fabric makes him think it's Rook; satin snagging on woodsplint.

"Exactly. Don't even wanna know what you get up to when you're alone."

"What we're getting up to when we're alone is no business of yours!" Her tone simmers down. "Lucanis, could you pass me the blanket, since you're already up, please?"

"You're sitting on it." Lucanis sets down her quince juice, steadies her with a hand on her elbow as she hovers mid-air and pulls the fabric out from under herself. Davrin groans again and takes another sip of rum.

"Rook," Davrin says, after both of them hover near each other for an amount of time it became awkward even to Lucanis, who needs to share her space like he needs air to breathe. "Antaam. Go."

Rook does that elf thing with her eyes, where she both blinks and flicks her irises back and forth at such an odd pace he can witness both actions frame per frame. She's annoyed with Davrin. When Lucanis returns to his kitchentop, to roll out his dough and spread the cream ferment on it, she settles back into her chair and fidgets with the tassels on her blanket.

"Well, I got off a contract, went back to the Diamond, and passed these unreasonably large Antaam rounding up civilians. Asked them why."

"You asked the Antaam why they rounded up people of the city they occupy?"

Rook sniffs. Lucanis wants to sniff, too, but for him, it's because of the shallots he's chopping up. First Trevisan batch of the year is always so full of oils.

"No. I asked the civilians. We were close to the canal openings, just outside Drowned Treviso, so I figured they were begging for scraps or peddling what little belongings they had left."

"That's a shit reason to arrest somebody," Davrin replies, as though the Wardens have any leverage to judge people's arrests.

"Yeah, but at least it is a reason. Someone somewhere cared enough about - I don't know, reputation or some shit - to pull some half-cocked explanation out of their ass. Even if it's just I never fucked a knife-ear and you're unfortunately the first one I came across." There's a familiar bitterness in her words that makes Lucanis turn from his firecake and look at her.

He's the human heir to the First Talon of the Antivan Crows. He tends to forget the hardships of others - especially elves that aren't under Crow protection.

"But no. Nothing. No reason at all. Girl I asked was hysterical. The Antaam closest to us smacked her so hard she went flying. Broke her nose landing and everything. And then I lost it." Rook laughs, suddenly, glances over at Lucanis, flour on his fingers and holding onto the ovenpaddle.

"Imagine being an Antaam occupying Treviso and not knowing how to deal with Crows. Five Oxmen twice my height in under three minutes. Personal record."

Davrin whistles. Rook carries on without a care. Oh, not an uncomfortable laugh, then. Lucanis returns to shoving the firecakes in the oven.

"Anyway, it turns out - Lucanis, what are you doing? I thought you said snacks, not second dinner."

"Coffee," he replies, shrugging. Some of the water in the kettle spills to the floor. "The residual heat from the oven will make the water boil faster."

"What are you making, anyway?"

When Rook wanders over to the stove, Davrin trails behind her.

"Firecakes. I had some sourdough leftover from the bread. Quick and easy."

"Wicked."

Davrin reaches past Lucanis, grabs the cheap white cooking wine from the shelf and retreats back to the coffee table.

"Rook. What did it turn out?"

"Hmm?" She tears her eyes away from Lucanis' forearms. What is it with her and his forearms? It makes him both relieved and ashamed he hasn't inherited the Dellamortes' extra hairy arms.

"Before you got your eyes stuck on your boytoy like teens in the hay-" Rook scoffs. Lucanis could swear she rolls her ears as well as her eyes. "You said your Losing It turned something out. What was it?"

"Oh." She takes the seasondish and walks back over. She sits back in her seat, but Davrin's no longer in his - he'd moved over, so Rook and himself could sit together.

Lucanis might just get him a good wine next time he goes for groceries.

"Turns out a couple of those folks rounded up by the Antaam were in fact planted by the Talons. They were supposed to figure out where their cells are."

"That sounds like a suicide mission."

"I agree." When Lucanis presents her with a plate of firecake, she spares him a small, grateful smile that somehow outshines the Rivaini sun on polished gold. "Think that I actually said that in front of the other Talons was what got Viago to oust me. Of course I mess up one time and that's when he decides to get a big head about stabbing his own mother."

"He killed his own mother?"

Rook and Lucanis shrug in unison. He knows this without looking over to her because her shrug moves her blanket and with it, the tassels that Spite started chewing on the second she sat back down. Lucanis hopes she won't notice the wet.

"Normal Crow ascension. Also, not the point of the story. Oh, this is good. The dill really puts a spin on it I didn't expect."

"Well," he says. "Most everything's better with dill on it." Her elbow digs in the skin of his forearm. It hurts, just a little, at the wound that never really healed that he doesn't care to cut back open to properly sew it shut.

Despite it being his dominant hand, he can't close cuts with his right to save anyone's life.

Rook smiles and agrees with him all the same.

"So what is the point of the story?" Davrin doesn't stop eating to ask. His S'es get worn down with his biting off his cake slice while talking.

"Hm? Oh, Varric was with those uprounded folks. Tracked me down and recruited me to hunt down his old pal who needs a stern talking-to. Not like I had anything better to do. Or anywhere else to go."

Lucanis turns to look at her. The kettle's wheezing, and his own firecake slices are growing cold, but it doesn't matter.

Not when his question is burning on his mind like that.

"How did that make you his second-in-command?" Rook leans on his shoulder, without a care in the world. Takes another bite and turns to look up at him.

Lucanis finds he doesn't mind her affections in front of others. He finds he doesn't even know why he would care to.

"Fuck if I know. But it turned out all right in the end. I met you, didn't I?"

How could he mind it, if it drives Davrin up the wall like that?

🪶

powered by i don't know how to feed myself ✌️

davrin seems like the kinda guy to do that bts namjoon pissy jawpop thing ⏬️

the jawpop thing i find so incredibly sexy and due to my rona-induced hyperfixation with bts I've had for like a whole entire year that made me adopt the jawpop thing

[~rina]

[himbo-ford-pines]

hehehehehehe evil thots illegal thots here have bad babysitter Stan

CW: drinking

——————

Stanley watched his brother run full speed around the house. He sighed. He should have never given into the boy’s pleas for ice cream. Their parents were going to be gone overnight and had tasked Stanley with watching the seven year old Stanford. He recalled his pa’s warning before they left the house: “He’d better be asleep by eight, and eat his entire dinner and-“ blah blah blah. Stanley knew what he was doing. Christ they worried so much.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a crash. He paled. “Sixer, I know you didn’t run into that fucking urn.” He stared hard at their grandmother’s ashes on the floor. “God… dammit. Okay.” He stood and grabbed the broom, muttering to himself. He was gonna get his ears boxed for this.

Stanford stepped back and rubbed his arm sheepishly. “Sorry Stanley, I was pretending to be a B-52 and-“

“Yeah, bud, I saw.” He sighed. “You need to calm down a little, you’re literally bouncin’ off the walls. In fact-“ he glanced up at the cat clock monotonously ticking away above the entrance to the kitchen. “I think it’s bedtime.” He considered ashes in the dustpan and grabbed a Tupperware, dumping them in while his brother whined at him.

“What?! That’s not fair, you get to stay up all night and watch tv!”

“Yeah, cuz I’m charge tonight, and Pa gave me specific instructions on what to do with you. I’m not getting my ass whooped because you wanna watch cartoons longer than normal. I’m already getting it because you spilled Grandma on the fuckin floor.” He wiped his hands off on his white shirt, grimacing at the dark smudges. Sorry Grandma.

Ford frowned. “But I’m not tired.”

Stanley frowned. Getting this kid in bed when he didn’t want to go was nearly impossible. Then he remembered his ma talking about giving them gin on her finger when they were babies to calm them down and put them to sleep. He wondered if beer would do the same. “Tell ya what, you can stay up with me, but you have to drink with me. You wanna be a man or whatever? Come on.” He grabbed a six pack he’d stolen from the local grocery store from the fridge and placed it on the coffee table imposingly. “Think you’re up for it?”

Stanford puffed out his chest in pride. “I can do it! I am a man!” He ran over to the couch and sat down, keeping his arms crossed.

Stanley threw some pajamas at him. “At least get cozy.”

Ford groaned and started taking off his clothes. Stanley found his eyes trailing over the boy’s soft body, coming to rest on the boy’s tighty whiteys. He shook his head when Stanford pulled his pj’s back on and flopped down onto the couch, cracking open a cold one with the boy. He grabbed the clicker and switched on the tv, flipping through channels until they hit some documentary and Sixer started yelling at his older brother to stop there so he could learn about jellyfish. Stanley groaned but figured the kid would only be up for a little longer so he obliged and settled back as he was lectured on the stages of jellyfish life, polyp stage, Medusa stage, blah blah blah. He sipped his beer boredly, and pulled the boy closer, offering him the bottle. “Here. You said you’d keep up with me.”

Stanford took it, a bit unsure of himself and sniffed it, recoiling a bit at the heavy fermented wheat smell. “You sure Pa won’t get mad?”

“Not if Pa doesn’t know. You gonna rat me out?”

“No.”

“Then shut up and quit worrying. Drink.” He opened another beer for himself and chugged half of it, letting out a loud long burp afterwards that sent Stanford into giggles.

“Gross Stanley!” He hit his arm and regarded the bottle before taking a tentative sip and almost spitting it out. Stanley covered his mouth.

“Swallow, Sixer.”

Ford swallowed with a shudder and let out a much smaller burp. Stanley grinned and nodded for him to keep going as the teen continued sipping his own beer. Stanford wasn’t going to back down from a challenge- he never did. So he drank. He finished the bottle about the same time that Stanley was half way through his second. He leaned back with a groan. His tummy hurt, but he didn’t feel drunk? At least, he didn’t think so?

“Hey kid, go grab those chips.” Stanley pointed to the bag of potato chips on the counter in the kitchen. “But finish this first.” He handed him the half full bottle of beer he had been working on. “Then we’ll be even.” He smirked, seeing the unsure look on Ford’s face. “Unless you’re chicken.”

Ford wrinkled his nose and tilted the bottle back, holding his breath to avoid tasting the sour liquid as it washed down his throat. He slammed the bottle down on the table, burped in his brother’s face, stood up determinedly, took one step towards the kitchen, and fell flat on his face with a groan.

Stanley burst out laughing and stood, stretching. “That was so easy. Alright, bed-“ his inebriated brain focused in on the lining of Ford’s underwear peeking out from his pajama pants. His cock jumped in his own sweats. He looked at the clock. He still had hours before their parents were home… and he and Ford had played before. It’s not like he hadn’t gotten a yes any other time he’d asked, why would this time be different. He picked the drunk kid up and tossed him on the couch.

Stanford grunted and blinked up at him. “Dizzy…”

“Shh.” He pulled the boy’s pants and underwear off, silent, and let Ford’s legs fall back onto the couch as he stared at the boy’s soft cock. He just… he needed this. He reached for another beer and took a drink of it before pushing it to his brother’s lips, making him take a drink despite Ford shaking his head. Stanley pushed Sixer back down onto the couch and pulled his cock out, stroking himself with a small groan before going down, taking Stanford’s entire package into his mouth and moving his tongue around, playing with his tiny cock and his fucking grape sized excuse for a sack. Ford let out a lewd noise, tangling small hands in his brother’s hair. “S-Stanleyyyy~” he crooned before his mouth fell open. He stared at the ceiling fan for what felt like a very long time as he focus’s on his brother’s warm mouth on his privates. He gasped- he was about to finish in his brother’s mouth when Stanley pulled off with a shimmery line of pre connecting his lips to Ford’s cock. He grabbed his brother’s legs and lifted them before spitting right onto his ass and shoving two finger into him. Ford yelped at the sudden penetration, wiggling clumsily in Stanley’s grasp but Stan had a big advantage on him in size and sobriety. “Easy buddy, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight, not really anyway. You get fingered and put to bed, that’s it.”

Ford let out an unintelligible whimpering slur of words at him that Stanley ignored as he felt around for Ford’s sweet spot. He found it quickly- he knew his way around- and didn’t let up on it, touching and feeling the boy’s prostate until Stanford came all over his own legs, blubbering and gasping. Stanley pulled his fingers out slowly and wiped them on the couch as he watched Ford catch his breath. “Are you ready for bed yet Sixer?”

Ford just closed his eyes and Stanley sighed in relief, curling around him in an apartment that was finally quiet.

[peachesgarden-hasmoved]

what i think every minecraft potion tastes like and how they would make you feel

aka me yapping about my minecraft headcanons AGAINNNNN

PLZ READ IT i hope you guys see my vision

swiftness

its made with only sugar so i imagine i’d kinda taste like kool-aid, except it’s watery and the sugar taste is kinda weak

it would also make your body feel shaky and tense and your heartbeat way too fast, kinda like if you drank way too much energy drinks

slowness

it’d taste bad. i imagine i’d taste like you’re drinking something rotten… (any potion made with spider eyes i imagine tasting bad btw)

and i imagine it would make your body feel numb and heavy, like if your limbs felt way too heavy for your body and you suddenly felt sleepy and tired 

leaping

it’s made with rabbit’s foot so i imagine it’d taste a little funky. i imagine it would taste like if you drank just pure chicken broth (but instead of chicken it’s rabbit meat obviously)

i imagine i’d make you feel super light and energized, and you’d feel weirdly alert and nervous 

strength

it’s made with blaze powder, so i imagine the drink feeling thick to swallow, and the taste being spicy but with a burnt aftertaste

i imagine i’d make your limbs feel tense and quite uncomfortable, since all of sudden your body can handle heavy things and cause a lot of damage

healing

its made with glistening watermelon, so i imagine the potion being a sweet watermelon smoothie, but you also feel a metallic aftertaste, since there’s some pieces of gold into it

healing is kinda obvious, i imagine your wounds healing really fast, like a small cut in your body would close in seconds instead of days

poison

i don’t know what poison accurately tastes like (thank god) so i would imagine kinda like if you chugged pure strong alcohol

it’s VERY bitter and it burns while it goes down your throat

basically it would taste awful HSBDUDHS

i also imagine it would cause wounds while it goes down on your body, like it’s burning you from the inside, leaving some pretty ugly purple wounds around your heart, throat and stomach

kinda obvious but it would hurt a lot to drink it :v

regeneration

for this one, i imagine it wouldn’t taste good

it’s made with ghast tears, so i imagine the taste being weirdly salty and burnt, and you’d also feel a small aftertaste of gunpowder

(off topic but i accidentally tasted a tiny bit of gunpowder one time, ITS SO AWFUL)

but at least since it’s regeneration, it would make your wounds heal fast and your body would feel a rush of energy and wellness

fire resistance

i imagine the taste would be strange but weirdly good

it’s made out of magma cream, coming from the magma slimes, so the taste would too be spicy and you’d feel a brief but strong burning sensation in your mouth at first

i also imagine the drink would be thick and it’d kinda feel like you’re drinking jelly

it would make your whole body feel weirdly numb, like all of your limbs fell asleep

water breathing

i had to look it up what does pufferfish taste like HEBDJSDBHS

apparently it tastes mildly sweet, so i imagine it’d taste like that plus a brief saltwater taste too

water breathing is obvious too, it makes you breath underwater duh BUT at the same time i imagine it would make you feel like you’re out of breath outside of water (like you’re briefly a fish HEHSHSDHS)

night vision

it’s made with golden carrots so similar to healing, i imagine it’d taste like a carrot juice with a metallic aftertaste

it’s obvious too, it makes you see better at night or at dark spaces, and i also imagine it’d make your eyes lighter and really dilated

invisibility

so this potion is a variety of the night vision except you add a fermented spider eye

so for invisibility i have to admit it’s kinda hard what i’d imagine, buuutttt i can imagine tasting the same as night vision, except you feel the potion more sour

invisibility is obvious too, it just makes you feel….invisible (WOW)

slow falling

honestly i have no idea what it would taste like HSHDSDHJSH

but judging by the color and by the ingredient phantom membrane, i can imagine the potion having a fishy taste

mostly because phantoms remind me a lot of stingrays, so the potion wouldn’t be the best taste ever :’v i imagine the potion would kinda smell like raw fish

And how it’d feel like, i imagine your body would suddenly feel super light, a little numb and kinda dizzying, since now everytime you take a step you body just falls very slowly

weakness

similar to what i’ve mentioned before, i think the potion would taste weird too since i imagine most of the potions including spider eyes tasting bad

this one i imagine tasting it bitter and sour at the same time

And for what you’d feel like, obviously it’d make your body feel limp, numb and hard to move, like you suddenly forgot how to fight

harming

I think this one is a bit obvious but i imagine it’d taste drinking something that’s not consumable

like drinking straight up bleach (i don’t know what it tastes but it must be bad HSHDSHSHD)

And obviously, it would hurt A LOT to drink it, i imagine i’d cause you heartaches and a tense muscle pain through your whole body

[vagabond-umlaut]

Mercury x Sulfur

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff, Angst, Explicit Smut [Oral Fem!Receiving; P-In-V; Loss Of Virginity; Praises]; Angst With A Happy Ending; Porn With Plot & Feelings™️; Contains Manga & Anime Spoilers. This is 18+ Content -> Minors & Ageless Blogs Please DNI!!!

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns [Can Be Treated As A Stand-Alone]

THE WEDDING NIGHT FIC NO ONE ASKED FOR YET I WROTE FT. PATHETIC GOJO & PATHETIC READER & THEIR BLURRY PATHETIC FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER... [I'VE NEVER WRITTEN SMUT BEFORE, SO PLEASE BE KIND TO ME 🥹🥹]

Gojo Satoru is much too similar to fire, you suppose— so vivid always, so warm always, so protective always– yet not without the promise of destruction simmering within the sweet blue blaze of his eyes — Very much the reflection yet the contrast to how you resemble the air— so empty, so hollow, so fucking void.

Nice thoughts to think of yourself on your wedding night, aren't they?

Certainly not, you scoff inwardly, toying with the band of sapphire on your left hand. Yet... you cannot, or rather, do not do anything to stop them from sneaking past the defenses you've guarded yourself with– into that twisted, sick, pathetic mess of neurons and darkness you're ashamed to call your mind nowadays.

The noise of the shower tumbles into a sudden hush. An equally quiet sigh escapes you, fingers moving from your jewellery to trace the tiny floral design on the off-white gown– your brain somewhat registering the bathroom door being opened then shut.

"Y'know, mint ice cream might've be— whoa, is that my wife crying?"

Less than one nanosecond elapses before you find your perch on the edge of the bed being crowded by six-feet-three-inches of white hair, chiselled face, toned abs and worry— Oh My Fucking God, the worry swirling in those damned eyes of his— Mustering chuckles and grins, you move to scoot away from him, ready to brush your husband away with some half-baked something, when you feel him draw you closer and place two warm palms on the apples of your cheeks– both gentle and firm in the fashion they cradle your face— they cradle your entire being in this moment.

Cheer trickling away from your countenance, you hear him whisper in an unbelievably contrite tone, "You're mad because you did not get to eat the last piece of cake– because I stole it away, isn't it so? Y'know... we can always visit the bakery we ordered the cake from and I'll order the same flavour we chose for our wedding cake, and you can steal as many bites as you want from my plate— guess, that will make us kind of equals, huh?"

Equals, huh? Equals, huh? Equals. Huh?

"No," you snap, betraying the smile you've been struggling to keep on your lips, "We'll never be equals, Satoru. I mean, yeah— in dumb stuff like these, we might be equals or whatever you believe in. But, in life– do you really think we're going to be equals, huh? Do you think there'll ever be a reality, ever be a world where we might be equals, huh?"

Thumbs stilling over the tear tracks they were oh-so-very insistent on wiping away, he blinks at you. Once. Twice. Thrice— You groan, trying to remove yourself from the man whose mere presence is fermenting your inside. Searing your skin. Twisting and turning your mind into an even greater mess than it's ever been– One you know you cannot find yourself from, if once lost to.

Large fingers curling round your left ankle stop you in your attempts.

"I think so," Satoru offers softly, the unblemished smooth porcelain of his skin streaked with gravitas, you've seldom seen in the many years you've known him yet know becomes him too perfectly– You chuckle, shaking your head.

"This isn't only you and me. This is the world I'm talking about. This is our world I'm talking about. Do you really think they'll ever let a lady— married, that too— stand beside her husband, and not behind him?"

The grasp on your ankle loosens for a beat.

Something cracks and splinters and shatters within yourself.

Something you never knew existed before now— something you wish to ignore, so fucking desperately, now that you know it exists.

Shaky whoosh of pain leaving, you kick your foot free of the hold on it and scoot backwards on the mattress, screwing your eyes shut – as if them being closed will make you blind to the response your query has gathered by not gathering any at all— every iota in your body loathing the way your emotions well over and down your dusted cheeks— way too much, way too quick for your liking—

Large fingers curl round your left knee this time, preventing you from your retreat by pulling you towards their owner yet again — Little that does to dampen your efforts, though.

Or, the scald in that tender part in that tender mess of muscles and blood– pulses and impulses– you've never liked lots, for that matter.

"Let me go," you growl, legs shifting and flexing and extending to free themselves. The soft covers on the bed crinkle and crumple from the fight you put up against the forces reeling you in. "Let me go, Satoru," you snarl one more time, trying your best to keep your desperation in the cloth you've wrapped it in, not letting its pus leak into your words, "Let go of me, now. Satoru. Or, I swear— Gojo!!"

"Sweetness."

Some other reality and you think you might find this enticing. Loving, even, if you're being particularly, delusionally sappy then.

Yet, in this reality, in this moment, as you find yourself on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off it whilst your husband traps the rest of your body beneath him, one good foot between him and your supine form — and he calls you that horrid nickname with that horrid smile– as if you're sweet like those kikufuku mochis he loves eating– and not the most sour, the most salty, the most bitter person he has ever met—

You let the fight seep from yourself into the horrible rose-scented air of the room, wretched wails clawing out instead of growls and snarls.

"I can't do this anymore, Satoru," you sob, chest heaving beneath the bodice of your gown, the pearl necklace snug on your skin stifling, "It is just so difficult— This world. This life. Everything is so fucking very difficult. And confusing. And demanding. And difficult— I cannot do- I cannot live this way with the entire world's eyes trained on me," you cry out; the stinging in your eyes, in your throat, in your soul growing worse with every other word you utter, "I simply cannot live with my–"

"And what if only my eyes are trained on you?" Satoru interrupts you, mouth set into thin lines; though the concern and affection sparkling in his gaze is unmistakeable, you note, peering up through your thick curtain of tears and emotions— being close friends since you were a pair of kids learning to read and write, does have its perks after all —

"Tell me, sweetness," A finger hooks under your chin to lift it up; your suffocating pearl necklace comes off within the next instant– "What if I told you, proved to you: you don't need to worry yourself with any person; anyone, anywhere, anytime in your life; not when they aren't a part of your world—" A sturdy arm hooks under your back this time, lifting you with ease off the bed, until you're in your husband's strong grip: loose to not give you any degree of discomfort yet tight enough for you to be assured he won't be dropping you—

You wrap your arms gingerly round his neck. He asks, dropping his voice to the lowest, to the gravest you've ever heard him, "What if I showed you, your world can consist only of us— only you and me— will you..."

He trails off suddenly, gaze darting to the side before it returns to you again— it's burning. Burning, burning, burning – Stoking a fire in your nerves, in your veins, in the pit of your lower belly, perhaps in the area nether to it too— Your husband's lips curve in the gentlest shape ever seen on him, quite betraying or, maybe, complimenting the hints and clues of that something, evident from the way his fingers flex on your back for the tiniest moment or the way the shadows of the night shift and morph in the brilliance of his gaze—

"You wanna prove to me w-whatever you said right now," you state in what Satoru calls your 'weather-reporter' voice. A brow rises before it returns to its place again– the man addressed nods. Solemn. Certain.

The muscles in your shoulders relax, opposing the muscles tautening elsewhere in your body– not from fear, no. Perhaps from anticipation, you reckon. Or, maybe it is from fear– except it isn't a fear of the man in front of you— The Strongest Sorcerer, capable of turning anything and everything, anyone and everyone, into dust if he so wishes to—

Except he doesn't. Never has. Not without a solid good reason— Oh, this sweet, sweet man— For once in your life, you decide not to stay dwelling on your thoughts, on your twisted, sick, pathetic mind— all for the sake of your husband, him looking at you as if you really are a delectable mochi he wants to devour.

Oh, what a sweet fool your husband is, isn't he?

Moving your hands from where they were resting on his nape to your front, wedging into the little space between Satoru's and your bodies, you inquire, choosing your words soft yet solemn, "And... are you sure you wanna do this tonight? That you won't be regretting—"

"I can do this tonight and every other night," Satoru replies, without letting you complete your query. Then grins, loads like that shy boy, you remember, attempting to befriend you with a pebble– blue and white and blue, years back when you still pronounced 'star' as 'tar'.

You let your palms face away from your chest to rest on his— still, so warm and uncovered from the shower he took— still so, so open and vulnerable to you, in spite of the slashes and gashes dear friends like you, like that damn boy, have only ever given him— He asks, "Do you wanna let me do this?"

A slow yet sure nod is the only thing you manage to offer him in reply.

That slow yet sure nod's also the only thing remaining crystal-clear in your mind— besides, obviously—

Those kisses, so shaky yet so fiery, pressed onto your lips, your chin, the hollow of your neck, the valley between your breasts, down down down, until they reached your thighs— And they grew less of adoring and more of wanting– with muffled moans and withheld whimpers— your lips constantly forming the syllables of your husband's name, as the man himself suckled purple splotches of his desire onto the flesh out there— Besides, obviously—

The sharp gasp of breath your husband made when he tasted you for the first time and you felt shame flood every nook and cranny of your naked body — how the gown or the lingerie were removed from your torso, you've no clue...—before the shame swelled into something far different, far pleasurable, with every lick, every nibble, every hum and every groan muffled into your sensitive tissue and bundle of nerves— steady in the beginning but rapidly growing in intensity, frequency or must you say ferocity, with every moment he spends with his head in between your legs—

And you came. Embarrassed. Ecstatic. Experiencing everything lying on the spectrum between them. Onto his waiting tongue, over his—

"Ah! S-Satoru–"

You're ripped back to the present by the feel of him entering you.

The stretch hurts— as much as you've read in books, as much as you have been told in extremely discreet terms by the older women in the clan— but never once has this feeling been described to you to be- so fucking perfect, so fucking right— as the one flooding your senses in this very instant—

Two blue eyes lift from where they were squeezed close against your forehead, slick with the sheen of sweat, blinking down at you with so much care, you think you may burst from how much of it you note in them hues— the dams holding your tears back sure do, increasing in the degree they allow your emotions gush out, courtesy of the palms mapping your flushed cheeks, caressing your flushed cheeks, almost as if you're some porcelain doll.

"Hey, hey, hey," Satoru croons, pausing himself entirely– despite the toll it takes on him, visible from the way his face scrunches for a tiny moment before wrinkling into lines of worry and apology again– "It's hurting, isn't it?" he asks, then lowers his voice to a whisper, directed more at himself than at you if its rambling quality is anything. "Fuck," he curses, removing his palms from your face, and curling them into tight fists on either side of your face, "This was my first time. And I— I, I know I should have been more careful, still I went and fucked up–"

"Satoru," you say, blinking your tears away, splaying your fingers onto the smooth planes of his cheeks, hoping he'll quieten on noticing the small smile on your lips.

"– caused you pain, oh fucking hell–"

When is he going to shut up?

"Satoru," you try again, tone growing more insistent than the previous time, fingers moving up to scratch the backside of his ears — to trace the shell of his ears.

"– I was so fucking ignorant, selfish–"

Is he ever going to shut up?

"'Toru!" you exclaim with a mild tug on his hair. That seems to be your trick in shutting him up— though you don't miss the way the muscles in his arms flex nor the way his fists grow tighter at your action. Smile widening on your lips, watching him train every bit of his attention on you, and only you; you pull him down for a small kiss— a desperation you've been trying to ignore for a while now– blooming in the motion of your mouth against his, with his—

Perhaps, from the way you hate him blaming himself for doing totally nothing wrong. Perhaps, from the way you detest the lack of friction, his irrational rambling has created down there where you want it, you need it the most— Perhaps, from a mix of both these reasons.

Removing yourself a touch from him, you whine into the plushness of his lips, breathless, dizzy, needy, "Move, Satoru. I think I can take it— Oh, that's it, Satoru," your words taper off into a breathy sigh, "F-fuck—"

In retrospect, you reckon you'll be mortified, probably to death, when you'll let your mind drift back to tonight's events in the future– to how messy you sound with your moans, how messy you possibly look with your makeup smudged from tears and sweat— yet, now— in this very second, you deem you're having the best time of your life.

With Satoru's constant grunts and moans of "Fuck, you're taking me so well, sweetness" and incessant chants of "This– you, you're mine– only mine, as I'm yours"— With him drowning your skin in long, lavish kisses and suckles— With him toying with your hardened nipples and giving your breasts a deliciously painful squeeze—

But, mostly, with the way your husband fits you– so snug, so tight, so warm– every drag of his hip against yours sending a jolt of electricity through your nerves, making your heels dig deeper into his back, and your hold tighter round him, nails raking across his undercut, eliciting a pleased groan from him– though, they're no match for those noises you make when he hits that spot inside, again and again and again, a rapidly growing precision in every next thrust—

"'T-Toru– I'm close- sooo close," you whimper, nuzzling your nose into his neck, breathing in his scent— musky, sweaty, sultry— "Just a little more, sweetness," Satoru begs, keeping an arm beneath your back to pull you even closer to himself— as if that is possible anymore— "You are squeezing me so well— oh fuck."

Your walls clench round him particularly tightly, signalling to you that you're indeed very, very close— despite the haze of pleasure steadily building over your gaze, you wear a fond smile at the half-lidded look he pins on you, his mouth hanging open, whilst his palm presses into your lower back. Subtly trembling, yet so anchoring.

You decide this is your new favourite look of The Six Eyes, the former being the staggered look he gives your smug grin whenever you best him in a fight.

He really is sweet, isn't he?

Another moan permeates into the air, into your thoughts, punctuated by your husband brushing his lips with yours. They are soft— as does every other facet of him feel to you. Movements growing sloppier yet faster, he heaves a husky sigh into your ear, teeth grazing its shell.

"You're really perfect, y'know," he all but whines with a rather dragged out snap of his hips with yours— Eyes fluttering close from the action tightening the coil in your lower belly, you force out a weak chuckle. "I know that I'm per— Oh Sato— mmph!"

Your climax hits you.

Hard, harsh and unforgiving— the wave of euphoria it wreaks through your body is, streaking your vision with nonsensical streaks of colours and cloaking your ears with a deafening ringing— your only tether the soft pair of lips gently coaxing you to dance with it to a melody you've never heard— but hope can hear and learn in the years left in your life— until you're back in the large bed of your hotel room, body sore and and tingling, but in a pretty satisfied and happy way— at least, till you notice your husband scooting away from you to the edge of the bed.

Wha–How–When did he get from being inside you to there—

"Hey, no!" you protest, dragging him down to lie on top of you. Satoru looks at you, shock evident in the way he slowly blinks— You plaster a mighty frown on yourself, asking him, worried, "Where are you going? You haven't fini—"

"But I have finished," your husband answers your incomplete ask with a frown to match yours— before a confused moment passes and you find his frown slowly melt away into a million-watt beam, him asking, "Didn't you feel me come too then, sweetness? Or, did I give you that good an orgasm that you were numb to everything else then, huh?"

Embarrassment flushes through your body at your husband's teasing remark. Ignoring it, you clear your throat to hum back with a smile, "I guess that was the case, yeah. You were really nice tonight— thanks." Then add, watching him open his mouth, the familiar gloom of regret threatening to dim his happiness, "And don't worry about then— I too— This was my first time too, and, um," you wish you could look away for a beat to regain your composure but the sparkles gleaming in the blue eyes gazing at you, are so magnetic— you continue with a laugh, sheepish, staring back at him, "I might have overreacted to the pain."

Whatever chuckle you were expecting never comes; rather, a tender kiss arrives on each of your eyelids, and on the tip of your nose. Your lips part in a content smile, widening on hearing the query sent your way.

"And was I just as great at proving to you what I promised to, huh?"

Your mind races back to then— the dark hollow plaguing you before he arrived. You pull it back to now— the radiance of your husband in every minute portion of your soul, filling it with a cosiness you know only he can impart to you.

"You so were," you're quick to hum back your agreement, paired with a peck to his lips, as he positions himself to lie comfortably atop you. He's quite a bit heavy, what with being so buff and tall– but you think you don't really mind it— not when he's incomparably better than the weighted blankets you've always liked sleeping with.

A hand rises to card through your tangled hairstyle, separating every strand from the other, carefully and gently— you wonder if he knows he does the same to your tangled thoughts too, unknotting them via few select words and few select gestures—

"You've the 'philosopher' face on," your husband's entertained remark interrupts your cloud of thoughts– you drag your eyes from that scar in his throat– one which never fails to throttle whatever sense of safe you might've developed– to the hues before, far more gleaming than the sapphires sitting on your fourth finger can ever be—

Satoru smiles. That annoying, understanding, endearing smile of his, which only serves to show just how much he has been forced by life to be matured. And murmurs.

"We're really equals in this partnership, y'know? You can always share with me whatev—"

"Is it wrong of me to compare you to fire and me to air?"

Your simple question catches The Strongest Sorcerer off-guard- you gather from the way his eyes widen and his heartbeat stutters a little over the bare flushed skin of your chest— you wonder if you must be happy at this silly victory or be worried, you have such a hold on him—

Something tells you, he won't mind either one of them — taking each into stride with a pitiful pout or a cheerful chuckle — the exact same way letting your inquiry settle into him, he responds with a grin in too short a span of time.

"Nope! Not at all!" Satoru exclaims, grin growing and digging dimples into his cheeks. "Obviously I'm fire! Have you seen me? I'm so fucking sizzling hot!" Despite the fondness swelling in your heart, you make a big show of rolling your eyes and moving to scoff — except that scoff remains lodged in your throat and gets swallowed by a gasp of shock as you find yourself being flipped over, so that it's you who is lying on the top now.

Grin growing freer and truer, your husband pulls you impossibly close to himself – so much so that the bounderies separating you from him begin to blur in your eyes; and resumes—

"And you, sweetness, of course, are air– without whose 21% oxygen, the fire cannot even be ignited in the first place."

I do not own the characters or the image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

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[punkbakerchristine]

Breads of the World, K-L

Ka’ak: the name itself refers to several types of baked goods from the Arab world, but here, we’re talking about the dried, hardened, ring-shaped biscuit of wheat flour, veggie oil, eggs, sugar, black cumin, sesame seeds, water, and salt, originally from Syria. In the Levant, it’s coated in sesame seeds and leavened with fermented chickpeas. In Lebanon, the dough is rather sweet and rolled out to a rope, much like how a bagel is made. Tunisian Jews give us a sweet and salty rendition of the pastry, but it’s more of a quick bread, though. Egypt has a variation made with almonds served at weddings.

Kabkab: a very thin disc-shaped wafer of ground cassava/tapioca from the southern Philippines, and can be stored for long periods of time given the fact the finely mashed tubers are made into a paste and then dried out with the air of the sun. Needs to be deep-fried before eaten, though, otherwise I imagine it’d be like eating a piece of paper.

Kalach/Kolach: a sweet (or savory) braided wheat or rye bread coiled into a ring, made primarily for weddings, Christmas, or Easter in Central and Eastern Europe, with lore that is surprisingly vast: for example, in Belarus, it’s meant to symbolize future prosperity and served savory. In Hungary, it’s very similar to a brioche with its incorporation of milk and eggs, and eaten with ham during Easter: on All Saints’ Day, giving a kalács to beggars praying at a graveyard’s gates kept the dead from returning (because every culture has fried pies as well as ghosts).

Kalaallit Kaagiat: a sweet yeasted bread studded with raisins and adorned with whipped cream and berries, from—ready?—GREENLAND! Yes! It was like the one bread I could find from an otherwise more austere climate than Scandinavia, one that primarily bases its gastronomy around things like fish, seal, whale, and reindeer. I found the original recipe and am putting it under lock and key, seriously.

Kalai roti: a thick flatbread of lentil or rice flour found in northwestern Bangladesh and served with mashed vegetables or chutney. Apparently, you can be walking down the street and watch it being made right before your eyes, and the guys who makes it will love you forever if you try it piping hot with the chutney!

Kamir: a little round pancake of flour, butter, and eggs, and then maybe banana, strawberry, pineapple, jackfruit, cheese, or chocolate, from Java, Indonesia, eaten at breakfast. Who says you can’t have a decent breakfast in the tropics?

Karē pan: flaky dough wrapped around Japanese curry and then either deep-fried or baked. Not much to go about but it sounds like Japan’s version of a hush-puppy.

Khachapuri: leavened cheese-filled bread from Georgia, sometimes also filled with eggs. Probably dates back to the 12th century when Georgia underwent a renaissance of sorts (oldest producer of wine in the world, naturally, they’re going to give us an array of cheeses as well as breads), but it’s also been suggested that it could have been the precursor to a pizza, as the Romans pitched their tents there for a long time.

Khanom bueang: Thai crêpes, in a broad sense. In a more specific sense, these thin babies are often folded to resemble tacos but filled with meringue and topped with things like shredded coconut, fried eggs, or chopped scallions.

Khakhra: thin savory western Indian biscuits of mat beans, flour, and oil. Not much about the biscuit itself but mat beans are said to be drought resistant and therefore something to watch should something ever happen to our friend, the grain of wheat.

Khooba roti: a hard-outside, soft-inside thick flatbread of ghee and wheat flour that’s like a thicker version of chapati or roti—India just has it going on, man.

Khebz: Lebanese… tortillas, I guess you could call them?

Khubz: the Arabic word for bread—the oldest known bread was found out in the desert, in modern-day southern Syria and northern Jordan, and dates back 14,000 years: it was a flatbread made of several varieties of wild cereals.

Khubz mulaweh: a kind of puff pastry flatbread baked in a traditional tannur (clay oven) in Yemen (a similar bread, malawach, has been brought to Israel by Yemenite Jews fleeing persecution). Often eaten at breakfast on the weekends with ghee and honey.

Kifli: also known as a kipferl, kiflice, or kifle, a traditional yeasted bread roll of soft yeasted dough sliced into wedges and formed into a crescent, greatly inspired by the croissant, from Central Europe. Croissants are laminated pastry, while these are plain breads that are longer and thinner. Breads in a crescent shape are said to symbolize offerings to the moon goddess, Selene; they’re also said to resemble horns… as in devil horns. The kifli, or kipferl as it’s known in Austria, is said to have originated anywhere from 1227 to the 16th century from monasteries during Easter: at the time, Vienna was under siege by the Ottoman Empire so the crescent may have been a tongue-in-cheek response to the Turks.

Kisra: thin fermented flatbread from Chad, Sudan, South Sudan, Algeria, and parts of Uganda and Kenya, made from wheat or fermented sorghum. There are two kinds, kisra rhaheeefa, which is the bread and very similar to injera; and kisra aceda, which is like a porridge and paired with meat and vegetable stew known as mullah. Before Sudan was split in two, they estimate 18-27,000 tons of sorghum flour was consumed by way of kisra: sorghum is another ancient grain, and one that is very nutritious and packed with vitamins and minerals, and also quite good at making a sourdough starter.

Kitcha: an unleavened flatbread from Ethiopia and Eritrea of flour, water, and salt, cooked in a hot pan on one side until slightly crispy. It’s often eaten in a dish called kitcha fit-fit.

Komeko pan: Japanese French bread made with rice flour. I couldn’t find much about this one (will investigate more later), but I did find myself reading about komeko (rice flour) in how the French have found that when combined with wheat flour, you get a bread that’s nearly identical to the real thing but is gluten-free. We bakers are all about experimenting so it’ll be some time before we have a loaf that is completely rice flour, but it’s definitely in the cards.

Kulcha: the Persian word for disc-shaped leavened flatbread; in India, it’s used to describe any regular old English bread from when the British had colonial rule over the region. However, kulcha itself is a round flatbread from the Punjab region of India and Pakistan, and is not to be confused with naan or tandoori parantha, even though this happens often.

Laffa: Iraqi pita brought over to Israel from Iraqi Jews in the 1950s, and is often used to serve falafel, kebab, and shawarma, or to dip in hummus and matbucha, or served with shakshouka, or to make sabich (eggplant sandwich). The dough is made from flour, water, yeast, salt, sugar, and olive oil, kneaded and left to proof overnight, divided then left to proof a second time, then rolled out to a large, thin piece and then cooked in a wood-fired oven. Often finished with olive oil and za’atar, and the long proving process gives it a thick, chewy, almost lush texture.

Lagana: Greek flatbread traditionally unleavened for the Great Lent, but yeasted bread is becoming more common. Flat, oval, worked with the fingers and dotted with sesame seeds, other herbs, and olive oil; and you guessed it, the name itself gave way to the word “lasagna”.

Lahoh: spongy, flat, pancake-like, injera-ish flatbread from Somalia, Djibouti, Kenya, Ethiopia, Yemen, and Saudi Arabia. Another bread brought over to Israel from Yemenite Jews when they escaped persecution in Yemen, and is now quite popular in Eretz Israel. It’s prepared from a thick batter of sorghum, cornmeal, warm water, yeast, and a pinch of salt, and left to ferment overnight just in time for breakfast. In Somalia, they called it canjeero and also laxoox.

Lángos: Hungarian deep-fried flatbread which, in the past, was made of the scraps of another bread dough and then baked in a brick oven. The dough itself is basically pizza dough but it’s usually fried in oil; they’ll insist on adding sour cream, yoghurt, or mashed potatoes to give it more warmth. Other accompaniments are garlic, mushrooms, farmer’s cheese, eggplant, cabbage, kefir, scrambled eggs, confectioner’s sugar, and jam.

Laobing: unleavened flatbread from northern China, mostly Beijing, sometimes called a Chinese pancake. Can actually be the size of a pizza, but about one centimeter thick and pan fried. Most are plain, but some can be filled with scallions or brown sugar. It’s usually cut into slices and used as a staple, or stir-fried with meat and veggies.

Laufabrau: “leaf bread”, a traditional Icelandic flatbread eaten at Christmas. They’re round, very thin flat cakes that are about 6-8 inches across and decorated with leaf-like geometric patterns and very quickly pan-fried in hot tallow or oil. It’s found in bakeries, but also made at home, where everyone gets involved as part of the Christmastide.

Lavash: THE Middle Eastern flatbread (next to pita, of course), leavened and cooked on a griddle—although traditionally, it was baked in a tandoor. Often found in Armenia, Azerbaijan, Iran, and Turkey, although it’s found all over Western and Central Asia. It’s actually a part of UNESCO Representative List of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, said to be an expression of Armenian culture. It can be made with flour, water, yeast, sugar, and salt, but can also be unleavened by omitting sugar and yeast. It’s often topped with sesame seeds, poppy seeds, or both prior to baking.

Lefse: a very soft Norwegian flatbread of mashed potatoes, flour, butter, milk, cream, and occasionally, lard. One of those breads turned over with sticks, and there’s a special rolling pin with deep grooves made just to make them. Usually flavored with just butter and sugar, but also cinnamon, jelly, lingonberries, or a sweet cheese called gomme. Norwegian-Americans will accompany it with peanut butter and sugar, butter and brown sugar, butter and salt, or ham and eggs. Another accompaniment is good ol’ lutefisk.

Limpa: Swedish sweet rye bread, sweetened with brown sugar and molasses, and then spiced with anise, caraway, fennel, orange, raisins, and dark ale. Another Christmas bread but is often found in smörgåsbord at Christmas Eve and goes well with jams and cream cheese. Drink up!

Llonguet: a French bread roll from Brazil, Chile, and the Catalan countries, primarily Mallorca—in fact, Mallorca classifies it as something as a symbol of the island (even though I’m more familiar with the Chilean version, which is Marraqueta). Basic yeasted bread, but with a loose enough crumb to make sandwiches. From what I can gather (most of what I read about it is in Castilian Spanish, which is different from the Spanish I know), it’s one of those “mainstay” breads, in that a meal isn’t complete without it.

Luchi: deep-fried Indian and Bangladeshi flatbread made with maida (super-refined wheat found only in India) flour. A good staple for the times when rice is ritualistically prohibited, and paired with vegetarian dishes like aloor dum, or with mutton curry.

Lye roll: bread rolls immersed in a lye (baking soda + water) solution before baking. A specialty in Bavaria but all over Germany, as well as the Alsace region of France, Switzerland, and Austria. They can be shaped into that of a pretzel but can also be straight rolls, like hoagie rolls or dinner rolls. Can be covered in pretzel salt, baked cheese, or poppy and sesame seeds.

[powerful-niya]

— (вírthdαч kíssєs.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚘! (𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹)

Link to Oneshot below ↴

•Wattpad• •AO3•

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina 

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡Hinata Hyuga takes it upon herself to create an unforgettable birthday celebration for her beloved boyfriend, Naruto Uzumaki. Filled with heartfelt gestures, creative surprises, and passionate moments, Hinata showers Naruto with love and attention, aiming to make it the most extraordinary birthday he's ever experienced.

Content Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Adoration • After Party • Alcohol Beverages • Birthday Celebration • Birthday Edition 2023 • Birthday Sex • Boyfriend Appreciation • Body Worship • Candlelit • Cock Worship • Couple Goals • Creampie • Dirty Talk • Drunk Sex • Erotic • Female Dominance • Food Play • Foreplay • Freaky • Frottage • Hickeys • Kinky • Kisses • Lingerie • Love • Love Bites • Marathon Sex • Modern AU • Multiple Orgasms • Naruto's Birthday • NSFW • October 10th • Pampering • Passionate Sex • Praise Kink • Pussy Worship • Riding • Romantic • Roses • Spoiling • Striptease • Unprotected Sex • Vaginal Sex • Whipped Cream • Wholesome •

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚11.6k.

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚6.2k.

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The front door, aged and weathered from years of use, creaked open with a reluctant sigh, revealing the dimly lit foyer beyond. A pale light from the street lamps outside spilled into the hallway of the one story home, casting elongated shadows on the wooden floors. 

As the door swung wide, the silhouette of two figures staggered into view, their unsteady steps serving proof of their intoxicated state. They leaned on each other for support, their laughter bubbling up in fits and starts, carried by the night air.

Naruto, with his tousled blonde hair and lopsided grin, stumbled indoors to escape the brisk autumn breeze, donning a rumpled suit that had clearly seen better days. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and he swayed with a carefree abandon, his boisterous laughter marking a lively climax to the night's celebrations.

Hinata, his lover, stood next to him, her dress somewhat awry. She possessed a contagious smile that shone even in the subdued light. Her lavender eyes, hooded as they were, danced with mirth as she clung to her companion, their shared revelry a testament to their camaraderie.

Together, they stumbled deeper into the foyer of their home. Hinata glanced back, doing her best to close the front door. Her movements were a bit unsteady, and she fumbled with the door and its knob for a moment before managing to shut and lock it with a shaky hand.

Turning back to her boyfriend, she made sure to support his wobbly frame once more, slipping his arm across her neck so she could hold him up.

The echoes of their laughter mingled with the hushed whispers of the night, leaving behind a trail of vivacious energy that lingered in the air. Their presence, though unsteady, brought a sense of vibrant life to the otherwise quiet house. 

The scent of sake wafted through the air from their beings, a delicate yet distinct fragrance that carried the warmth of the memories they had made only moments before. It started as a subtle undertone, barely perceptible, but gradually grew stronger, weaving its way through the entirety of their home.

As Naruto and Hinata moved further into the space, the aroma enveloped them, its notes of fermenting rice mingling with the gentle embrace of the wood furnishings in their home. It was a scent that spoke of tradition and conviviality, of the evening spent in the company of friends and loved ones.

The sake's presence in the air seemed to awaken the very walls of the home, imbuing them with a sense of history and shared experiences. It whispered of celebrations and laughter, of toasts exchanged in both joy and sorrow.

The lovers, caught in an olfactory embrace, carried with them the essence of the sake, becoming carriers of the lively moment of the night itself, as though replaying a forever lasting memory.

Naruto emitted a groan as he jolted forward, evidence of his clumsy state when intoxicated. He cursed his lack of alcohol tolerance, finding it both humiliating and frustrating that his legs often betrayed him. There were moments when his limbs would outright abandon him, necessitating the assistance of his equally intoxicated girlfriend to keep him upright.

Hinata would laugh, everytime he would stumble, merely trying her best to keep him standing with the help of her petite arms.

"I gotcha, Na-Na-Na-hic!" Her words were cut off by a loud hiccup which sprang from her throat and out of her mouth, seemingly out of nowhere, startling them both.

Naruto, his cerulean eyes, half-lidded and gleaming, whipped his gaze towards his midnight blue-haired girlfriend in an instant, his expression marked by sheer surprise. 

Hinata mirrored his astonishment. 

However, a single exchange of glances between them was all it took for both of them to break into uncontrollable laughter.

Naruto rocked back and forth in his spot, one arm draped over his girlfriend's neck, who tried her best to keep him upright, even in her intoxicated state.

"Damn, damn, damn." Naruto cursed between the fits of his laughter, "what a night!" 

Overwhelmed with joy, Naruto couldn't suppress the urge to vocalize how incredible his night had been. He practically shouted his appreciation to the ceilings of the home he and Hinata shared.  

The alcohol coursing through his system might have some contribution to his boisterous and chatty behavior, but he didn't care. He truly needed to share his feelings and reminisce about the extraordinary events of this memorable night.

The very night Hinata and Naruto experienced was truly unforgettable, especially for Naruto, as it was anything but ordinary, firmly etching itself into his memory. It was a special, special night. 

It was his birthday, after all. His 23rd birthday, to be exact.

The recollections of his festive night flooded back like a vibrant painting, occasionally veiled in a haze from the alcohol, yet with focused effort, Naruto managed to piece together most of the night's details in his mind with precision.

Yes, it was the wondrous night of Naruto's birthday, a night that would forever hold a special place in his heart. The memories of the night played like a reel in his mind. 

Every piece of it. 

His girlfriend, the mastermind behind it all, stood at the center of the festivities, as a beacon of love and joy.

Upon his return from work, she had initially left him a letter instructing him to don his finest attire and meet her at Hara No Tume, a lively bar located in downtown Tokyo. 

Naturally, he followed her instructions, fetching himself the most exquisite tuxedo available in his wardrobe, and then navigating the streets of Tokyo as fast as his car could take him. The city's vibrant neon lights and energetic atmosphere certainly set an ideal stage for his impending celebration.

He could clearly recall how his anticipation grew during that time, his face permanently grazed with a jolly grin. Even his stomach was churning, queasy with nervous excitement throughout the entire drive.

Naruto was aware that his girlfriend had a surprise in store for him, given that it was his birthday, (of course). However, like every year, he found himself unable to figure out any of her elaborate plans. Hinata hid them so well. 

With his excitement through the roof, he finally arrived at the bar and when he did, he remembered that he instantly recognized his girlfriend the moment he stepped in.

At the entrance, Hinata stood with her flowing midnight blue hair trailing behind her, adorned in a shimmering dress, and a gentle smile gracing her face as she turned to greet him.

Her eyes sparkled with the secret she had kept so well, a surprise that had unfolded like a beautifully orchestrated symphony.

At that moment, Naruto recalled being greeted by a chorus of voices, all shouting "surprise" in unison, their distinct tones blending into a cacophonous yet comforting familiarity.

Naruto was surprised, and is still surprised by the unexpected presence of his high school friends, whom he hadn't crossed paths with in years, joining him at the bar alongside his girlfriend. 

All of his comrades were there. 

Sasuke, Sakura, Sai, Neji, Ino, Kiba, Lee, Shino, Shikamaru, Temari, Choji, and Karui had all gathered to join in to celebrate his birthday. 

Even his three sensei's from Konoha High—Jiraiya, Kakashi, and Iruka—made an appearance, their faces adorned with cheerful smiles, encompassing the essence of both gifts, cards, and nostalgic memories. 

But their presence at the bar to celebrate his 23rd birthday was more impactful to Naruto then he initially thought. 

It truly provided him with an eye-opening revelation.

His sensei's presence there served as an indicator that Naruto had officially grown out of his adolescence. He was no longer the kid who stirred up trouble in his sensei's classrooms; contrary, he had grown older and more mature. He's grown into a man. 

The realization of it all was pivotal, and it made his night all the more impactful. 

Naruto could still hear his comrades now, all animated and full of cheer, their laughter filling the entirety of Hara No Tume, painting a picture of camaraderie and carefree moments. Naruto could vividly recall the warmth of their embraces, the heartfelt wishes they gave, all the thoughtful gifts they shared, and the sparkle in his loved ones' eyes.

Naruto felt a swell of warmth in his chest as he continued to recall such a memory and all of its entirety. He felt a profound gratitude for the love and thoughtfulness that had gone into his very own birthday night. The scenes of laughter, shared stories of reminiscence, and heartfelt toasts painted a tapestry of cherished moments, forever imprinted on his heart. 

The fond memories of the playful brawls and daring challenges he shared with the guys resounded like a mantra in his mind, never failing to bring a smile to his face. 

They may all have acted foolishly, but with finally being in one another's company again, it hardly mattered.

Naruto vividly recalled the time Lee dared Shikamaru to yank his girlfriend's hair, only to be slapped across the face mid action. 

He remembered the dare that Sasuke gave Neji, that is to neck his drink, but respectfully he declined. But it was only after, when Kiba had the bright idea to dare him instead to chug, but not his own beverage but to down an entire bottle of sake. Kiba, as always, is so over the top. 

But, how could Naruto possibly refuse that? 

Naruto wasn't a pussy like Neji was, and besides, it's his fucking birthday. So, hell yeah. 

Naruto's actions, however, certainly left his girlfriend feeling extremely embarrassed as she watched him climb onto the bar table and down the entire bottle of sake he'd been handed. To make matters worse, every customer in the bar joined in with his dare with raucous cheers, turning the entire scene into a spirited celebration. It felt like a fiesta, a wild and carefree sake-drinking party where they could all momentarily shed the weight of the world, revel in laughter, and rediscover the joy of their youth.

For a while, they were teenagers again, embracing the liberating feeling of being free from life's stresses, able to laugh and smile without reservation.

The night certainly exceeded all of Naruto's expectations. He hadn't experienced a night like that in so long. The responsibilities of adult life have surely exacted their toll, and moments of unbridled celebration had become rare for Naruto.

But his birthday night, though, was a beacon of light through it all. He remembered how every laugh had felt like a gift, every shared story a treasure, and every wish a blessing. It was a night that reminded him of the beauty in simple pleasures and the power of genuine connections.

It all served as a reminder that life's true richness lay in moments like those, where time seemed to stand still, and the world was painted in hues of love and celebration.

His birthday was perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

Once more, it was his beloved who managed to make him feel like the happiest man alive, once again on his birthday.. 

She always does, regardless of the year, or his age. 

Hinata undeniably instilled in him a deep appreciation for both the essence of life and the privilege of having her in his.

A warm smile graced his lips, and at last, Naruto tore himself from his reverie to meet his girlfriend's gaze. She looked up at him with a radiant smile, content to watch him as he drifted through his musings.

She smiled warmly, "Did you en-enjoy tonight, my love?" Hinata's voice, though delicate in its essence, bore the subtle rasp of intoxication, like a gentle stream flowing over smooth stones, its surface occasionally rippling with a soft, throaty cadence.

Naruto shuddered, a tingling sensation coursing down his spine, causing his unsteady form to waver even more. He turned around fully to meet Hinata's gaze, and he observed as she mirrored his actions, bringing them face to face.

With gentle fingertips, Hinata caressed the fabric of his crumpled tuxedo, her head tilted due to their significant height difference. 

But her eyes were fixed upon her boyfriend, gazing up at him with twinkling lavender orbs. She witnessed his drunken but delighted grin, characterized by half-closed eyes and raised, whiskered cheeks.

"Yes, H-Hinata-chan." He huskily whispered before moving his arms forward to wrap them around her waist. He held her close, placing his forehead against hers, wanting to feel her, all of her. His spiky blonde hair slipped forth and caressed her cheeks, kissing her pale skin. 

Naruto inhaled deeply as Hinata's petite body brushed up against his own, the tenderness of her feminine body bringing his masculine one to its knees. 

"Hinata-chan," He stammered, "I cannot thank you enough for the joy you've brought me tonight. Everything you arranged was exactly what I'd always dreamed of, and I-I-I don't know how I could ever repay you enough." He whispered, his voice slurring at times, but Hinata understood. 

Emotions seemed to steadily grow stronger within him, engulfing him whole, and before long, he began to sway from side to side, partaking in a tipsy dance of sorts, a clear sign that he had lost control of his body.  

Hinata giggled in response, her own body swaying in harmony with his.

"Yes baby, this was the best damn night of my entire life. Mmm." Naruto leaned in, pressing a tender kiss onto her forehead, the very person who had bestowed upon him so much happiness.

"And it's all thanks to you, my love." 

"Mmm, oh N-Naruto-kun." 

Touched to the core, Hinata let out a soft whimper, moved by her boyfriend's evident satisfaction and appreciation to everything she had organized for his birthday.

She gently rubbed along his torso, with up and down strokes. She raced her soft hands up his neck and wrapped them around the broadness of it. 

She stared deep within his eyes, and practically melted in the world of warmth that lay within them. The warmth emanating from his blue eyes mirrored the comforting radiance of a crackling fireplace on a brisk, golden afternoon. It was a tender embrace, a comforting glow that invited her in. 

Within Naruto's gaze, Hinata found a haven of boundless love and gratitude, where each glance felt like a gentle caress, enveloping her in a profound sense of belonging and affection.

Naruto bestowed upon her the gaze she had always yearned for, fulfilling the longing within her to be looked at just as he was looking at her now. 

It made her heart flutter with joy. Every chamber within her pulsed with an exuberant energy, sending waves of warmth and contentment coursing through her veins. Her heart was in full bloom, a vibrant melody of happiness that resonated within, infusing every fiber of her being.

Her smile was broad, so much so that the edges of her lips ached. 

With a firm grip on the collar of her boyfriend's tuxedo, she gave it a tender pull, "Oh, Naruto-kun," She murmured against his sake-tinged breath, "I'm incredibly delighted that you had a wonderful time tonight. Your happiness means the world to me, and it's all I strive for." She whispered warmly, her breath carrying the scent of sake, just like his.

Her legs wobbled a bit, her heels scraping the floor underneath her but broad arms held her tight and upright, cradled in an embrace of warmth.

Hinata bit her lip yet again, "D-Demo…" She trailed her response, waking Naruto out of his dreamy reverie. His eyes drifted shut several times as he listened to the lullaby that was his girlfriend's voice. But he was shaken awake by her previous remark. 

"Demo?" Naruto repeated while continuing his rocking. He cupped her petite waist gently, rushing his hands in circular motions to caress her skin underneath her lustrous dress. At times, he even rushed his hands across the curve of her luscious ass, squeezing the flesh within his fingers through her dress. 

Hinata moaned in delight. 

Naruto's personal touches, whether deliberate or not, were undeniably on the mark for what Hinata's thoughts were wandering to. Naruto's cupping motions, the sexual intimacy of it, suggested her own naughty plans for tonight. 

The spiky-haired blonde raised an eyebrow as he witnessed the mischief that suddenly appeared in the glossy lavender eyes of his lover. She began to tiptoe her fingers up his chest and then his neck.

"This night, Naruto-kun, is far from over. I have one more surprise." She pulled up one finger by his neck, "One more." She repeated in a whisper. 

Naruto's eyes widened, "Another surprise?" The blonde was starstruck. Such unexpected news made his heart skip a beat; he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Hinata has surely outdone herself this year. 

The blonde's mouth gaped like an idiot, his blue eyes fixated and widened down at his midnight blue-haired lover. He shook his head, the dewy strands of his blonde hair tousling about in response, "Hinata-chan, come on baby. That's too much. You really didn't have to-"

"Shh." Hinata silenced him by pressing a finger against his lips, exerting gentle pressure to keep him quiet. Naruto obeyed, but he couldn't suppress the smirk that played on his lips.

In a playful gesture, he pressed a kiss to her finger, eliciting a giggle from Hinata.

She shook her head, "It brings me no burden, Naruto-kun, to make each of your birthdays better than the last, to go over and beyond each and every time." Hinata smiled, "I love you. I cherish you deeply, and I wish to demonstrate my love and appreciation in any way I can. So now…"

Hinata pulled her finger away from Naruto's lips to instead use her hands to grip his own hands. She began to gently guide him towards their bedroom.

"Your first surprise was only the beginning.  What I have planned for you next, is waiting in the bedroom."

"The bedroom, huh?" Naruto licked his lips, liking the sound of that. After a day filled with relentless work, toppled with a rowdy afternoon at the bar, he was more than prepared to lie down and be pampered to the fullest. 

Therefore, Naruto happily trailed after Hinata, summoning his strength to maneuver his sluggish legs across the wooden floor.

"Mmm, you naughty girl." He breathed, "Don't tell me-" 

"Shh. Just follow, Naruto-kun." Hinata enthusiastically cheered, her smile radiant.

Naruto chuckled, utterly captivated by his girlfriend's adorableness. How could he ever resist her? After all she's done for him, he was more than willing to do anything she asked.

Anything.

So, he followed her.

Every step of the way, his gaze remained fixed on her. She was the sun to his world, and he revolved around her, craving for her light and love.

If Hinata was determined to make his already perfect night even more extraordinary and secure its place as one of his best birthdays ever, he wouldn't object. 

Who in their right mind would?

Naruto was ready. He was ready to see what was to come. 

With each step, his heart raced, the anticipation within him reaching its peak. He couldn't help but speculate about what might lie behind their bedroom door, yet he found himself stumped by the multitude of possibilities. His intoxicated mind couldn't quite grasp it all.

His thoughts wandered freely, and his excitement bubbled over. In Hinata's hold, he couldn't resist the urge to dance around, eliciting giggles from her.

"Oh Naruto-kun, be patient, my darling. W-We're almost there." With a tipsy giggle, Hinata declared, thoroughly amused by Naruto's childlike dance, as he hopped around beside her, in her grasp like a hyperactive child.

To her, Naruto was utterly adorable, and observing his limitless enthusiasm in response to her surprise filled her with even more delight.

Though the journey to their bedroom was relatively short, it truly felt like an eternity to Naruto. However, his excitement reached its peak when he was finally guided to their closed bedroom door, adorned with numerous pictures of them both, including wall art displaying their names on the front. 

Hinata turned to Naruto with a giddy smile, one displaying exuberant happiness. She was just as happy as he was, maybe even more. 

She danced in her spot, gripping his hand for dear life, "Okay, Naruto-kun, your surprise is just in here." She nodded her head toward their closed bedroom door.

She turned back to him, her midnight blue hair flowing with each of her movements, clinging to her dewy, flushed skin.

"Are you ready?" 

"Am I ready?" Naruto repeated with a chuckle. He raised the hand that held his girlfriend's, bringing it to his lips. With his heated gaze still fixed on her, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

They both emitted a soft moan as they made contact, warm lips meeting pale skin. 

"Mmm, I'm more than ready. Show me this magnificent surprise of yours." Naruto kissed Hinata's knuckles again, squinting his blue eyes, "Go on, amaze me, Hinata-chan." 

Only after that did Hinata feel prepared to unveil Naruto's ultimate birthday surprise, a gift that had taken her days to plan and hours to execute.

With a smile, she gently moved her hand from Naruto's hold to guide it toward the doorknob. She gripped it tight, "Well then, here it is, my love," She announced.

"your surprise."

It was only after that moment that she confidently turned the knob, swinging the door open wide to finally unveil Naruto's surprise in all of its glory. 

However, the sight that lay beyond their bedroom door was beyond description. It stole away Naruto's breath and redefined the word "extraordinary.'  

It was unlike anything he had ever witnessed before. 

Naruto's breath caught in his throat, "Oh my kami." He whispered in astonishment, once more losing control of his body. Suddenly, he found himself taking a step forward.

Upon entering the bedroom, a gasp caught in his throat. He could hardly believe his eyes. 

The room, once so familiar and ordinary, had undergone a complete transformation. It now exuded an aura of love and intimacy, shifted into a sanctuary of affection. The room, and its condition now merely served as a magnified glimpse into the depths of Hinata's heart, like peering into an ocean of emotions.

A soft, golden light enveloped him, casting a warm and inviting glow throughout the space.

Naruto's heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight before him. 

Countless candles adorned every available surface, their flickering flames creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow throughout the entirety of the room. The air was filled with the sweet scent of vanilla, adding to the enchantment and even tranquility of the room. 

The bed, adorned with a sea of crimson rose petals, looked like something out of a dream.  The roses were arranged with such precision that they formed a heart shape on the bed, gracefully crossing the white sheets and pillows, creating a sight that begged for a moment of admiration.

Naruto couldn't take his eyes off of the bed.

But ultimately, he managed to get his eyes to shift. To his left. 

The nightstand positioned directly beside the bed now boasted a bottle of whipped cream, a plate of succulent strawberries, a festive birthday hat, and an ice bucket containing chilled champagne. Each element seemed carefully chosen, meticulously placed and planned creating a tableau of sensuality and indulgence. 

Naruto felt a surge of warmth and gratitude welling up inside him.

It was as if their room had become a canvas, painted with the strokes of love and affection. He couldn't help but be moved by the effort and thoughtfulness that had gone into creating such an enchanting space. The room's transformation truly spoke volumes about the depth of the connection his lover had with him, leaving the blonde male both touched and elated. 

It was a moment he knew he would treasure forever.

Hinata observed the scene in all of its entirety from afar, savoring the moment her boyfriend discovered the love she had poured into creating the romantic theme to their room.

With a smile filled with anticipation and affection, she stood by the door. Her gaze was fixed on Naruto's form, capturing both his back and the side profile of his face. She caught a glimpse of the wide, radiant smile gracing his tanned features, the candlelights dancing around him, illuminating him completely.

Hinata observed him as Naruto meticulously took in every detail of the room, his wide grin remaining ever-present. His head swiveled in excitement, akin to a child exploring a candy store.

Naruto's cerulean eyes absorbed every detail—the roses, the candles, the carefully arranged decorations—and he allowed the sentiment to wash over him, savoring the depth of Hinata's consideration.

Feelings welled up inside him, a torrent of emotions colliding and resonating so profoundly that he couldn't hold back a sob.

"Oh H-Hinata-chan. Th-This is…" His breath grew shaky. He was goddamn speechless, mouth gaped, eyes wide, and heart hammering against his chest. 

His movement was wobbly, but he used all the strength he could muster to finally turn around to face his girlfriend, to reveal the endless amounts of gratitude that adorned his face.

"Fuck! This is amazing, holy shit, Hinata-chan!" Naruto exclaimed in awe, gripping the blonde strands of his hair tightly. 

He shook his head in disbelief, once again absorbing his surroundings as if they might fade away, as if he might awaken and find it all to be a dream. Yet, everything remained as real as ever.

Hinata remained. 

He turned to her fully, tears of joy bundling up in his certulan eyes, "Oh, Hinata-chan, you did all of this…for me?" He whispered through shaky breaths.

He observed his beautiful girlfriend nod eagerly. She pushed herself away from the entrance and took a few steps inside, using a gentle hand to close the door behind her.

"Yes, Naruto-kun, I did all of this for you." She announced with joy evident in her sluggish voice, "D-Do you l-like it?" 

"Like it?" Naruto exclaimed, whipping his head back to connect eyes with his love. He gave her a large grin before making his way towards her.

"I fucking love it, Hinata-chan!" Naruto cheered before making his way across the room to her. He approached her, unhesitatingly cupping her cheek with one hand, while the other wrapped around her waist, drawing her close..

He growled, "Mmm, come here, baby." He softly murmured before engaging in a passionate kiss that seemed to nearly sweep her off her feet, undoubtedly leaving her breathless.

Their lips connected in a fervent, tender embrace, a dance of passion and appreciation. Naruto's arms enveloped Hinata, drawing her close, their bodies pressed together in a seamless connection.

Hinata wholeheartedly surrendered to the kiss, expressing her boundless love and devotion through it. She lifted her arms to cradle her blonde lover's neck, holding him close as he secured her waist. 

In that moment, time seemed to slow down for them both, allowing them to savor every electrifying second. Hinata's hands raised forward, her fingers beginning to trace a gentle path along Naruto's sculpted jaw, sending shivers of delight down his spine. 

Her touch was both tender and delicate, a confirmation to the depth of her feelings.

Their breath mingled, warm and inviting, as they lost themselves in each other. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their cocoon of affection. It was a kiss that resonated with unspoken emotions, an indication to their deep love and devotion, leaving them both breathless and hungry for more.

As time passed, their kiss evolved, transitioning from passionate to heated. Tongues danced in a fervent rhythm, saliva mingled in a crazed fit, and their heads moved in rapid synchrony.

Fingers grew needy, scratching and pinching the other one's clothing in a desirable fit to get them off, to indulge in what they've been wanting to do ever since they stepped back into their home, away from the prying eyes of the public. 

Their groans and moans faded as one, as they kissed one another sloppily, bringing a warmth that came unmatched to nestle within the other's chests, a warmth that moved to envelop every part of them.

"Hinata-chan." Naruto moaned his girlfriend's name, breathlessly against her plump lips. 

"N-Naruto-kun." She moaned his name back, her lavender eyes hooded.

With a subtle push, Hinata prompted Naruto to take several steps back, her fingers deftly maneuvering to undo the buttons and fastenings of his tuxedo. Naruto readily lent a hand, ensuring the process was both swift and efficient.

In a rush of urgency, their fingers fumbled with buttons, their movements quick and determined. Fabric rustled as Naruto shedded his tie, his jacket, undershirt, and his trouser's with the assistance of his lover, flinging them all aside without a second thought. His tanned physique, a work of art, lay bare for his lover to admire in the soft, dimly lit room. Every move and sensation highlighted the contours of his sculpted muscles which flexed in relation. 

Now, Naruto was down to nothing but his boxers. His discarded clothes formed a haphazard pile on the floor, a testament to the urgency that fueled their actions. The room echoed with the sound of fabric meeting carpet, punctuated by the occasional gasp of breath.

Another gasp sprung out of Naruto's mouth as he was given yet another push, but this one was a bit stronger than the one before and he found himself falling backwards. 

With a sudden and unexpected stumble, he found himself tumbling, not on the floor, but on their bed, all at once bringing him back to the dream of his reality. 

The plushness of the bed welcomed him, yielding beneath his weight in a luxurious embrace. His body sank into the softness, cradling him in a cocoon of comfort. It was a surprise, an unplanned moment of surrender to the inviting embrace of the bed. 

He let out a relieved exhale as he observed his girlfriend gracefully positioning herself on top of him, signaling her intentions for the night.

It was going to be another of those nights again.

Another night where Hinata would take control in the bedroom and guide them both into a world of ecstasy. Naruto anticipated the sensation, anticipating Hinata's preparations, knowing in his bones that he'd remember this night fondly.

Hinata was prepared to give him a night of unparalleled ecstasy, and he was eagerly yearning for it.

Hinata gracefully settled onto his lap, her feet adorned in heels resting on either side of his waist, cushioned by the soft bed sheets.

Crimson rose petals, once strewn across the bed, now danced along their skin, caressing Naruto's tanned, well-defined chest and tracing the contours of Hinata's supple thighs.

Hinata's breath hitched in a soft moan as she gently rested a hand on Naruto's chest, urging him to stay in his relaxed state, stretched out across the center of the bed.

"Mmm, just relax, my love." She murmured tenderly against his eager lips, seeking another passionate kiss. Naruto responded with a blissful moan, meeting her with equal fervor.

Hinata's own moan intertwined with his as she hovered above him, her midnight blue tresses cascading over her fair shoulders, draping across his chest in a tantalizing caress.

Breaking the kiss, Hinata bestowed upon Naruto a smile that stole his breath away. His mouth fell open in awe as he beheld the midnight blue-haired angel above him, bathed in the soft glow of candlelights, which seemed to illuminate her.

Hinata looked perfect. So very perfect. 

Hinata appeared absolutely flawless, a vision of perfection.

Naruto was beyond astounded. The fact that he could claim someone as extraordinary as Hinata as his partner, and even know her, be loved by her, and have her in his life, was truly beyond belief.

He was in awe. In total awe. 

Hinata smiled down at him, her hands tenderly caressing his well-toned body, "Relax, and allow me this moment to appreciate every inch of you," She whispered, her soothing words merely turning Naruto's muscles into mush. 

A soft giggle escaped her lips as she noticed the intensity in his gaze, his hooded blue eyes rooted on her and only her.

She leaned back down, pressing a gentle kiss to his right earlobe before speaking softly within it.

"I yearn to kiss every part of you, Naruto-kun. I yearn to express the depth of my love, to adore every facet of you, honor the years you've lived in this world, and to cherish the time we spent together." 

Hinata's soft breath grazed his earlobe, a gentle whisper of warmth that sent tingles down his spine. The sensation was both tender and exhilarating, a delicate touch that quickened his heartbeat.

Her proposition was endearing to the tipsy blonde, igniting a response that pulsed through every nerve in his body. Even his excited friend between his legs perked up, eager to partake in Hinata's plans for the night.

Naruto extended his arms, gently caressing Hinata's thighs, relishing the sensation of her smooth, velvety skin beneath his calloused hands.

"Mmm, oh baby, that sounds absolutely delightful." Naruto nodded, "Yes, kiss my body, caress me, fuck me." He murmured, nestling his head into the bed, "Yes, make my night. Spoil me, sweetheart." 

Hinata giggled, drawing back just enough to playfully tap his nose, "Mmm, oh my love, you've just read my mind." 

Hinata moved her finger down to instead give his chest a tap, "But first…" 

She trailed off, then slid her hands to the hem of her shimmering black dress, gripping the fabric's edges. She remained in eye contact with him, to keep him the center of her attention, to give him all of her.

Naruto watched with bated breath, his eyes fixed on his girlfriend as she folded her arms, seized her dress, and tossed the glistening material over her head, revealing what lay beneath.

Once more, he was taken aback by Hinata's intricate efforts to surprise him, completely catching him off guard.

There, right on top of him, presented a woman of breathtaking beauty, her curves adorned in lingerie. Red lingerie. 

"Holy mother of kami." Naruto breathed, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him.

The crimson lace clung to her porcelain skin, a vivid contrast that accentuated every curve and contour she possessed. The delicate fabric danced gracefully against her, a fiery frame against the canvas of her alabaster complexion. It was a tantalizing sight, the scarlet hue radiating confidence and allure. 

It was the sexiest sight he's ever seen, the clash of red, bringing rise to her silky midnight blue hair, and lavender eyes, creating a sight that he knew would show up again in his wet dreams of her.

Naruto couldn't even keep his damn mouth closed, he was so flabbergasted.

Hinata looked so beautiful. 

The vibrant red lace of her lingerie mirrored the rich hue of the roses adorning the bed. Like the blossoms, the fabric exuded a passionate energy, its intricate patterns weaving a tapestry of desire. The lingerie seemed to echo the very essence of the roses, each petal and lace detail telling a story of passion and longing. Together, they created a sensuous symphony, painting the room with an intoxicating blend of scarlet shades.

And it didn't help that Hinata was currently giving him a seductive squint, a sexy look that accentuated her plump lips, her porcelain skin, and the beauty of her appearance.

She grinded her hips along the bulge in Naruto's boxers, and giggled as she felt his cock brush against the slit of her red panties, an indication that he took great pleasure at what he saw.

She gasped, "Oh, you're such a naughty boy, Naruto-kun." Hinata teased, which only caused his dick to react once more, twitching against her. She moaned in response, placing her hands down to brace herself on his chest.

She shimmed her body yet again, rolling her pelvis in a circular motion along his crotch.

Naruto whipped his head back in delight, crashing against the bed. 

"Fuck." He breathed. 

Hinata moaned, biting her bottom lip, "Oh? I see that you have taken a great liking to my lingerie, Naruto-kun. I bought it specifically for you for your special night." 

Naruto's tongue swept across his lips as he brought his hands down to trace the contours of his lover's form, his hands skimming over the vibrant red fabric that embraced her exquisite figure. 

He cursed, "Hell yeah, I love it, baby. Fuck," Naruto swore once more.

"you're just full of surprises."

Naruto chuckled, before bringing his hands down the curve of her backside to cup her ass. He gave it a smack, propelling her forward, "I thought you were done with the surprises, Hinata-chan. Ya know, there's only so many surprises I can take, baby." 

Hinata giggled at Naruto's comical response before shrugging her shoulders, "Oh, did I say that? Gomen." The midnight blue-haired woman leaned in to kiss Naruto's lips once more, playfully tugging at them with her teeth.

"I lied." She whispered, "Get ready for a night full of surprises, my love. I'm determined to make this birthday your best one yet."

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