#anyway MO is on the loose

[ruubesz-draws]

How to carry a baby; Kaiju edition:

Bonus:

I guess using a plastic bag wasn't a good idea

[elivanto]

What gives... What gives you the right not to tell me all of those things? You said you would be my subordinate when I became the clan leader. You said you would support me for your entire life. You said you would never betray me. You said you would never betray the Jiang Clan. You said so yourself...

[themisimagines]

i could sleep inside the cold of you

inspired by: the 'aimed at your heart' vyn ssr card content: heavily draws upon catherynne m. valente's deathless, 2.5k of seduction & smut so buckle up characters: vyn, fem!reader optional background music: house of cards by bts; take me to church by hozier; religion by lana del rey; the anna karenina (2012) soundtrack

“A marriage is a private thing. It has its own wild laws, and secret histories, and savage acts, and what passes between married people is incomprehensible to outsiders. We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying, but what we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.” - Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

The long table is laid with a feast fit for a king. Platters heaped high with glistening honeyed confits, crisp crackling meat, steaming vegetables delicately braised, deep tureens of stew rich in marrow, an excess of riches, accompanied by what you believe are entire truffles, a sharp knife laid beside them for you to shave your desired portion onto your meal, black salt glistening darkly under the chandelier, in addition to a dish of black sturgeon eggs, like so many pearls gathered in a heap for your amusement. 

Entering the dining room on Vyn’s arm, you are shocked by the abundance, the sheer extravagance of it all. You are dressed in a floor length black gown painstakingly embroidered with gold thread, produced seemingly out of thin air by one of the maids, saying that Vyn has requested that you wear it this evening. The material is silky against your skin, making you shiver with every move. The emerald bracelet Vyn won at the Umir Festival is the perfect accompaniment. Vyn, is of course, impeccable in his smoking jacket and tailored trousers. 

‘Are we expecting guests?’ You ask Vyn incredulously, staring at the food. ‘Surely Mr. Wechsler was confused.’ 

‘Not at all. But I believe I once made you a promise that you would never go hungry.’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Vyn, we’ll hardly be able to finish this on our own.’ 

‘My beloved, whatever we cannot finish, I promise that I will allow you to take down to the soup kitchen to feed the hungry populace. Such a role is fitting for the lady of this house, after all.’ 

‘I’m hardly the lady of the house yet,’ you mutter, flushing red at the implication. 

‘Before you launch into another complaint about how you don’t deserve such wonderful treatment, may I propose something, my lady?’ Vyn stops at the door and looks quite seriously down at you from the gold rims of his glasses. You turn your face upwards, marvelling in how beautifully his silver hair frames his face, the way his gaze seems to strip you completely bare. 

‘I’ll allow it,’ you say. ‘What do you propose?’ 

‘Do you trust me?’ Vyn asks. 

Your mind flashes back to earlier in the day, during the hunt. Your bodies pressed up against each other, drawing the bow and nocking the arrow. His quiet instructions in your ear, your breath, held for so long you almost grew dizzy, and then, the blur of victory after, shattering the intimate moment. 

‘Yes,’ you say at length. ‘I do trust you.’ 

‘Then I propose that we play a little game. There is no need for you to speak tonight. Whatever you eat will be fed from my hand. Give yourself to me completely, and trust me to take care of you. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, you can say our safe word.’ 

You stare into his eyes, and he stares back, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You nod once, slowly. An assent to his conditions. The game has begun. 

‘Excellent. Your decisiveness is one of the things I most admire about you. And just once, could you say our safe word, before we embark on this little journey together?’ 

‘Pomegranate,’ you say, lips parting to let it slide out in a whisper. 

‘Very good, my beloved.’ Vyn guides you to where the food awaits, seating you on his right hand side, while he takes the seat at the head of the table. ‘I remember peeking at the suppers my grandmother used to host here. My grandfather would sit at the head of the table, here, while my grandmother sat all the way down there, at the end of the table, both of them as far apart from each other as they could get. The length of the table being a gesture of power, to be sure, but hardly conducive for marital harmony. I believe they even ate like that when they didn’t have guests, or took meals apart. So much nicer to sit together like this, no?’ 

You almost open your mouth to say something or ask a question, but Vyn silences you with a finger on your lips. 

‘I would not be asking you to do this if it was easy, my love, I know it is difficult for you. But we are nurturing this fledgling trust you have placed in me, and the game has just started.’ 

You watch Vyn’s slow, careful movements as he tears a hunk of golden bread and dips it in olive oil and black salt, the crumb flecked with herbs. He feeds you the morsel gently, telling you about the special wheat used in making the bread and the fields in Svart where it grows. You listen with rapt attention as his voice carries on, moving from dish to dish. As he promises, he feeds you every first bite with his own fingers, their tips gently grazing against the corners of your mouth, leaving your skin tingling and yearning for more. 

Your mouth is filled with rich flavours of cream and wild fowl, preserves and pickles, salt and fat, acid and heat. Vyn keeps up the one-sided conversation, reading your mind to say your answers for you, his low tones sending a shiver up your spine. The wine makes your head light and airy. As the meal comes to a close, Vyn feeds you a last mouthful of dessert, his long index finger swiping away a trail of honey from the corner of your mouth. A burst of words comes from you as you impulsively grab his wrist and then place a kiss directly in the palm that has been feeding you all evening. 

‘I love you, Vyn,’ you barely whisper, voice hoarse. 

Vyn extracts his hand and gives a loud sigh, standing up from the table. ‘You were doing so well, my darling. Like Orpheus, who turned back just at the very last minute and lost Eurydice, so have you lost our little game.’ 

His eyes are dark, but with a distinct sense of amusement and mischief behind them. ‘Had you won, your prize would have been a fairytale ending, where I swept you off your feet and carried you to the fireplace in the hall, where a magical bower of furs and pillows have been prepared, and you would have sweet love made to you all night—’

‘I don’t care about fairytale endings,’ you interrupt Vyn, standing and moving toward him, a defiance in your tone calculated to push him off the edge, to turn his beautifully crafted game on its head. 

Vyn growls and then pounces on you, lips seeking yours harshly, in an attempt to punish you. You kiss him back just as fiercely, biting his lip and drawing blood, smearing it over both your bottom lips, the taste of iron and salt with the sweet still lingering on your tongues. He pushes you both back onto the table, until your legs are wrapped against it and your spine is bent backwards, dress sliding upwards until your thighs are visible. 

When he pulls away, it is to admire how rumpled he has left you, how wanting. Your hair is loosened from its carefully piled topknot, lying curled and ragged around your face, which still bears a slight trace of his blood. Your chest, heaving, the tops of your breasts exposed. Legs slightly spread to accommodate his waist, his face looming over yours as if he is about to devour you. 

‘Since you seem to be evading my best attempts at seduction, I cannot promise I will be gentle,’ he warns with a smirk. 

‘Maybe that was my intention all along,’ you make an effort to retort, although you are aware of how vulnerable a position you are in. 

Vyn pushes the dishes off the table, everything landing in a loud clatter on the floor. 

‘Vyn!’ You exclaim, turning to look at the food, but he lifts you up onto the table, then pushes your dress upwards around your hips, ripping aside your flimsy underwear. You are about to say something in protest, but then his mouth is on you, trailing heated kisses along your inner thighs, hot breath making you squirm even as he keeps a vice-like grip on your hips. When he licks a hot, wet stripe up the length of your cunt, you cry out in pleasure, spine curving upwards to get more of it. 

‘Hm, you seem to be enjoying yourself,’ Vyn pauses to comment. ‘Should I continue?’ 

‘I will never forgive you if you stop now,’ you pant, and then reach down to encourage his head back between your legs. 

He laughs, then applies himself fully to the task, tongue endlessly swirling, and then thrusting inside, all while your hands are twined in his hair, tugging so hard that you are briefly afraid that you have hurt him. He doesn’t show any sign of discomfort, diligently licking and sucking until you are so close to coming, your body a tightly wound mass of nerves. You catch his eyes flicking up to watch your reactions, and just as you are about to come, he pulls away, wiping his mouth away on his sleeve and grinning viciously. You cry out at the sudden loss of heat, writhing in distress. 

‘Don’t you think you deserve some punishment for ruining our evening? You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?’ He hisses, then pulls you toward him, forcing you to turn around. Disoriented from the disrupted orgasm and sudden movement, you flail for a moment, then hear the clink of Vyn removing his belt behind you. He grabs your hands and holds them together, using his belt to wrap your wrists snugly, but not too tight. Before anything else happens, he leans forward to where your face is, brushes your hair gently aside to whisper in your ear, ‘Pomegranate?’ 

You shake your head desperately. ‘Good girl,’ he tells you, stroking your hair. 

Then the brief moment of tenderness quickly passes as Vyn grabs your hips, your face sliding across the polished wood of the table and ass sticking up in the air, your cunt completely exposed, only your legs holding you up. Unable to see what’s going on behind you, you can only tremble in anticipation, the feel of Vyn’s hands roughly positioning you so he can enter you. 

His first thrust is not at all gentle, burying him to the hilt in your hot, slick cunt. You both cry out from the fullness, at how ready your cunt is for him. 

‘Look at you clenching around me, such a needy, desperate little slut,’ Vyn purrs, painfully dragging out his first few thrusts so that despite your limited range of movement, you are squirming and begging for more. 

‘More,’ You beg. ‘Please, Vyn, I need more.’ 

‘You will get more when I decide you deserve more,’ Vyn warns, slowing his hips even more, the promise of more friction hanging just out of reach. ‘It’s my turn to enjoy myself.’ 

You cry out in frustration, and are met with a ringing slap on your ass, the pain tingling deliciously. 

‘Can’t be helped,’ he sighs, pretending that you have forced him to this point, when you can tell that it is taking all of his own self-control not to just thrust into you with wild abandon. ‘You’re forcing me to play my hand, you naughty little thing. Do you want to see me lose control?’ 

He punctuates the last sentence with a vicious thrust, going deeper than before and making you squeal. The sound makes him stop, and he reaches beside you for a napkin. 

‘I think we need to work on your silence,’ Vyn says, hips still moving gently while his hands have left your hips and are doing something else. He leans down, pressing his weight against you and hand coming toward your face with the folded napkin. 

‘Open your mouth,’ he tells you, then puts the napkin delicately between your teeth. ‘Now, bite down. If you let the napkin fall, I can only assume it is because you intend on using our safe word, and in any event, that would mean our little game is over. If you want to continue, your only choice is to behave yourself.’ 

You bite down on the cloth napkin, and Vyn cocks his head sideways to look at your trapped face, giving you a wink before returning to his position behind you. He starts off with slow thrusts again, searching for the right angle, hips snapping leisurely into your ass, the sound of skin on skin turning you on more, if that was even possible. Your soft moans are muffled by the napkin, which is slowly soaking with saliva. 

‘Such a good girl,’ Vyn cooes as he thrusts deeply and you give a low, dull moan, trying to stifle your noises. ‘Let’s see how you do under more difficult conditions.’ 

He reaches down to grasp a handful of your hair, pulling your head upwards so that your spine is arched like a bow, and begins moving faster, each thrust of his cock a blinding shaft of light in equal parts pain and pleasure. If anyone were to walk in on you both right now, or even listen in on what was happening, they would hear a symphony of moaning, Vyn growling to tell you what a good girl you are, how well you are taking his cock, as if you were made for him. Your hands behind your back, back impossibly arched as he grips onto your hair, subject to the pleasure that is invading every part of your body. 

Vyn’s thrusts grow harder and more needy, and your cunt has begun to spasm, craving sweet release. 

‘I want to see your face when I make you cum,’ He rasps, and then pulls out, flipping you effortlessly onto your back, hair spilling out in all directions. Your arms are crushed behind your back, but the pain of your stretching shoulder joints is welcome, only adding to your pleasure. He is stretched out on top of you, mouth hungry, diving for your breasts, teasing your nipple with his tongue, hand reaching down to rub your clit in agonising circles, then slipping back inside you and groaning at the sensation. You cling on to the napkin for dear life, terrified that if you drop it, he might really stop, and leave you empty and wanting, just like that. 

But Vyn doesn’t stop. His eyes locked onto your face, he rubs your clit ceaselessly as he pounds into you, again and again in a vicious, desperate pace. 

‘Come for me, my love,’ he whispers, and like that, you are undone, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as your cunt clenches, legs shaking from the effort. A few more hard thrusts and Vyn joins you, thrusting deeply inside you one last time and then collapsing, his cock still throbbing as it fills you with cum. 

He only allows himself a few moments before quickly sitting you up to undo the restraints around your wrist, examining them for chafing, pressing a light kiss to each one when he finds you perfectly well and unharmed. 

‘Was I too rough?’ Vyn asks, hurrying to hand you his jacket. You shake your head, a mischievous grin on your face as you refuse to drop the napkin between your teeth. He blushes and removes it. You stretch your jaw a few times, which is slightly sore from clenching so hard, but will be fine in a few moments. 

‘Please, Vyn, I would have used the safe word if I was being hurt.’ You reassure him. ‘The only thing I regret is that I’m probably too tired to go through all that again.’ 

‘Too tired?’ Vyn’s smirk returns. ‘I hope not. There’s still a fireplace and a floor full of furs waiting for us.’ 

In the blink of an eye, you are swept up in his arms, and he is carrying you to the door, like a bride over the threshold of her new home. He hasn’t even bothered to put on any clothes, trousers long forgotten, and his dress shirt hanging loose. 

‘Vyn,’ you say, an idea suddenly coming into your mind. ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, didn’t you?’ 

‘I will neither confirm nor deny my initial hypothesis,’ Vyn says. ‘But let’s just say, the outcome was above and beyond what I expected.’ 

As he carries you to the hall and the fireplace, two of his fingers have secretly slipped into your cunt once again, and you sneak a glance at him, grinning. 

[symphonyofsilence]

Daily reminder that most of the sect members follow their sect leaders because they were born to that sect, or that sect was stable and powerful enough to provide them with security, and the Wen Remnants followed Wei Wuxian even though they were afraid of him because that was their only option, but the YMJ members that followed Jiang Cheng ever since the Sunshot Campaign freely CHOSE to do so. He was 17. And an extremely traumatized seventeen-year-old at that. He was simultaneously looking for his brother and participating in a war while rebuilding his sect. Lotus Pier was destroyed. There were only 3 people left of the YMJ sect (2 as far as they knew with WWX missing.) The sect was brought to ruins. The YMJ sect couldn't have had much riches left. But the new sect (and they were enough for YMJ to be called a sect again) CHOSE to follow Jiang Cheng.

[sun-and-moon-mushroom]

AU where, at some point after Bingge gets thrown into the Abyss, SJ decides he’s had enough of the murder accusations and having to listen to teenage attempts to play music and wrote poetry, and decides to fuck off. He tells YQY he’s going into ���seclusion’ for his cultivation and proceeds to change his clothes, hairstyle, and wear something that covers his face as he starts travelling around as a wandering cultivator under his original name (if asked if he’s related to that Shen, he just tells the truth — he’s an orphan who never knew his family). This eliminates at least 60% of his stress and anxiety since he’s actually able to relax without worrying about insults or keeping his reputation as a cold and elegant immortal master intact.

Time goes on, and eventually Bingge comes back. Hearing that SQQ is away, he figures he’ll just use the time to focus on gathering power and collecting evidence before he can take his revenge. Along the way, he ends up in a small town, where he ends up going to a brothel because Xin Mo is being annoying and he left his wives at home. He steps in the door and — is that Shen Qingqiu???

SJ doesn’t recognise this handsome stranger who’s uncommonly polite to prostitutes. It’s been years since he saw LBH and he was an underfed teenager then, no taller than him. Even the name wouldn’t jog his memory since it’s not like he ever used the little beast’s name outside of the occasional bit of paperwork. So, he invites him over for tea and they talk.

LBH is immediately convinced that this cannot be SQQ because he’s actually being nice to him. He invited him to sit down and have tea! He’s asking for his opinion on the music! He’s smiling! LBH is pretty sure SQQ would rather drop dead than smile at anyone, let alone him! He goes into conspiracy mode: is this a long lost relative? amnesia?? an alternate universe counterpart??? possession????

SJ now has to deal with this strange cultivator following him around, always ‘coincidentally’ visiting the same towns he does and offering to help him on night hunts… because LBH is too curious about this not-Shen-Qingqiu to leave him alone. Eventually, SJ decides the best way to get rid of this stranger is to become disliked by him, something he’s got plenty of experience with. Of course, his entire life story (who’s going to connect it to the Qing Jing peak lord anyway? and it feels surprisingly good to actually tell someone) is the perfect choice.

This has the opposite of the intended effect, as now they’re bonding over their mutually awful childhoods. SJ complains about how at least LBH had a mother, LBH points out that maybe it’s better to never have someone than loose them, and SJ brings up Yue Qi. LBH says he was abandoned in the Demon Realm, because the Endless Abyss is a bit unrealistic for an ordinary cultivator to escape, SQQ points out that he would probably have preferred the Demon Realm to the sect he ended up in, and LBH has to agree. LBH talks about his shitty master and SJ can’t help but compare him to Qiu Jianluo.

Bingge is Bingge, so of course this ends up with them in bed together. In a moment of passion, LBH accidentally calls him Shizun… and SJ realises, and immediately goes into crisis.

[maddiethedogstories]

Carnival Games

"Baby, I see you doing your little potty dance over there, are you holding your pee-pee?" She said as she tied her hair back, ready to do her best to win me a stuffed bear.

A deep, red blush overtook my cheeks as she spoke. Couldn't she lower her voice just a little? There were strangers around.

"You know the rules, buckaroo. You're wearing a diaper, so you're not allowed to hold it! Just let go! You'll be happier when your little bladder is empty anyway!"

I shuffled from foot to foot again, trying to cover my discomfort and embarrassment. "But, Trish, I don't have to go potty… I mean… pee. I'm just, um, nervous, is all! I really want you to win!" I croaked out.

Trish shot me a look that immediately said she wasn't buying it. "Baby, we've been together for two years. I recognize a potty dance when I see one. Don't lie to me."

I blushed again at being called out on my lie, but I was committed at this point. "But, Mo… Trish! I'm not…"

"Hush, baby! Ok, ok, ok. This was supposed to be a fun day at the fair, so let's make this a game? I'll use my little squirt gun here to fill up the water balloon. You use that squirt gun in your pants to fill that little diapy of yours. If we both win, you'll get that big teddy you've been wanting and I'll make out with you on the Ferris Wheel. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I nodded my head in affirmation.

"But, if I lose, or your diapy is dry when I'm done, you don't get any diaper changes for the rest of the night, deal?"

I swallowed in nervousness, but knew the bet was worth it. Trish and I hadn't done anything even resembling a make-out session, let alone sex, for months. Plus, it was a cute bear.

"Deal!" I said.

With that, the bell at the booth rang. I balled up my fists and let loose, concentrating on filling my diaper. I looked up to see how Trish was doing, only to see her laughing at me. Not a single one of her fingers was touching the water pistol.

"Don't worry baby. I'll play again after this and win you your teddy. Consider it a consolation prize!"

[pupyuj]

→ “dress.” || ahn yujin x reader fic.

— you thought it was about time that you gift yujin a special present, especially after all she has done for you and given to you...

word count: 8.7k.

dynamic: dom!sugar mommy!ahn yujin x sub!sugar baby!reader.

content warnings: smut, use of strap-on, cunnilingus, fingering, nipple play, overstimulation, edging, praise kink, mommy kink, degradation, spanking, spitting.

requested ? : nope.

a/n: THIS ONE TOOK FOREVERRRR i'm glad to be finally letting it fly 🤓

gift giving had to be your favorite love language. it’s the way your friends’ face lit up whenever they receive something they like from you. their smile, the way they would immediately hug you — it made your heart feel full. sure, the money you used was barely yours but technically, you did have to ‘work’ to get said money. your friends never questioned how you could easily buy them expensive jewelry and clothes at the drop of the hat and you were thankful, because you haven’t got the slightest idea as to how to explain to them that you have a sugar mommy.

and that it’s the very same sugar mommy that you ditched movie night with them for. instead of snuggling with your friends in a pillow fort watching bad 90’s movies, you were sitting at a lavish five-star restaurant that served exquisite french cuisine. and the pretty woman staring intently at you right across the table, wearing a loose suit that looked way too good on her? ahn yujin.

older, mature, clever, and roguishly handsome as much as she is beautiful, ahn yujin was simply an irresistible woman. she was charming, and had given you butterflies in a way nobody ever has when she first approached you with her offer—the offer—so naturally, you couldn’t say no. not that you wanted to say no to her anyway. just look at her!

she smiled once you met her eyes, “you didn’t have to doll yourself up for a simple dinner.” she said, taking note of the branded clothes that you wore. her gifts. you looked down at your food bashfully. was it obvious that you poured way too much effort into your appearance? you did spend at least an hour and a half getting ready for this meeting.

“we haven’t seen each other in a while. i wanted to look good for you.” you confessed, blushing.

“well, you look beautiful,” yujin says as she reached for your hand across the table. you muttered a small ‘thank you’, gently squeezing her hand. “although, had i known that you would do all this just for me, i would have picked you right up from your door instead of letting you take a taxi.”

you shook your head, “you just got off work, and i live on the other side of the city. i didn’t want to tire you out, mo— yujin.” you cleared your throat, hoping that the guests in the nearby tables did not catch on to your slip up. yujin definitely did, seeing the smirk that appeared on her face.

nevertheless, yujin pretends she didn’t hear it. she merely leans back on her seat and crosses her arms, “i guess not. we have a long night ahead of us, don’t we?” she asked. you stared at the suggestive look in her eyes, already feeling your core buzzing from anticipation.

you smiled innocently at her, “indeed.” you agreed, taking a sip of your water.

you couldn’t wait until she takes you to her home.

and just like that, the night went by quickly. after dinner, the two of you decided to take a walk in a park, where you rested quietly on a bench, talking about what each of you had been up to weeks before. the entire time at the park, you couldn’t get over the way yujin’s dark eyes just pierced through you, more than eager to take you home, but she was too much of a gentlewoman to interrupt you while talking.

and of course, when the air got significantly colder, the night finally, finally started. the ride back to yujin’s house (her mansion, actually) was pleasantly quiet with only the soft tunes of the radio filling the silence in the air. yujin had her hand on your thigh, gently caressing your skin with her thumb and totally ignoring the way you occasionally squeezed your thighs together to calm that feeling in your core. towards the end of the ride, you couldn’t resist taking yujin’s hand and kissing it. she quite liked that.

you got some texts from your friends. they were asking if you got home safely from wherever you went and if you had fun, but you really couldn’t be bothered to reply when yujin’s lips were on your neck.

“did you miss me, baby?” she asked between kisses. you were on her lap, trying your hardest not to grind your core on her now exposed thigh because she was taking an excruciatingly long time touching you. it was irritating, but it always started out like this.

frustratingly slow, but so very worth it.

“ye—mhm… yes, mommy.. very much.”

she was leaving marks all over your skin; from your neck, to your collarbone, to your shoulders. she was usually more careful with that whole thing, but after not seeing you for weeks, she couldn’t help herself.

you turned your head to give yujin better access, not at all caring about the questions that might come from people once they see her work. conveniently enough, your phone buzzes. someone was calling.

“hm? who’s riki?” yujin whispered against your skin, glaring at the caller id on your phone.

“a friend… just a friend, mommy.”

“boy?” yujin asked, dark eyes looking up at you.

you nodded, “b-but he’s nothing. he’s not important.” did it hurt you to say that? a lot, yes. did it hurt turning off your phone, ignoring your friend’s call, and kicking it off the bed? oh, yeah. but it made yujin smile, it made her happy. and because of that, you decided that you didn’t care that it hurt.

“i’m all yours, mommy. nothing to worry about.” you reassured her, cupping her cheeks and putting your lips on hers. she returns the kiss, gripping you by the waist and pulling you closer to her. she brushes her tongue along your lips and you open your mouth obediently, moaning at the taste of her tongue.

on yujin’s crotch sat a strap, it was thicker than an average one and colored blue — your favorite. but you didn’t dare to make any movements towards it. as much as you wanted your mommy to pound you, you knew better than to be impatient and test her patience. you knew that yujin would give you anything you want anyway, you just had to wait.

yujin hiked your skirt up to your waist, her other hand making its way up to your thigh and then stopping at your soaked lingerie. she keeps on kissing you and even though your lungs burned for air, you kept the same energy for her. you didn’t want to disappoint her so early in the act.

you felt yujin’s fingers circling your clit gently. too gently.

you broke the kiss, gasping for air. “mmhm… mommyy…” you couldn’t help but whine.

“i know, baby. just be a good girl, m’kay?” yujin smiles at you, a clear message saying that you will be teased like hell tonight. you whined again, shaking your head, but you couldn’t do anything about it. it’s not like you could just push her down on the bed and ride her strap yourself. that would result in a punishment much more painful than being pounded out of your mind, which was being ignored.

“take this off,” yujin said, tugging at your top. obediently, you pulled the clothing over your head, revealing the thin bra that you wore just for yujin. she smiles when she realized your intent. “such a sweet girl. i missed you.” she kisses you again, much more softer this time.

yujin had been gone for a business trip weeks ago and even when she got home, she couldn’t meet up with you due to her busy schedule. and of course, yours as well. you had to suffice with sending her photos and videos of yourself. very rarely did she call you but when she did, you would end the night with your hand inside your shorts, touching yourself while yujin instructed you. none of it was really enough for you, though. even when you came several times during those calls, all you wanted was for yujin to come home and take care of you herself. it was actually a miracle that you managed to hold yourself back from immediately pouncing on her when she took you to her house tonight.

‘my poor mommy,’ you thought to yourself as you threaded yujin’s hair with your fingers while she kissed you. you felt her hands groping your tits and then move to your back to unclasp your bra. as soon as it was off, yujin starts playing with your nipples using her thumbs, smiling in satisfaction when you moaned into her mouth. ‘having to deal with those stupid men from her company for weeks on end.’

‘i’m gonna be really good for her. she deserves that much.’ you decided, throwing your head back in pleasure when yujin captures one of your hard nipples with her warm mouth. she pinches and pulls on the other one with her fingers which only made you tug on her hair a bit and whine. god, you were drenched. and horny to the point where you might just cum from yujin sucking on your breasts. just how much longer was she going to keep you waiting? you just wanted her to fill your holes already.

yujin flicks your hard bud with her tongue, and you grip her hair just a little tighter. yujin releases your nipple with a pop, and immediately repeats the same actions to the other one. one of yujin’s hands slips inside your lingerie and starts massaging your folds, while her other arm kept you close. fuck, it felt embarrassing moaning so loudly when she was barely doing anything but it was so hard keeping any sounds contained inside of you. yujin just made you feel too good.

“are you gonna cum just from this? huh?” yujin asked after a while, looking up at you with a smile. you could only whimper in reply, eyes a bit teary from the desperation. “you’re such a slut. you missed me that much? you’re not gonna wait for mommy’s cock?”

“nn-no… no, i’ll wait… ahh— i’ll wait for mommy…” you promised. she was challenging you. yujin knew from the way you closed your eyes tightly that you were trying your very hardest not to cum. your pride absolutely refused to allow you to, anyway.

yujin grins, “that’s my girl.” she places a kiss on your chest and pulls her hand out of your panties. you pouted, knowing it really will take a while before yujin fills you up. yujin notices this and pats your thigh, “don’t be sad, baby. we’re getting there. come on. on your knees.”

you kneeled down on the carpeted floor in front of her. your face was right in front of her strap, and then it hit you.

yujin chuckles at the way your eyes lit up, “i guess you know what to do, right? i can’t go inside you unless this is all wet.” yujin presses the tip of her strap against your lips and without wasting another second, you took it inside your mouth and started working. you already looked like a desperate whore, why not take it all the way? your eyes flickered up to meet yujin’s, and she was in the process of unbuttoning the white dress shirt she was wearing.

good god was ahn yujin’s body gorgeous. from her round, soft breasts to her perfectly sculpted abs… your clit throbbed just looking at her.

“baby, all of it.” yujin puts a hand on top of your head and pushes your mouth further down on her plastic cock. your hands clutched the bedsheets as you gagged from the size. “look at you sucking it off like it’s the real thing…” yujin says while chuckling. you could care less about how stupid this was — you’d do anything as long as it means getting fucked by yujin faster.

once she was satisfied, yujin pulled your head off the strap by your hair. “i have to admit… this little ‘riki’ boy got me worried about what you might have been doing while i was gone.” she said, pulling your hair down by the back of your head so you’re completely looking up at her.

you shook your head frantically, immediately knowing what she was implying. “no, no, mommy. i would never.”

“really? you’re telling me that you didn’t go around the city looking for someone to fill up that slutty little hole of yours while mommy was at work?” yujin tightens her grip. you could tell she was actually upset by the way her eyes showed zero signs of playfulness. she wasn’t teasing you this time.

“i didn’t. please—” you hissed at the pain. “please believe me. i belong to you, mommy. i promise. i promise.”

why would she even assume that you would even think of letting someone else touch you? even if other people got that chance, which is very fucking unlikely, they wouldn’t be able to make you feel good. nobody knows your body the way yujin does. no one else compares, it’s that simple.

“do you mean that?” yujin asked, her voice now taking on a more softer tone.

“every word.” there was simply no other answer.

yujin grabs your jaw with her free hand, “open up.” and so you do. you opened up your mouth, thinking that yujin was going to use your throat herself but instead, she leans close to your face, and she spits inside your mouth.

yujin quickly closes your jaw with her hand before you could even think of spitting it out, “swallow.” she demands harshly. of course, you had no other choice but to do what she says. you do what you were told, keeping eye contact to prove a point. yujin smiles in satisfaction and pats your cheek, once again happy.

again, you would do anything for yujin.

she lets go of your hair and starts petting your head, “you’ve been a really good girl tonight… wanna get your reward?” she asked.

you perked up, “yes… yes, please.”

yujin nodded her head towards bed and you immediately got up from the floor. your heart was beating erratically. finally. she was finally going to fuck you out of your mind.

you sat on the bed across from yujin, looking up at her. she tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “you know your safe words, right?” she asked. you nodded, leaning into her touch. of course, despite everything that led up to this moment, yujin will still try to take care of you as much as she could. it makes your heart swell with something. you don’t exactly know what. and do you even want to know?

“tell me.” yujin said, running her thumb across your bottom lip.

“wait,” yujin hums, urging you to continue. “and no more. or i could tap out.”

“good,” yujin brings your face up to her and kisses your lips briefly. “now flip over.” she whispered against your lips. obediently, you did as you were told. yujin held your ass up with one hand and lined up her strap across your dripping, gaping cunt with the other. without warning, yujin plunges half of the cock inside of you, making you grip the bedsheets and gasp loudly.

you turned your head slightly to look at her, and she was smirking down at you. “take it, darling.” was what yujin said before pushing her strap deeper inside of you. you choked out a moan, and buried your head on yujin’s pillow, muffling any other sounds that came out of your mouth. but yujin was quick to grab you hair and pull your head back up, “scream. i want to hear you.”

as yujin thrusted her strap inside of you, slowly but roughly, you didn’t try to hide the sounds that she brought out of you. god knows you both needed this. you’ve gone weeks too long feeling empty, but now yujin was here, really here. she filled you up so well too, always making sure to use the entire strap’s length to penetrate your sweet spots just right. looking at yujin, with her dress shirt open and her black hair a bit of a mess from how roughly she pounded into you… it was enough to send you over the edge but you wanted to enjoy yourself a little longer.

yujin spreads your cheeks, finally picking up her pace and bringing you closer to an early climax. but you refused to give in just like that. yujin hasn’t even gotten started yet, you knew she would be disappointed if you let go of yourself so early. so you held on, completely ignoring the tightening in your abdomen and continuing on taking everything yujin was giving you: from her thrusts, to her hair pulling, her scratchings, and the slaps to your ass.

“if i were given a choice.. shit, baby… i would’ve brought you along with me on that trip,” yujin grips your ass tightly. she was going to leave marks for sure. “you know how much i missed this tight pussy of yours? hm? it was hard—fuck—trying to get through the day without having you writhe under me…” yujin moves down and leans her mouth close to your ear, “i’m gonna ruin you over and over tonight, baby girl. okay?”

god, her words just drove you insane. you nodded your head desperately, “yes, y-yes, mommy..! i’m yours, i’m all yours…”

yujin visits the gym regularly to keep herself healthy. and of course, you would know that because you have, in fact, accompanied her on one of her workout days once and miraculously did not get caught when she fucked you in the locker room. so, basically, it was easy for yujin to manhandle you, especially when you were in such a vulnerable position. she makes sure you were down on your knees instead of just laying down, and whenever you were losing strength in your legs, she keeps you up. you looked at her again, begging her to let you lay down with a look in your eyes but she merely glares at you before continuing to fuck into you like you were a damn fleshlight.

you clutched the bedsheets with a death grip, feeling the familiar pressure in your stomach building up when the strap starts brushing against all of your good spots. yujin would never let you come that easily. but fuck, you didn’t know how long you can keep it up.

“m-mommy…? please… i ha—aghh… i have t-to…”

“no. be a good whore and wait until i tell you when you can.”

you wanted to talk back and get her riled up, but at this point in time, she might just deny you of your release completely.

yujin keeps on thrusting into you in the same, mildly fast pace for minutes on end. every time you were brought closer to your climax, she rips it away completely and ignores your whines. you knew she wanted to make this night last as much as you did but fuck, you didn’t realize she wanted it to drag on! you loved it, of course. yujin was having fun and that all she deserved after weeks and weeks of nothing but work, but on the other hand, you fucking hated it too because you just wanted to cum so bad…

and you really thought she was finally letting you when she hits the spot.

you grabbed onto one of the pillows for dear life, soaking it with your tears. you were so fucking close. you didn’t even know how you’ve managed to hold on until now. “please, mommy..! please, please, plea—”

but all it takes for yujin to shut all your hopes down was to say one simple word, “no.”

fuck. at this point, you didn’t know if you were still moaning from the pleasure, or if you were sobbing from the pain and yujin being stubborn. maybe both. but fuck, you were exhausted and truthfully, a bit scared to make yujin angry so you still. keep. holding on. and it inflated the fuck out of yujin’s ego because wow, the things you would willing go through for her…?

“my obedient little slut… you make mommy so happy,” yujin said. she leans forward, putting her hands down on the bed (one holding down your wrist and the other intertwined with your other hand), and speeds up her thrusts. “you’re really gonna do anything for me, huh?” she says, her hot breath on your ear.

you nodded, leaning against her, “everything, mommy… i’ll do everything…”

“that’s my girl. you always know the right things to say,” she lets go of your wrist and uses her hand to pull your hair back, then she forces you to turn your head and kisses you. she was getting faster, bringing you closer to the edge once again. this time, however, you weren’t going to let her play with you again. you started moving your hips so that you would be fucking yourself into her strap. you feared that yujin might get angry at this but you hear her laugh. “fuck. good girl.” she said and then slaps your ass.

finally, she allows you to lay down. yujin grabs your waist in a tight grip and started moving you. she loved the sight of your ass bouncing as she pounded into you, and the red marks that started to form was an added bonus too. she might come with you at this rate.

“mommy’s gonna make you come real good, okay?” yujin said, peppering your shoulder with kisses while you’re nodding mindlessly. you would agree with anything she asked you, you were completely out of your mind. focused on one thing only. yujin uses her one free hand (she was still holding yours with her other one. she knew it kept you grounded.) and slides two fingers inside your mouth. you sucked on them, moaning and gagging on her long digits before she pulls them out.

yujin reaches down your body, “stay still, baby.” she says before circling your clit with her fingers that were covered in your spit.

you were pretty sure you were hurting yujin with the way you held onto her hand impossibly tight. tears spilled out of your eyes as she kept on pleasuring your clit, making it even more difficult for you to keep your promise of not coming. shit, it was too much. she has never edged you for this long and this intensely before… as bad as that sounded, it brought you comfort and you would be smiling at the thought if you weren’t fucking crying because if anything, this just confirms that yujin really did miss you.

“mommy…! sto—oh, god…!!” you sobbed, shaking your head as you felt yourself slowly losing control. you could feel yujin grinning against your shoulder. what a dick, but you couldn’t say that.

“it’s okay, baby. now. come.” yujin nearly pulls the strap all the way off of your cunt before plunging it back in, hard and using its full length. at the same time, she pressed her fingers against your clit and really, that was all it took for you to finally let go. you came with a long moan, shaking as yujin continues to rub your clit, riding out your orgasm and truly just making it all last.

your cum was seemingly everywhere: on her strap, her fingers, trickling down your thighs, on the bedsheets… it was relieving for all of that pressure that was stuck in your abdomen to finally be gone. after a while, yujin cautiously pulls the strap out of you, takes it off of herself before throwing it on the floor. she was going to have to clean up the mess the two of you made tomorrow. but for now? you needed her in another way.

yujin completely takes off her dress shirt and her bra before she laid down on the empty space beside you, immediately cooping you up in her arms and kissing your damp forehead. you were breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down, eyes dark and unfocused, and lips quivering.

yujin wipes the tears off of your cheeks and held you close, “you did a good job, baby. get some rest. i promise i’ll take care of you lots tomorrow.” unable to reply due to your voice completely just disappearing after you’ve used it to scream ‘mommy’ all night, you merely put your arm around yujin’s waist and rested your head on her chest. it was easy to fall asleep after that, with only yujin’s steady heartbeat accompanying you into your safe place.

the morning after, you woke up alone.

which wasn’t a rare occurrence. considering it was nearly ten in the morning, yujin should be sitting in her office miles away from her house right now. it was routine at this point: you wake up, yujin’s gone and all she has left you is a text message, maybe breakfast, and a hefty amount of money in your bank. so, imagine your surprise when you sat up, rubbing your eyes and wincing at the soreness that coursed throughout your body, and there was yujin entering the bedroom in a bathrobe, drying her wet hair with a towel.

“oh, good morning,” yujin says. she approaches the bed, brushing your hair away from your face. her hands were so gentle, greatly contrasting the way she completely ruined you with them the night before. yujin leans in and leaves a quick kiss on your forehead, and then she chuckles lightly at your dazed expression. “what’s wrong?” she asks, sitting on the bed.

“it’s just… rare to see you here…” you said, your voice hoarse.

“i called in. i promised i would take care of you, didn’t i?” yujin reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table and hands it over to you. yujin watches as you drank the contents of the glass… it was a simple action but for some reason, you got her heart beating louder and faster, and warmth spread in her chest when you smiled at her, saying a small ‘thank you’ before putting the glass back on the bedside table. in yujin’s opinion, you’ve never looked more beautiful than this: a bit exhausted, and very obviously fucked out but the morning glow looked so good on you.

yujin gently takes your chin in her hand and pulls you in, catching your lips in a soft kiss. something about this one felt different. it was in the way her lips quivered as it moved against yours, the way her eyes held nothing but adoration for you when she leaned back, the way she smiled shyly under your gaze, and the way she laughed softly when you gave in to your temptations and chased after her lips.

you spent a good few minutes, maybe even longer, kissing yujin. ocassionally sharing soft smiles, longing gazes, and quiet, short conversations before connecting your lips again.

“i got the bath ready for you. can you walk?” yujin asked after a while.

you nodded, “a little.” it was a lie. you could lay on the bed the entire day if you had a choice.

“you just want me to carry you there, don’t you?” yujin teased, bumping her nose into yours. you giggled, basically throwing yourself on yujin’s lap and lacing your arms around her neck. yujin was able to lift you up easily, and she took you to the lavish bathroom that she had in the house. it was the size of your room in your apartment.

“you can help yourself in my closet after you’re done,” yujin says after you’ve put both of your feet on the ground. she kisses you again, a bit deeper this time but it was quick. you could not express with enough words how addicting her lips were. “breakfast will be ready soon. i’ll be downstairs, okay?” and with that, yujin squeezes your hands before leaving, closing the door behind her.

did she have to be such a heartthrob?

needless to say, you got in the bathtub happy. and as you sat there, basking in the warm water and the sweet aroma of whatever soap yujin used, you started to think about all of the things yujin has done for you. of course, she makes sure you’re secured financially and that every meeting was worth your time, not to mention her randomly-timed and unnecessarily expensive gifts too. maybe it was time that you give back.

but what could a filthy rich and accomplished cfo of a distinguished company want more in life? yujin has it all: looks, brains, a handsome car, a big mansion, the cutest pair of dimples of ever, and a doll she could play with whenever she pleases.

then, it hit you.

“that’s perfect!” you muttered to yourself after putting your idea together in your head.

after your bath, you made your way back to yujin’s bedroom and opened up her massive walk-in closet. there was an array of clothes tailored specifically for yujin, and some she bought for herself taht you imagine costs more than your entire life. but, you headed straight for a drawer filled with her t-shirts. all of them were just as expensive as the dress shirts and the blazers, but yujin allows you to wear them because she knew how much you liked them.

you decided to wear your favorite one: a grey oversized tee embroidered with shooting stars in front. you paired it up with some random jean shorts you kept in one of the drawers and rushed downstairs. you smelled entirely like yujin, you loved it, and you knew she would too.

when you reached the kitchen, yujin, now fully clothed, had just finished preparing your coffee. you reached out for her arm and pulled her into you, “mommy, you like pretty things, right?” you asked with a grin.

yujin turns around and pulls you into her embrace, her hands resting on your hips, “why do you think i chose you, baby?” you swore your heart grew several sizes. you smiled up at her and then put your hands behind her neck, gently pushing her head down and catching her lips in a searing kiss. when yujin’s hands once again sneak underneath your shirt, the next few things that happened became a blur but one thing was for sure… you were going to take care of her next time.

“i’ve noticed something about you recently, (y/n).” your friend, wonyoung, suddenly said as the two of you browsed through a collection of expensive dresses at an outlet mall. her girlfriend, and your roommate, jiwon was elsewhere with your other roommate seonwoo and the friend that you ignored when you were with yujin, riki.

“what, do i have a pimple or something?” you asked, touching your face subconsciously.

“no,” wonyoung takes your hands off of your face with a laugh. “you’ve been looking… happier. not that you were ever depressed or anything but these days you’re glowing, you’re confident, and… you smile a lot more. specifically when you’re on your phone.” and of course wonyoung sees all that. as close as you were with jiwon, it was her girlfriend manages to read you like a book.

“what can i say? i love cookie run.” you joked, barely dodging the gentle slap on your shoulder that came from wonyoung.

“i’m serious, (y/n)-ah! are you dating someone?”

weeks ago, you would have denied her in a heartbeat with a reasonable enough excuse but now you don’t exactly know how to respond to that question. because after that meeting with yujin, the two of you have only gotten closer… and sweeter. you talk to each other in texts and not just send dirty photos, videos, or sexts. and the three previous meetings you’ve had, they have been so fun.

of course, the night always ended with you under yujin, but even the sex seemed to mean something more now.

wonyoung grabs your collar and opens up your jacket, and there she sees fresh hickies and bite marks across your neck and chest. “i knew it!” she gasped, bouncing on her feet and she excitedly hits your arm.

“wonyoung, you cannot be undressing me like that in public and while being taken by my best friend!” you said, swatting her hands away and covering yourself up again. oh yeah, apparently, yujin being careless with how she marked you was an added bonus in this level of your relationship.

'relationship'? you don’t even know anymore.

“tell me about her right now, (y/n)! does she go to our school? or some other university? older? younger? taller? i need to know! is she hot??” wonyoung was shaking you back and forth. the two of you have gotten several glances and looks from the other customers since wonyoung made no effort to lower her voice. nobody can blame wonyoung for getting excited though, you never really indulge yourself in romantic relationships since you had a lot to worry about. school, your family back at your hometown, money, rent… in fact, even before yujin, you’ve never let anybody make it past the first date.

you always thought it would be a waste of time, and that you’d rather put your energy into making yourself happy by tackling your hundred-or-so problems. turns out you can have both. and yujin made you realize that.

huh.

“w-we’re not dating, we’re just…” you sighed, blushing at the mere thought of yujin. this was weird. “it’s complicated, wonyoung. i don’t want to talk about it.”

the taller girl was smarter than that, however, and after staring at you for a good minute or two, she grins. “oh, it’s that kind of relationship.” she teased, nudging your arm while wiggling her eyebrows. you rolled your eyes. as pretty as she was, wonyoung can be so annoying. “wait… you’re shopping for her, aren’t you? oh my god, (y/n), you whore.” wonyoung slaps your arm, giggling.

you bowed profusely at the poor mother with a child who walked past as wonyoung said those words, and glared at your friend, “do not tell jiwon and the boys about this. they’ll have a heart attack.”

wonyoung scoffs, “they can’t just gatekeep you forever! sooner or later, they’re gonna have to accept that you’ll eventually claim your destiny as some sexy rich woman’s living fleshlight.” you kicked her in the shin, but it didn’t affect her whatsoever. god, you wished you brought jiwon along with you instead of her. at least jiwon wouldn’t even think to ask about your sex life!

“is she sexy and rich?” wonyoung asked. she was never going to leave alone, wasn’t she?

with a deep sigh you answered, “emphasis on rich. bigger emphasis on sexy.”

wonyoung squeals, suddenly grabs your arm and drags you away to some other section of the store, “you’re seeing her again soon, aren’t you? i have the perfect dress for you!” well, at least she’s helping. and when you looked in the mirror wearing the sleek and shiny black dress that barely left anything to the imagination, you can’t help but be as excited about this next meeting as wonyoung… perhaps even more.

“you are so going to get fucked out.”

“there are children in this fitting room, wonyoung. please—”

that night, after jiwon and wonyoung, as well as seonwoo, have tucked in for the night, you decided to call yujin, staring deeply at the dress that hung in front of your closet.

“hi, baby. it’s pretty late. do you need something?”

you ran your hand down the dress, feeling its silky material. you could just imagine yujin completely ruining you in it, and of course the thought gets you wet almost immediately.

“just wondering if i could come over sooner than we planned?”

you heard yujin laugh from the other end, “you miss me already?”

“i always do, mommy.”

“really?” you bit your lip, knowing full well what yujin was going to make you do next. you quickly pulled off your shorts, looking at your soaked panties and cringing at how much of a desperate slut you were. but how could you ever resist? especially when yujin says, “show me how much you miss me, darling.”

she was going to drive you mad.

well, three days later, you found herself standing in front of the gates of yujin’s mansion, clad in that black dress and holding a paper bag with cake in it.

yujin had mentioned that she has gotten busy again, but totally agreed on letting you come over and allowing you to do whatever you want in the house before she finishes off what she was doing and joins you. but you had a plan in mind, one that doesn’t require yujin to leave her office, or her chair at all. as for the cake, well, yujin loved caramel cakes so you just thought it would be a nice gesture. especially after you heard how tired she has been leading up to this day.

no, it will not be incorporated into whatever you will be doing with her today… but maybe in the future.

you were forcibly taken away from your head when the gates slid open. you entered and headed straight for the front doors, a duplicate of yujin’s house key ready in your hand. upon entering the mansion, you took off your jacket and hung it in the coat rack by the door before heading straight upstairs where you know yujin would be holed up at. a few ways away from her massive bedroom was her office, and you’ve spent as much of your time there as you do in yujin’s bedroom. mostly because that was where yujin did a lot of her work when she wasn’t in the actual company building, meaning that she would be pissed off more than she was happy, meaning that you would be bent over her desk getting fucked to oblivion as a means to reduce yujin’s stress.

you knocked softly on the door, but there wasn’t a response right away. you were about to knock again when you hear yujin’s muffled shouting, possibly over the phone with one of her annoying coworkers or seniors. a frown makes its way to your face when you heard yujin curse sharply under her breath, then a soft ‘thud’, and yujin speaking more quietly but still scarily.

you wanted your surprise to be perfect, so you stood still in front of the door, waiting until yujin has at least calmed down a bit. but perhaps it was a bad time? maybe you shouldn’t have asked to come over ahead of what was originally planned… yujin sets them up for a reason, after all. maybe this was the reason. she is a businesswoman through and through, and now you were afraid that maybe you were just being a nuisance.

yujin clicks her tongue sharply again, and then she was raising her voice once more. you could hear her footsteps as she paced around her office — frantic, heavy, and angry. then, you heard another ‘thud’, and that was when you decided that you needed to be here. for her.

finally, you knocked. a little more loudly than the last time.

“(y/n)?”

her voice was soft. your heart skipped a beat.

“y-yes. it’s me.”

oh, you were so whipped.

“it’s open. come in.”

you pushed the door open and it turns out that yujin had her back turned from the door, facing her bookshelf with her hand on her hip and her other hand still holding her phone close to her ear. she doesn’t look at you when you came in, probably hasn’t even realized it.

“who is…? she’s none of your business. don’t change the subject. focus, and do your fucking job,” yujin moves her free hand to massage her temple. she taps her foot on the carpeted floor, growing increasingly impatient once again. “if i hear anything about you mistreating my assistant in my absence again, i swear to god you’re going to regret choosing to work for this company. leave rei alone.”

you furrowed your eyebrows at the mention of yujin’s assistant. you’ve met her before. she was always the first one to greet you and talk to you kindly whenever you used to visit yujin at the building. she kept you company when yujin was in meetings, the ones that didn’t require for her to attend too, anyway. at first, you were jealous of her. she got to spend a lot of time with yujin and back then, you thought that maybe they had something together… but it turns out that they have been friends for a long time, and their relationship have always been, and always will be, platonic.

plus, rei recently told you that she was ‘rooting for you and yujin’. so yeah, somebody is going to lose an arm if you find out that they ever messed with her.

“feel free to not contact me for the rest of the week.”

yujin ends the call before the person on the other end could respond. you watched as she sighed deeply, took a few breaths in, and finally regained her composure.

“sorry you had to hear all that. they’re driving me crazy.”

you gently placed the bag on the couch and approached yujin, who was still massaging her temples. you grabbed her wrists and turned her around slowly, and immediately, she hugged you, burying her face on the crook of your neck and tightly wrapping her arms around your waist. you pat her back softly, your other hand combing through her hair before you pushed her back. you cupped yujin’s cheeks in your hands and stared deeply into her troubled eyes.

“are you okay?” you asked. yujin nods wordlessly and leans down to kiss you, which you allow her to. your kisses have turned into something else too. they’re more gentle, slow, and loving. even during the heat of a moment, you feel nothing but your growing feelings as yujin kisses you. you could only hope that she felt it too.

it takes a while for yujin to pull away. when she did, you head was hazy and you were gasping for breath, but you sufficed a satisfied smile when you saw the look on yujin’s face as she scanned your outfit from head to toe. yujin bites her lower lip as she checked you out shamelessly, even taking a step back to get a better view of your look. “for me?” she says, moving her hands to your hips and squeezing your gently.

“it’s always for you, mommy. you should know that by now,” you took note of yujin’s casual attire too. the oversized blue and white striped button-up and some simple white shorts and yet you would let her absolutely ruin you until sunrise. maybe it was the first three buttons being undone, or the half-up ponytail, or simply just yujin that made her so fucking sexy. “do you like it?” you asked.

yujin smirks, she cannot stop looking at you up and down, “you’ll find out.”

merely minutes later, you were sitting on top of yujin’s desk, moaning into her mouth as she kisses you hungrily while one of her hands is in between your thighs, pressing against your throbbing clit through your wet panties. as for yujin’s other hand, it was behind you, taking a hold of the zipper on your dress and pulling it down. you were so glad wonyoung bullied you into not wearing a bra—

(“(y/n), nobody wears a bra in a strapless dress. screw security, let the woman fuck you without interruptions!”

“wait, what?”

��oh shit. hey, baby! jiwon.. uh, long story…”)

—because it was easy for yujin to just lean down and catch one of your now exposed nipples in her mouth. while she did that, you opened up your legs a bit more and started grinding yourself on yujin’s hand, desperate for more but as always, not really having the patience for it.

yujin pinches your clit through your panties and you moan loudly, arching your back a little and pushing yujin’s head further on your chest. it only made you grind on her hand faster, and yujin grins while she looks up at you, loving the desperate look on your face. it felt too hot in here. and not the kind of hot that increased your libido, but the one that fucking irritated you. you tug on yujin’s shirt, “mommy… take it off, please…” you begged. you wanted to feel her skin against you… now that’s the kind of hot you could get behind.

“aw, well. anything for my princess.”

you could’ve come right there.

yujin starts unbuttoning her shirt, looking straight at you as she did so. you helped her pull it off her body and threw it on the ground, and then you pulled her back into you. you put one hand on her toned stomach—oh fuck, those abs—and leaned in, putting your lips on her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a few marks here and there. yujin slides her hands underneath your dress and pulls down your black, lacy underwear before letting it fall to the ground, directly laying on top of her shirt.

you continued on kissing yujin’s neck, relishing in the sounds of her quiet moans. ocassionally, you looked up to find her smiling down at you and during those moments, you share a quick kiss before going back to marking her up.

you were yujin’s, yes. but the world has to know that yujin was yours.

yujin probably noticed your intent, hearing her chuckle before grabbing your face and making you look up at her, “i’m not going anywhere, baby. i belong to you as much as you belong to me.” she whispered against your lips.

ahn yujin belongs to you.

you.

yeah, you were going to think about that all day.

yujin takes a seat on her chair, then she puts her hands on your knees and spreads your legs apart, giving herself a full view of your dripping pussy. you one of her hands and brought it up to your lips, giving it a kiss. “go ahead and make your day better, mommy.”

yujin glances up at you and smiles, a genuine smile, “it already did the moment i saw you.” she keeps your hands intertwined, and you stare at each other for a good minute.

that was where you realized that wow…

you were pretty fucking in love with yujin.

you had time to freak out about this revelation later, because when yujin's lips make contact with your folds, your mind goes elsewhere. your free hand goes to the back of yujin's neck, pushing her in further. fuck, if yujin was going to do two things great, it's using her hands and mouth on you. every lick, every touch, every single one, always had your head spinning, had you begging for more. and more yujin always gave you.

she is your sugar mommy, what else is she good for otherwise?

yujin reaches between your thighs and parts your folds with her fingers, giving your pussy one long lick before catching your clit with her lips. you gripped her shoulder tightly, throwing your head back and moaning when suddenly, yujin inserts two fingers inside of you and starts moving them in and out.

it was a reasonable pace but the feeling of both her mouth and fingers on your pussy was too good that she had your legs shaking already.

“mmhm.. fuck…! more, mommy.. more, please…”

you wrapped your legs around yujin's neck and pulled her face impossibly closer to your cunt. she moans at the flavor of your juices on her tongue, feeling like she could probably eat you out all day if she wanted. you were her favorite taste, and there was nothing better than yujin getting a well-deserved meal after dealing with the annoying fucks in her company. (save for rei, bless her heart.)

yujin was grateful for you, and through this, she gets to express just how much.

“ah— yujin…!”

has she ever told you how much she loved it when you said her name? sure, 'mommy' hits all the right places and that is the name you both agreed to when this all first started, but you saying her name was rare. and whenever you did, yujin feels warm inside. it was in your voice, the way you said it, how yujin knew that even something as simple as saying her name came directly from your heart.

as yujin looked up, head still in between your legs, she realized just how good it felt to be with you. besides the sex, you were good company and you knew yujin in a way some of her closest friends don’t.

ahn yujin has come to the conclusion that she was so sickeningly in love with you.

well, this realization gave yujin adrenaline somehow and she starts sucking on your clit, flicking the bud and moaning at the way you dug your nails on her nape.

“mommyy…! shit shitshitshit… i’m close, i’m coming…!”

you grabbed the edge of the desk with one hand as you fell apart on yujin's tongue. you’d think she’d be done. that’s how it usually was. come once and hard, and scene. but something was in the air today, apparently.

as you come undone, yujin finally lets go of your hand and uses both of hers to hold your hips down while she continues sucking on your sensitive clit. and holy fuck was she relentless. she dipped her tongue inside of your hole, making you writhe and scratch her back.

fuck, this felt good. even though it was more than you handle considering that you just came, you found yourself rolling your hips towards yujin’s face, wanting even more of what she wants to give you. she was completely entranced by your taste, blinded by pleasure and the only thing in her mind being you.

yujin presses her tongue flat against your clit before nibbling on it, sending you near the edge once again. she needed to make you come again. she has to have your juices completely cover her mouth and face again. that’s how thankful she was for your company and comfort.

she loves you, and this shows how much.

this time, you held onto her head when you came, gripping and tugging at her hair. your legs shook as yujin diligently lapped up your cum, feeling your ears burn at the sound of her savoring the taste. god, you were exhausted… although you wouldn’t mind if something takes over yujin and does it all over again, all day.

“mommy… thank you, thank you…” you managed to say.

yujin finished up her work and scoops you up in her arms, having you settle on her lap. your favorite place. “i should be thanking you, baby. you really did make my day better.” yujin said, planting a kiss on your forehead.

looking at her smiling softly at you, something pushes you to say a few words. “i love you.” …out loud, apparently. it was supposed to be a thought!

the complete surprise on yujin’s face scares you, but merely seconds later, she cradles you closer. giggling and… is she blushing? who knew the ahn yujin could be so… adorable?!

“i love you too,” yujin kisses your nose, and presses her forehead against yours. “a lot.”

who knew a few words could make you feel like flying?

for the next few minutes, the two of you stayed cuddled up in her chair. occasionally, sharing kisses and lingering touches in each other’s bodies. it wasn’t until yujin was kissing down your neck when you were reminded that you were still, in fact, clothed.

you sighed, “i should probably take this off before my friend berates me for ruining it…”

however, yujin shakes her head. “no, keep it on,” there was not a single sexual intent in her eyes, nor her words. she kisses you on the cheek, and stares at you in complete adoration and, now, love. “i love this dress on you.”

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter XII : Venus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A/N: I realized shortly after posting chapter 11 that I’d made a small mistake in the timeline I’m intending this to follow. I included a line from Din saying Paz had already tried to take the Darksaber from him and failed, but where we’re at now, chapter 5 of The Book of Boba Fett hasn’t happened just yet. So I’ve gone back and deleted that small detail from the previous chapter, and why am I even telling you this, idk, but if you guy could do me a solid and pretend to forget my fuck up, I’d love you forever for it. 

Writing Star Wars is hard

Also, the indomitable @dirtysouvenir has rendered the most gorgeous artwork imaginable of Din and Sithy, and I still can’t quite believe my eyes every time I look at it. Everyone please go show Jonis all the love and praise she deserves. 

Anyways… like always, forgive me for the wait. I love you all for being so patient with me. And shout out to chapter four of Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband which served as inspiration for this. You will always be famous to me!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

CHAPTER XII : VENUS

What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

“Just like that, yes. Good girl–keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand slides to circle your wrist, leather and the thick weave of your tunic, the slight shake of your nerves caught between. “Grip it firmly, but squeeze it gently. Yes– yes, good. You’re doing so well.”

You suck in a trembling breath, too hyper aware of the feel of his chest plate brushing against your back, the cap of his left knee gently bumping the back of your own, his arms wrapped in a loose and careful cage around your frame where he’s helping you direct the blaster at the target he’d set up several meters away for practicing. He’s got one of your wrists wrapped in the leather of his fist, the other cupping the underside of your elbow to keep your shaking arms steady. 

“I don’t know why I’ve never been very good at this,” you whisper over the sound of the burning desert winds lashing you in the brow. “It’s just never come very easy.”

“That’s alright. That’s why we’re practicing again.” The hand cupping your elbow moves slowly to your waist, all his handling of you these past few days has been so intentional, cautious and patient and aware of himself and you and your reactions. Your heart beats, thumps and thumps hard enough to make you a little dizzy, a little sick. “Keep your right arm firm, but fluid. Try not to lock your elbow, let the recoil move through you steadily.”

He’d covered your hair and face in soft white linen wraps to keep you from being scorched by the sun and sand, and his voice is so deep, head pitched low so that the modulator is vibrating right at the level of your ear, the sounds of him sluicing through the linen to curl around your ear. You shiver again, squeezing your fist too tight around the butt of the blaster. You’d asked him if he’d help you practice just before you’d made planet fall a few hours ago, and now here the two of you are. A few clicks outside of Mos Eisley, he’d found a cluster of sandstacks to land the Crest amidst for a couple hours of target practice—near an area he’d told you is called Beggar’s Canyon. 

You’re not sure if it’s just an excuse to have him touch you, but here you are now, in the circle of his arms, shivering with nerves and heat and want. The sun burns, but the places where he grips you burn worse, and your heart rings in your skull. 

“Focus your gaze between the eyeline, eventually, it’ll come naturally, your aim, but for now, use the field the blaster sets. Squeeze gentle–” He grips your now healed elbow firmly, anchoring your arm, the hand holding your wrist moves to your waist, securing you in his hold so that when you pull the trigger, the zing of the blaster bolt leaving its chamber moves through your limb, into your chest cavity, electrifying your heart, and his hold is steadying all the way through. He’s there to keep you up, keep you strong, and so it’s almost thoughtless when you do it, a gut instinct or some muscle inside your brain desperate to flex and stretch or come awake because faster than you can blink or think, you take hold of that bolt of plasma with your mind, freezing it midway between where the two of you stand and the target he’d set. 

You feel his hands flex around you, but he keeps still and silent, watching, waiting for what you’ll do next. And your heart beats faster and faster, the bright of the sun gleaming and nauseating, refracting off the sand, the plasma, your eyes. The bolt screeches and writhes and defies the laws of nature by your hand, and it does not feel good, but it does feel right. 

The first time you’ve really wielded the Force since the night you escaped. 

There’s something painful and uncomfortable and familiar about it coming back to you. Your breath goes fast within your chest, the taste of the desert on your tongue and the grit of sand sneaking beneath your clothes, sweaty line of anxiety down your spine, and his steady, calm breaths up against your back every other moment, this power inside of you that’s always been the cause of everything bad and only some things good. It vibrates in everything, moves through all living things, the Force, within you, within him. 

“Let it go, cyare. It’s okay if you miss.” You shut your eyes and let it fall away and now it’s not the Force or you or anything else, it’s only him keeping you up against the rest of everything. 

The two of you, like grief and the mountain. 

-

“How did you meet this woman again?” You ask for about the third time, seemingly unable to keep your mouth shut and your nerves to yourself. 

“She’s been keeping up maintenance on the Crest for a while now. And she helped out with the kid, watched him for me a couple times—I trust her.”

“Peli,” you repeat the name contemplatively, taking in the sight of him as he checks the pre-landing codes, flipping switches and punching toggles a little too roughly. He’s agitated, covered and swathed in it. You know he’s worried about you, the way you’ll feel being around someone else, scared you’re still feeling fragile or tired or weak. And you’re accepting it for now because you are. You are tired and you do feel fragile and you do need taking care of. If only for the time being, if only for a little bit longer. A sort of end feels very near, and you’re still working out what that such end is going to be. 

“Peli,” he sighs, hitting the last button and finally swiveling in his chair to face you, and you eye him suspiciously, you know that sigh and head tilt. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Not tired?”

“No.”

“Your shoulder?”

Hurts. “Fine.”

“Cyar’ika.”

“Din.” Another sigh. Another shake of his head. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath that stupid lug of metal he wears on his fat head. But you hope that he’s smiling too, and you give him a soft, small one of your own, twisting your fingers together tightly in your lap. You want to reach out for him, to go to him and sit with him and kiss him again like the other day. But you don’t feel ready again. Again, fragile, tired, a weakness of heart within you that you can’t understand the source of, or you can, but you don’t want to accept it, you want to be able to move on, to get over it, to be like you once were. But that you also know he’ll let you feel for as long as you need to.

“I promise I feel okay, and that I’ll tell you if I don’t.” The target practice had left you tired and awake, and there is something moving inside of you—a recognition of sorts you can’t pinpoint exactly, but which you know is going to show or tell you something about yourself soon, the Force, the things you’d done or the things you’d do. And there’s patience too, a waiting, a readiness to receive whatever this would be without pressure or urgency. You feel entirely strung tight, a knot about to be set loose, entirely at ease, as well. Something strange about the anxiety you carry within yourself, like it doesn’t really matter much anymore and is only waiting for the right moment to be expelled. 

He gives a soft grunt and turns back to face the control panel. The rolling golden sands of Tatooine like an ocean before you, and then there in the distance, the littered smattering of sand blighted little buildings that make up the spaceport of Mos Eisley. He directs the Razor Crest towards Hangar three-five, the ship jostling with the lowering of the landing gear. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You ask nervously, following him down the ladder once he’s eased the ship into the landing bay, fretting over this ordeal of having to meet someone else from his life, a friend, which wasn’t even something you were aware he knew how to have. You hear the heavy thud of his boots against the durasteel, and then his hands are circling your waist and pulling you down the rest of the way, paying no mind to your indignant squawking. 

He’d been strange with his touch, as well. As if he couldn’t help himself some moments, overcome by habit and familiarity, and then afraid and cautious in others. And you can’t understand how you feel about this either. Grateful, a sort of soft that makes your eyes smart and your cheeks bleed with heat. He’s so aware of you, so aware of what you might want or need, but then overcome, as well, needing you, wanting you. And you feel so afraid you won’t be able to give him those things—the ones he wants or needs, that you won't be able to find your way back to the way things had been between the two of you before. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, little compassion to be found for your fretting. You stick your tongue out at the back of his head, rolling your eyes and steeling yourself as he lowers the hatch, and a chirpy little voice calls, Mando!

The plank lowers, and lowers, and lowers, and finally, a mess of springy dark curls come into view. The small woman, Peli, claps her hands excitedly and spreads her arms in wide welcome of him, and something in your heart throbs. 

A friend, indeed. 

“Peli,” he greets her, heavy, swaying gate stomping down the gangplank, voice serious and not all matching her enthusiasm. You roll your eyes at him again as the reverberations of his steps tickle your feet through the soles of your boots. 

“Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando,” she says to the chittering droids whirring around her. You follow him slowly, slinking directly behind him so that the breadth of his shoulders conceals you for a second longer before, “And who do we have here? Another unlikely companion?” 

He pivots, letting you step into full view and brave shyness, a hand coming up to hover around your waist, urging you forward, but not actually touching you. The sound of your name rings in tune to the thump of your heart through the modulator. Careful, so careful, and it makes you hurt at your own self. Wanting to touch you one moment, unable to stop himself from ripping you into his arms; another, afraid, feeling like he can’t even put a gently motioning hand on your body, and how will you ever fix this? How are you going to ever be able to get the two of you back to where you were? 

You take a hurt little step away from him, swallowing the heat in your throat several times before you can force a smile onto your face. 

His body shifts and sways towards your retreating one. 

But the small woman steps towards you, pit droids spinning and skittering frantically around her, and she claps a work hewn hand on your shoulder. “Let Peli take a good look at you.” Her gaze is cheerful, full of a youthfulness that belies her age and an even more cheerful, gap toothed smile. “Pretty girlfriend, Mando.” She waggles her bushy brows up at him. “Brought me another set of bright eyes, didn’t’cha?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peli.” Your throat feels humiliatingly tight when she takes your hand in her smaller one, giving it a swift shake, no gentleness about the way she handles you, and there’s something comforting about the forsaking of the kid gloves. Your fracture isn’t obvious for the whole world to see, there’s still normalcy to be found for you. 

She looks up at Din as you avoid his burning gaze, laughing scowl on her sunny face. “Who woulda thought you had it in, ya, huh?” She thumps a fist on his chest plate, shaking her head and moves to take a look at the Crest. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Chasing down some elusive bounty? Carbon scoring’s worse than last time.'' She chatters a million miles a minute, pulling out some sort of electric scanner, assessing the old gunship. 

“We had a long trip,” he sighs, hands fisted on his hips as he watches her impatiently, turning his gaze back to your face every few moments. You want to bare your teeth at him in a snarl and tell him to stop fucking worrying. You want him to take you into his arms or hold your hand. 

“Long trip, sure. That’s what he always says,” she tells you over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Turns out it’s usually a gun fight or something just as idiotic.”

You snicker, enjoying the easy way she handles your Mandalorian’s surliness, grateful for the cheerful buffer she provides between your own internal angst and his overzealous worrying. “It was a long trip this time, I swear. We’re coming from the Core,” he grumbles, and the two of you follow her while she inspects the damage on the ship, and in a moment of bravery or desperation for normalcy or closeness or just him, you reach up to grip two of his thick fingers in your fist. His hand immediately adjusts and curves to wrap around yours, intertwining your fingers and taking you securely in his grip. You feel him turn to look down at you questioningly, but you refuse to look back. This is normal, this is how it should be, this is what feels right even if you need the barrier of his gloves to feel like you can breathe. 

“The Core! Long way’s.” Hmm, she muses as she goes. “Got a fuel leak.” Again. He huffs. “Taking a vacation now?” She turns back with another smarmy smirk. 

“Something like that.”

“Nice little honeymoon?” She teases. “I could use one of those myself.” She scans something else, and the pit droids chatter and chirp around her, almost full her height, she’s so small. 

“Peli–” he grumbles. Your grumpy, shy boy; you wonder if he ever blushes under that thing, squeezing his hand in yours as tight as you can. 

“Yeah, yeah. No droids, I know. When are you gonna get over that nonsense, huh Mando? It’s about time, you know!” She bends to inspect something closer near the landing gear, covered in carbon scoring here too, examines her scanner again, then clips it back to her utility belt. “Alright, here’s the deal–” But he cuts her off, pivoting while pulling his blaster in one fluid motion to shoot at a poor little droid that's gotten too close. “Hey! Hey! What’ve I said before? You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” She shouts. 

“Din–” you scold, gripping the thick of his arm to pull the weapon down. 

“What’ve I told you?” He barks. 

“No droids. No droids. Blah, blah. You have got to get over that! I’m tryn’a make a deal with you here, ya womp rat.”

He jerks aggressively towards another little droid that wanders too close, sending it skittering away in terror, and you pinch his arm beneath the thick duraweave, frowning up at him, be nice, when he looks down at you, giving him a jut of your eyebrow and thrusting your chin at Peli. He groans, cursing low and grumpy in Mando’a. “Fine. What’s the deal?”

“If you let them work on the Crest–” She jerks her chin at the little pit droids quivering behind the crates strewn about the hangar in abject terror of the mean Mandalorian. 

“No,” he cuts her off, stubbornness in every line of his frame. 

“Din!” You scold again, bumping your hip into his. 

“Come on, Mando! I’ll charge you half price–”

“Deal,” he cuts her off again immediately, the cheapskate. 

“Ha!” She hoots and claps loudly. “Droids! Get to work on this lovely man’s ship. Lemme see the cash.” She holds out a grubby palm, wiggling her fingers. “He’s pretty easy, you ever notice that?” She says to you conspiratorially. 

“Constantly,” you can’t help the laugh in your voice. Your first laugh in what seems like years. 

“Loose knickered is what they used to call it back in my day.” And you have to turn your face into his arm to muffle your cackling, listening to him start up another string of curses beneath the helmet.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before, ever,” he mutters sullenly. 

“Well, you’re young.”

“Not that young,” you provide helpfully, big cheesy smile that feels slightly unnatural and rusted spreading across your face. 

“Whoopee, Mando! I like this one! You really do know how to pick ‘em.” She claps him roughly on the shoulder, her little paw slapping loudly against his pauldron. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere to be for the next couple of days, you see. I’m dating that Jawa again—the one I’d told you about,” she announces, proud as anything, big smile across her leathery face.

“A Jawa?” You repeat, making sure you heard right. 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, bright eyes. They’re quite furry… very furry, but…” She clicks her teeth together, “You know…” Grins. 

You look up at Din, squeezing his arm in your grip. “Guess I gotta try it.” You’re pretty sure you hear him grumble something to the effect of over my dead body, before he’s agreeing to Peli’s deal with a clap and a shake, and the promise of two hundred and fifty Imperial credits and absolutely no harm done to her droids while she’s gone and they work on the Crest. 

“Treadwell, get in there!” She shouts, and the little pit droid chirps fretfully, trembling behind an R5 unit. “You can’t say no, you’re a droid. Oh, he’s not going to shoot you. Stop being a coward! What is this, a democracy all of a sudden?” Losing the fight, the droid wheels forward to get to work. “Yeah, thought so.” She turns back to you and Din. “You two can stay here, look after the shop while I’m gone? It’ll only be a few days.”

“We have some resupplying to do, but we’ll stay until you’re back,” he promises.

“And you’re not going to shoot my droids?”

“And I’m not going to shoot your droids,” he agrees, but later, you catch the too rough nudge he gives one of the little droids with his boot when he thinks no one’s watching. This man and his droid complex, you roll your eyes. 

“How’s the N-1 keeping up?” He asks as she’s packing up to go. 

“Just how you left her. That honey’s faster than a fathier. You should take her out while you’re here, give that baby a spin. Oh! And I added that turbonic venturi power assimilator I’d mentioned before. Remember? S’how I reconnected with my Jawa,” she nudges you with a wink. “You’re gonna be the fastest ship on the Outer Rim.” 

“You got a new ship?” You ask curiously.

“Just a side project we took up while I had some spare time.” But the way he says it is a little strange, making you pause to look up and try to read the blank face of his helmet. Ah, and he smooths that same hovering hand from before along the line of your spine, an attempt to soothe or quell your curiosity without actually giving you the gift of his touch.  

Peli leaves a few hours later, and she really does have a Jawa lover. The little critter comes to collect her right before the suns set, off to catch the sandcrawler before it journeys off into the desert, leaving you alone with only Din and the little pit droids for company. 

And suddenly, that shyness from earlier is back for some reason. The distraction of travel and the buzz of hyperspace lost to the calm silence of the quiet spaceport as the suns set over the horizon and night settles in, cool winds coming in on the sand gusts from deep in the desert. After hours of work, Din posing as the menacing overlord barking orders and complaints, intruding on their work when it isn’t up to his ridiculous standards, the droids finish up for the night, and Din engages the hangar security system, and then the ship’s, locking the two of you in safely for the night. 

“Dinner?” He asks as he moves slowly around the hull, pulling the cloak from his shoulders, a river of sand sluicing in a rain sheet onto the steel floor. The sound of it has a shiver moving through you as you lower yourself to the floor, crossing your legs beneath you at the edge of your makeshift bed. You desperately want to crawl between the covers without a shower and find the peace of evasion through sleep, secure in the knowledge that he won’t follow you into bed. He’d refused since you’d reunited, even though you’d invited him several times to share the much more comfortable pile of blankets than what you know his pilot’s chair or bunk provide. He’d not taken you up on the offer yet, and right now, fluttering heart and hot eyes and sweating nape, you’re glad for it. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you—or you do. You’re overwhelmed with want and fear, of him, of his touch, of having lost what the two of you had before. And as you watch him start to pull his armor from his body, first one pauldron, then a vambrace, then a thigh guard, no sense of congruity to the pattern with which he divests himself of his Creed, it’s suddenly like he’s standing right in front of you, and yet you miss him anyway. Miss him in a way that makes you sick and devastated. 

You must make some sort of sound, a funny look on your face or a change in your breathing because he turns suddenly, a too worried, “What’s wrong?” on his tongue. 

“Nothing.” You look up at him from your spot on the ground, head falling back on your neck, and you can feel the wet of your eyes, trying to force yourself not to blink so that they won’t fall—the tears. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He comes to a slow crouch before you, long legs folding down, down. “What is it? Tell me.” Half missing his armor as he poses now, it’s like he’s half him, half yours, half only-man, half Mandalorian. A little bit like what you feel yourself; half, half, half. 

Pulling one glove from his hand, he lifts it, palm spread towards you, showing you his intention before he carefully cups the side of your face; thumb at your pulse, pointer and middle fingers giving your temple a soft pressure, pinky poised at the bridge of your nose. Your lashes brush against his index every time you blink, and his skin is smooth and rough at the same time, and warm—sun-hearted man. 

You press your face harder into his palm, letting him support the weight of your head, nuzzling against the rough of his calluses, blaster blister scratchy against your carotid, and heat pulses all through you from the crown of your head, sliding down the length of your, still yet, too long hair, the back of your neck, your chest, pooling to settle deep in the pit of your belly. 

And yet there’s something missing or different or off, like you feel empty but too full of trepidation to conjure up that old desire you’d always had, that need for him to fill, fill, fill you. Like the heat is there, but it’s remembered, not necessarily present. It all makes you want to cry and scream and go to sleep. 

The truth, and plainly: you’re terrified of anything that might hurt, can’t fathom the idea of it. 

Your heart beats in your throat, you taste it on your tongue, and it mixes with the sad when you say: “Do you remember when we were on Kashyyyk—when we sparred?”

“I remember,” he says, voice deep and low—through the modulator. You hate his helmet. You wish you could get beneath. You wish you were brave enough. The feeling of it coming on sudden and unexpected, thought, bitter and foul and not something you’d necessarily felt before, certainly not so viciously. It’s just that you hate that all this has happened—you want to feel the press of his lips at the crown of your head and the wash of his breath like heat moving through your hair—that you are not in the same place you once were, that you’re too afraid to move forward. 

“When we switched weapons—”

He hums: “Yes.”

“It was so green there.” You turn your face further into him so that you’re speaking into his palm now, words pooling there in the cup of it like a well of truths and fears. 

“It was.” The pointer and index stroke your temple, press once, twice, thrice—harder on the latter. It feels good, it feels real and reminding. He lets a heavy silence pass for a moment, he’s thinking of something, contemplating a push. “Do you remember—” He passes a swallow you can hear the thickness of, “Do you remember how I had you in the dirt—like a fucking animal? How you let me do whatever I wanted, however I wanted.” He gives the hardest press he’s given yet, at your temple, you think you feel the press against your brain, and you open your mouth to let the edge of your teeth dig hard into the meat of his palm. He growls a rough sound, a hungry sound, a sound like one he’d have made when he had you in the dirt like a fucking animal. 

You drag your teeth along the hill of his palm, closing your mouth at the end. You don’t give him the wet of your tongue, you don’t feel ready to taste his skin like that just yet—an assimilation of violence.

“Yes,” you finally say, realizing that he understands what you were thinking without having to say it, or knowing how to, that you’re full of memories of past desires and how badly you want them back and how out of reach that all feels, but also, that suddenly now, in a single blink, the heat in your belly isn’t remembered, but present, alive, awake. That you’re cunt clenches once, twice, thrice around nothing—harder, hungrier on the latter. That you’re wet for him. “I remember.”

“Good. I remember every single thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your face in his palm so that you can look up at him now, feeling something like brave. “Every word, every breath, I remember all of it. Alright?”

“Alright,” you say quietly. 

“And if you need me to help you remember too, then I will.”

“Alright.” And then: “What if I can’t, though?... What if we can’t ever have that again? What if I can’t remember? What if I can never give you that again?” A tear slides over the bridge of your nose, and now it’s not only truths and fears cupped in the palm of his hand but the saltwater of grief too.  

“Then we’ll find something new. A new way, a different way. We’ll do it however you want now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, cyar’ika.” It’s very much a promise, a new Creed being established here. 

“Okay.”

He nods, “Okay.”

-

The water is warm verging on hot verging on scalding. It feels incredible slithering over your tired and sore muscles, the ligatures in your arms still trembling from the blaster practice earlier today, from your overwhelm of emotions. 

You hate that you’re not good at it, that the only weapon that seems to become you is a lightsaber. 

The suds of his earthy smelling soap slide through your hair, slipping down your spine, over your ass and along your legs to pool around your feet and disappear down the drain. You shiver once, as though letting something fall away as you slide your hand down, over the swell of your belly, to cup the palmful of your cunt, wedging your hand between your thighs. You pet slowly at the wet curls there, realizing some of it is also the sticky slick of your desire. You were right, you’re wet for him and your clit pulses, slightly swollen and wanting. Your body is awake and hungry for him for the first time in what feels like eons. 

You explore slowly, your cunt slightly trembling at the feeling of being prodded and touched for the first time in you can’t remember how long. Moaning softly, you pull your fingers from between your legs, hands sliding up now to cup the weights of your breasts in each palm and squeeze tightly. Oh, you want him, you want him, you’re afraid. Your head falls back on a thump against the fresher wall, loud enough that you hear his lurking voice through the door, you okay in there? And instead of being annoyed at his overbearing caution, his hovering, you shiver again, something coming back to you now. 

Your desire. 

You shut the water off, grabbing one of the soft linens he’d slung over the warm pipe for you to wrap yourself in. He knocks a knuckle against the wobbly little door, “Cyar’ika?” 

Looking at yourself in front of the steamy mirror, too long, naiad hair, bright, strange eyes, you want him, you want him, you want to feel alive, awake, anything. You can’t deny your shortcomings, fears, whatever they might be called, but there is yet still a soft place inside of you that they’d not snuffed out, that wants Din still. 

You turn to slide the fresher door open just as he’s readying to knock again. 

He’d showered before you, after he’d fed you your soup and your disgusting fake bread he’d promised he’d find a real substitution for soon enough, and you’d needed a moment alone to sit in your grime and silence, digest your feelings. He’s clad now in one of his soft, dark undershirts, his flight pants and the helmet, opposite your towel and water dewed skin, steaming from the hot fresher. 

You watch a swallow pass through his throat, words caught, slow and heavy. He clears it once, twice, tilts his head down to take in the state of you, before he says, “You alright?”

You nod, wide eyed awake. He’s standing right in front of you and you miss him and you want to shock him wide eyed awake too. “The water was too hot. I got dizzy,” you lie, swaying towards him a little, letting your lashes flutter dramatically. 

Not all the way, but enough, just a little, as much as you can bear, that’s what you want from him right now. 

His hands come up to grip the sides of your arms immediately, his bare hands, soaking up the wet of your skin. He pulls you into himself, pressing you carefully against his chest, and you shiver and shake against him, teeth rattling with a sound entirely lacking temperance. Your blood feels like it’s boiling, there’s desire alive and writhing in your tummy, and you squeeze your thighs together tightly, shifting from one foot to another while you drip a puddle onto the cold floor. 

“Come here, sit down,” he murmurs, gently moving you to your bed, easing you down onto it slowly. “You need to take it easy,” he clucks over you, gripping your elbow to let you down carefully, keeping his hands on your bare skin until the last moment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still tired, you’re still recovering. And you never listen. You have to listen to me when I’m trying to take care of you. You don’t eat enough, and I know your shoulder still hurts, little liar. Your elbow is barely better, and I saw you making strange faces when you were walking up the plank the other day. Your hip hurts doesn't it? Or your knee, something. No, don’t answer. I know you’ll just say no.” He talks and talks and talks, and you love him and you think that— 

There’s a name for this…

He’d told you he loved you and he’d not said it again, neither had you, it felt too huge a thing to talk about again just yet while there was still so much left to discuss and bridge, but what does it matter if your body sings or screams in pain when you have the love of this beskar titan? What could you care for all the rest of everything?

Yes, Din. Yes, Din. Whatever you say, Din, as he huffs and puffs and arranges you, brings another pillow and blanket from the bunk, his only one in there, not that he cares, lovely man. 

And it’s not only that you feel like you need to give him the things he wants or needs, because of course you do. You love him, you need to be able to give him things, everything, you want to be able to give him the whole galaxy. But it’s also that you want to. That to give him what he desires is to feed yourself, to live together, to be together, to give each other the things you need to stay alive. 

You let yourself fall back onto the soft blankets slowly, this nest where you’ve always felt so safe and so protected and so loved, even when neither of you knew it was love that was holding you here. And you watch him for a few anxious moments as he pulls the covers this way and that, tucking them here and there, trying to avoid looking at the bare expanse of your dew damp legs. But then, taking hold of his hand, you still his nervous movements, and he finally looks up at your face, letting go of his fretting, taking hold of the bravery in the palm of your hand. 

Shy—but brave. Brave—and wanting. 

“We’ll take care of each other, won’t we?” You want to tell him you love him again, but there’s something slightly terrifying, gloriously intimate and fragile about the words. 

“Always.”

“And we’ll keep each other alive?” Maker, I hope we keep each other alive. 

“Yes.”

You take hold of the edge of the linen covering you, revealing your naked body to him slowly, exposing your soft underbelly. You hear his breath hitch, exhale on a groan that sounds like dying. His grip on your hand goes tight to the point of bone crushing pain for one brief, brief moment before he remembers himself and gentles again. You shiver at the pain, belly swooping and quivering with fear and nausea and lust. 

You wish you could see his eyes, his face, his want. 

“You—” he stutters, swallows, “You don’t have to, my love.” My love. He doesn’t need to say it out loud again now with teeth and tongue, he says it in all the things he does. 

“You have to know that I want you so much. That I want you more than anything, Din.”

“I do know,” he says immediately. “I’ve never doubted that.” 

“I want to show you.”

“You don’t have to. I know—” His other hand comes up to grip yours with both of his, caging your limb within the strength of his fists—to keep himself from touching you anywhere else, you think. But you can feel the intensity of his gaze along your skin, over your bare breasts, quivering with your hitching breaths, water droplets translating the frantic beat of your heart in their trembling on the surface of your skin. The line of your belly, the slope downward to the soft place between your thighs. 

He’d seen the scarring on your hand, it was inevitable as much as you’d wished you could hide the deformity they’d left. As much as you wish you could’ve kept it from him, held an illusion for the rest of your lives together to spare him from the reminder of the things that’d been done, happened, chosen. But now… now he is to be subjected to the whole truth of it. Scars like cobwebs, strangely shimmering in silver lights beneath the surface of your skin—they’d been clever and ingenious in their torture—covering the whole circumference of your left hand up to your elbow. But also, from the lowest point of your last rib, over your right hip, traversing lower down the contours of your skin to wrap around the uppermost swell of your thigh. 

They’d left their mark like they’d intended, and it wasn't something you could ever hide from him, the reality of what’d been done, what you’d chosen. It was obvious in everything, etched into your skin, a chasm in the still present distance between the two of you. 

You feel like a bruise; tender, vulnerable, incongruously desperate to press on it harder and feel that dull throb, dark and ugly and on display. 

His hands go tight around yours again for a moment, before he’s snatching them back to grip his bent knee, white knuckled, silent anger on display when his eyes reach the scarring. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smoothing a hand over your hip down to your thigh to grip yourself there, digging your fingertips lightly into the plush softness. Your skin vibrates. “It doesn't hurt now.”

“What did they do?” His voice is like gravel, restrained fire-full fury. 

“They wanted to see what it’d take to leave a mark. They figured it out.” The helmet turns away sharply, a short, brutal curse spit from his mouth. The tongue of his mother, beautiful despite his violence. 

“It’s okay, Din.” You take hold of your thigh, pulling it up and apart, spreading yourself for him. Brave, wanting heart, be brave. He turns back immediately. “I want you to see how much I want you,” you whisper. “How much I still need you.” 

You let your fingertips flutter lightly over your swollen, needy sex, and you can hear the obscene, sucking sound of your wet lips spreading apart when you part your legs wide enough for your sex to bloom. Cunt hungry and weeping for him. 

Fuck, he spits, leaning closer, and his hand snaps forward to grip your ankle all the way around, pulling your foot up onto the uncompromising muscle of his thigh—your only point of contact. 

“Show me, cyar’ika. Show me how much that pretty cunt missed me,” he growls. 

You start slow, wide eyes fixed on the dark tee of his vizor, fingertips swirling around your clit slowly, it pulses and throbs and beats to the rhythm you can feel his own heart beating at within his own chest. But you pet it slowly, teasing both of you, and then feel lower down to the clenching mouth of your cunt—fuck, he spits again—slicking your fingers in your sticky wet. You start to rock your hips against the flat of your hand, the sound of your cunt, loud in the quiet hull, nothing to interrupt but the too desperate sound of your mutual panting. His fingers around your ankle are so tight they’ll leave a sore spot, and you can't think of the later hurt now, afraid it'll scare you out of this, all you can focus on is the beat of your cunt, the way it cries for him. 

You swirl your fingertips at your opening, again, again, “Put them inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” And it’s a demand. 

You start with one, slow and tentative, a little, shocked gasp as you probe shallowly within the tight, little hole. Then further, wiggling inside until you’re impaling yourself with your own small finger, the first thing inside of you in so long, and suddenly, you wish it was him. Your eyes fill with tears at the thought, spilling over at the wish that he could’ve been the first thing inside of you after all this time, but the reality that you’re just not ready for it yet. The salted proof of your inevitable shortcomings slide back along your cheeks to drip into your ears. 

“Another,” he demands. “Oh, it sounds so pretty, little one. Give it another.” You pull your single finger out, sucking, wet-cunt sound that he groans in tune with, to press another one in, mewling at the pinch and stretch of it, the slick slide. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well, he says, a mirror of his earlier words to you today during target practice. “Roll your hips, ride your hand.” You hitch another sob, “Don’t fucking cry,” he grits, pressing your heel hard into the meat of his thigh. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re going to come for me, you’re going to let me see it.” He spreads his thighs wider in his kneeling crouch, pushing his hips forward into nothing, drawing your gaze to the heavy bulge behind the plaquette of his flight pants. He’s so hard. 

You crook your fingers inside yourself, hill of your palm against the swell of your engorged clit, fingertips against the spongey ridge at the front of your cunt, rolling your hips faster, chasing the orgasm you need to give him. Your foot feels numb in his grip, your cunt, on fire, so tight it hurts. Your belly hitches and heaves, open mouth gasping and you cry his name, moaning and writhing wantonly, your stomach slick and glistening again with sweat now instead of water. One of your palms reaches up to take hold of your breast, nipple caught between your fingers, squeezing tight, tight, tight. And suddenly he’s surging forward, letting go of your ankle to lean over you and rip his pants open, freeing his furious erection. The tip is red-purple and swollen fat, drooling a thick string of sloppy, white precum, and he wraps one massive fist around the angry thing. Din, Din, Din. He beats at his cock furiously, the sound of your name, the slick thwack, thwack, thwack of it sends you spilling into your orgasm, belly pulling tight, cunt twisting even tighter. 

“Fuck, fucking come—fucking come,” he snarls as he twists his fist cruelly around the head and the thick white viscosity of his semen starts to spill from the fat head, bubbling up and over his fist and between his fingers, splattering heavy and hot onto your spasming cunt, coating your fingers so that you’re pushing the thick of his come into yourself, slicking you further. “Yes, yes, yes, like that. Let me fucking see it…Look at what you do to me.” And there's so much furious want in his voice, and he’s so big, long and thick, and you know it’s going to hurt when he puts it inside of you for the first time again—you remember how it hurt before, how you loved it—and you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to handle any sort of pain ever again, not even the sort you’d been so hungry for before. 

But your womb pulls tight, pulses and throbs, and suddenly your two skinny fingers arent enough, you want the thick heft of his cock fucking hard and fast and deep inside of you, punching at the deepest spot within you.

His orgasm ends on a fierce groan, panting, thick chest heaving, his head hangs low between his shoulders. You pull your shaking fingers from your clenching hole, and he gives a few last lazy strokes, squeezing the last drops of come from the slick tip to splatter against your pussy. “I fucking missed this—your cunt covered in me.” His dripping cock bobs so close, and you have the sudden insane thought of him just shoving it in, holding you down prone and fucking all of his spend into your sloppy cunt, forcing you to take it and be his again. “I can’t wait to eat it. I can’t wait to fill it with my come again and eat it out of you.” There’s a part of you that might want it, that might wish for it. 

“Maker, Din…” you moan, rubbing the thick semen into your overstimulated clit, your mound, up the curve of your belly, slicking yourself in him.

 If you can’t have his touch, this is enough, and you bring your sticky, soaking fingers up to your mouth, sucking the come from them. He groans, not fair, sitting back on his knees, spent cock hanging obscenely from his open pants, wet and glistening. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off, leaving his sweaty chest bare and gleaming. Your eyes flutter shut, cupping your cunt in the palm of your hand, covering the slick curve of it, and you arch your back, spreading your thighs further, putting yourself on display for him. 

“Gorgeous, cyar’ika,” he says between pants. “So pretty, my love.” He reaches down to squeeze his half hard cock once more. “I can be patient for you, I promise. You’re so worth it.”

-

He lays beside you in the dark, stretched out long and entirely clothed, but here with you, forced and convinced to share your bed with a line of pillows as a protective moat between the two of you at his own insistence.

You’re on your side, hands folded beneath your smushed cheek, wide eyes searching fruitlessly for the shape of him in the pitch dark. You want to say something else. You want to tell him you love him again, to hear the words fall from your tongue. 

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” You hum a barely breathed laugh. And then, “I know you’re scared or regretful or worried that we’ll not get back to where we were,” he reads you.

“Yes.”

There’s a name for this…

He sighs long, goes quiet for longer, and then finally: “What’s happened’s happened, which is an expression of faith in the mechanics of the galaxy.”

“Fate?” You muse, a little unbelieving.

Dark red—

“Call it what you want. We met, we separated…you were—gone. We waited. Now we’re here again. It’s meaningful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You believe in this—fate?” I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you.

“Call it what you want, but yes.”

—String. 

There’s something about this that you need to consider, chew on. The fact that you’d felt, all your life, cursed to know how a thing would happen, be, end, always. Something like fate, perhaps, the whisper of it making a home for itself within the shell of your ear, and now the truth that he too believes in this thing you’ve always lived with. Destiny, what have you—you believe in the same things, you believe in each other. 

“Will you hold my hand?”

He turns over, reaching to twine his fingers through yours; large, rough palm against small, soft palm. You want to tell him you love him again, you want to hear the words for him, but they feel trapped, tender, timid. 

You’d always thought your destiny fixed, poised, on the tip of your tongue. A thing was what it was birthed unto the galaxy in perpetuity, and no amount of desire could absolve you of its sunken teeth. But this—this desire is like the creation of myth, that dark red thread that goes by the name of fate being pulled taught, humming in accord with a frequency heard only by the two of you. 

Now: “Will you kiss me?” A beat of silence, his fingers around yours going tight, tight. 

“Come here,” his voice blends with the darkness, and tugging you into himself, protective border between your bodies and his hand around your jaw, he slips a kiss onto your tongue. His mouth holds the hot recollection of being alive; the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the taste, your fingers weaving through his hair, your names sounding together, a pair because they belong on the same breath. 

You pull back, and it’s only a small brevity, but it’s enough, and that confusion from earlier, that shiver of letting something go or taking it back into yourself, settles. 

You’re afraid or regretful or both, yes, sure. You also find yourself to be, suddenly, forgiving, full of empathy. You won’t be able to have him unless you take possession of yourself first, and on the tail end of a comet breaking across the sky: I love him, but I must also love myself. He deserves someone who loves themself, but more than that, I deserve it too. To be able to give him the things he wants and needs: I deserve to be in love with myself. 

You let the Tartarian memory become nothing.

 Love manifests itself primarily in forgiveness.

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Great Pumpkin

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, drunk sex, halloween party, porn with feelings, use of the speech quirk "yer"

word count: 7,878

a/n: meant to finish this one before halloween. whoops !! at least november is the spook before christmas !! or halloween 2, electric boogaloo !!

some notes about this one: i wanna apologize for the needless plot. i know it's unnecessary, but i got a little carried away. if anything feels awkward, out of place, or weird? that's my bad. sorry. i was havin' too much fun writing the less smutty stuff. some other notes - think of this as an au, i guess. where erik is hiding out at xavier's for...reasons? idfk. sitcom logic. everyone's living together !! but there's tension !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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All Hallows Eve.

Prior to the X-Family’s spooktacular bash, Hank whipped up a little something special. Using his Einstein brain - or wizard sorcery. Peter couldn’t be too sure - the beastly scientist conjured a powerful inebriant. He heard Peter joke one too many times about his inability to get drunk. Since the speedster’s body filtered through substances at break-neck speed. Leaving not a second’s worth of intoxication time.

No exaggeration there. Peter once tried chugging his mom’s entire stash of liquor, along with a bottle of Purple Toad wine. Some really fruity stuff. Such a mass of booze only left a burn in his throat, along with an onslaught of nausea. All of which lasted 0.2 seconds.

Hank wanted to do Peter a favor for all his hard work lately. And now, he could finally participate in what he missed out on. After all these years. As long as he didn’t use the substance for any nefarious purposes. Per Hank’s request. Whatever that meant. Not like Peter planned on playing pranks at this year’s party. C’mon…really? He’s a teacher, for Geddy’s sake! He's gotta set a good example.

Spoiler alert: he had planned on it. Keyword being had.

Until the inebriation actually kicked in. For the first time in his unconventional life, a warm buzz pooled through Peter’s bloodstream. One of the major side effects? Debuffs to superspeed. Which proved an otherworldly experience. If not a little uncomfortable. Still worth it, for a one-night-only lesson in drunkenness.

Peering lazily into his red solo cup, Peter blinked. His eyes followed swirls of neon cyan. Luminous in its irradiated glow. He couldn’t comprehend the science behind Hank’s glowstick booze. But he knew it filtered through his body at a much slower rate than other substances. The drink felt syrupy on his tongue, and tasted like - coincidentally enough - candy corn. Its effects proved weaker than Peter expected. 

Given his cells operated so incomprehensibly fast, Peter didn’t find this too surprising. So, what? He’d never get frat party wasted. Oh well. Peter came to accept that fact about himself forever ago. Still, fluorescent booze made him mellow enough to slow down a lot. Peter could totally vibe with mellow. No complaints there. Mellow’s copacetic. He definitely owed Beastie for his magic potion of slow-mo. Peter oscillated between a nice, tipsy balance. Muddled enough to let loose and enjoy himself. But conscious enough to avoid making any ultra stupid decisions.

Or, he thought so, anyway.

Hobbling around the mansion, Peter pushed through crowds of partygoers. All dressed in their spookiest, sexiest, or most low-effort costumes. Twinkles of orange and violet lights kept the mansion somewhat lit. With spoOoOoOoOoky decorations scattered amongst the school. A perfectly campy atmosphere for Halloween. Oh. And those decorations? All Peter’s doing. Of course, it’s no surprise the professor deemed him prime event decorator. He took mere microseconds to spice up an entire plot of land. Throwing forth all his effort, Peter dressed the building in balls-to-the-walls, haunting decor. 

Fake spiders with prickly fur lay strewn about in random places. Ghosts made of old, torn sheets swayed in the breeze. Skeletons hanged by the dozens. Streamers of orange and faded black dangled from the ceilings and doorways. String lights lined the mansion’s trim. Outside on the grounds, Peter even garnished the grass with inflatable Snoopys.

During his decorative escapades, he cracked jokes to the kids. Peter asked, “You guys think the Great Pumpkin’ll show up?”

They squealed with laughter, stomping their little feet. Candy buckets in hand, the kids yelled, “Mr. Maximoff, the Great Pumpkin’s not real!!”

In the midst of rearranging another Snoopy, he gasped, “WHAT?! He is too real!! Better not let him hear you say that!” 

A haunted trail veered off into the woods surrounding the mansion. It led to an old barn, stocked full of hay and populated with jack-o-lanterns. All carved by the mutant kiddos themselves. Another set of glittering lights decorated the barn, creating an autumn glow. A pair of giant speakers - Peter paid for them, mind you - roared Halloween tunes over the entire property.

Cool stuff. Talk about a hell of a set-up. Peter couldn’t help but be proud of himself. Such a slew of decorations might put even Scrooge Mcduck himself in holiday spirits.

Wait. No. What? Scrooge Mcduck? Wasn’t he more of a Christmas thing? Fuck. Peter might be more mixed up than he thought. He gazed absentmindedly into his red solo cup again. Blinking slowly, he wondered…what the hell did Hank put in this disco concoction anyway?

Whatever. By the end of the night, Peter hoped the kids got a kick out of his hard work. Not that he broke a sweat putting it all together or anything. But he wanted to live up to his awesome teacher reputation. The highest of honors, really. No way he’d let anyone else trump him on that front.

Then again… Peter nibbled his lip, grinning to himself like a huge doofus. He took another long swig of his drink. Candy corn sweetness tickled his taste buds.

Okay. So, he might’ve had someone else in mind while he decorated. Somebody he desperately wanted to impress. A lot. Or, just a little bit, actually. Like, on a microscopic level. Maybe.

That somebody? You. Except, not really. No way.

Pffffttt…he definitely didn’t do it for you. C’mon! Why would he? Think of the kids! Those precious, lil demon spawn! They practically worshiped him. They’re what it’s all about, right? Riiiight.

Peter’s holiday decorations tempted any passing trick-or-treaters to drop by. And the professor prepared quite the spectacle of treats for them too. King sized, candy bars and all. Hank and Raven - showing off their mutant glory without an ounce of shame - passed the candy out to children. 

Human children.

Magneto - still unaware he had a son sprinting around the mansion on any given day - dubbed the gesture hopeless naivety. Or something along those lines. Inviting humans to join in on a night of mutant fun? Totally bogus. Which…yeah. From Erik’s perspective? Fair enough.

“You think they’ll learn to accept you through meaningless, holiday gestures?” Erik griped, arms crossed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Raven merely rolled her eyes. She made a comment about the inherent innocence of children. Erik didn’t appear to care. He groused some more after that. But Peter didn’t hear much of it. Nor did he imagine he even wanted to. At least, not tonight. Maybe once Peter sobered up a bit, he wouldn’t mind lending an ear. If his father ever felt the need to open up about his woeful turmoil.

But Erik disappeared upstairs. Out of sight. Still in hiding, all alone. Poor dude.

Unlike his misguided papa, Peter didn’t mind human inclusion so much. One: because he considered himself a pretty open minded guy. Easy to say, since he didn’t harbor anything remotely comparable to his father’s trauma. 

And two, on a less serious note: Human girls. They gravitated towards Peter like moths to a flame.

Throughout the mansion, the theme to Killer Klowns from Outer Space rang. Conversations buzzed around Peter like radio static. Candy corn booze made it impossible for him to comprehend them. Some partygoers played wallflower. Idling by snack tables, feasting on as much junk food as their stomachs could handle. It took every ounce of restraint Peter had, not to raid those tables himself.

Peter’s Terminator costume wasn’t much of a costume at all, really. It left most of the ladies confused. He didn’t recognize half the costumed cuties who pulled him in for dances. But they sure as hell recognized him. When another pretty girl pressed herself against him - tits bouncing, and bare thighs rubbing his pants - she’d ask the dreaded words, “What’re youuuu supposed to be?” Twirling her hair and giving Peter fluttery bedroom eyes.

Peter gave the same responses every time. Covered head to toe in black clothing, wearing a pair of sunglasses; he raised a prop shotgun from his back, responding with his best Arnold impression.

“I’ll be back.” Right on the money, Peter thought in his buzzed haze. Totally accurate. One to one.

If the girlies didn’t get the reference? So be it. Peter ultimately felt like a massive dork. But he got some sexually charged groovin’ out of it. A bit of groping here or there. He didn’t mind taking the L, if it meant grabbing some ass in the process.

But as the party clamored on, Peter knew he wanted only one thing.

To find you. Just to hang out, catch up, and have an innocent time. No other reason. Seriously. Honest. Why else would he wanna find you? To mess around a little bit? Nahhh. Why would he wanna fool around with you? And risk a long term friendship? He couldn't have that.

Not when you carried enough patience to put up with his day-to-day bullshit. Always listening to his senseless ramblings. Even if he spoke too fast for you to keep up.

During his lunch breaks on school days, Peter usually spent time with you. The two of you talked in the kitchen, or chillaxed in the lounge. Those chats? The highlight of his day. As corny as it seemed. He just couldn’t resist you and your kindly wiles. The wiles of his colleague. His…very pretty colleague. His…very pretty… platonic colleague.

Someone please end his misery now.

Peter wandered aimlessly. He danced his heart out and chatted up some more cute gals. Soon enough, he found you. Leaned over a set of snack tables, you picked through sugary sweet treats. Peter noticed the way you swayed in place. A little heavy footed like him, eh? He snickered to himself, sneaking up behind you. 

Lacking any filter or restraint, Peter blatantly gawked at your ass. A fitted, white gown draped your body. Flowing in an angelic fashion, it harmonized with your every curve. Even tipsy, Peter recognized your costume the microsecond he saw it. Princess Leia. Star Wars. Episode IV. Very sexy. Beyond sexy, even.

A flirtatious whistle caught you by surprise. You whirled around with a doe eyed look on your face. A kind of gaze that made his brain turn to mush. As if the alcohol hadn’t already. You licked the frosting off a funky colored cupcake, as Peter’s gaze flitted down your body. His eyes followed the smooth creases of your gown. A tasteful peek of your thigh kept his attention locked. Until the perky tease of your nipples captivated him instead.

Awesome. Amazing. 11/10. Best night ever.

“Ohmygosh!” You laughed, reaching out to touch Peter’s chest for whatever reason. Not that he minded one bit, “Peeeter, I’m sooooo sorry! I’m a little tipsy right now! It’s really unprofessional!”

Scarlet bloomed in his cheeks, burning hot enough to make him dizzier. Peter ogled you like the last Twinkie on the planet. A dollop of frosting caught the plush of your lip. You swirled it away with your tongue. Drawing in a hitched breath, Peter blinked.

Focus. He needed to focus on anything else. Not the parts of you he wanted to be on, inside of, and all other configurations of carnality.

“And?? You wanna hear somethin’ cray-crayyy?” Peter asked, lamely slurring his words. He raised his red solo cup, waving it in a clumsy motion, “So am I, princess! I’m totally hammered. And I looooove it!” He threw his head back, belting a loud, “WHOOOOO!!” Feeling more like a free spirit than he had in years.

Moving closer, you couldn't control your laughs. You shushed Peter, keeping your hand on his chest. Patting you on the shoulder, Peter chuckled. He feigned offense, but his sizeable hand lingered on you. A thumb grazed the soft cloth of your dress. For a beat, he wondered what you looked like under it.

“Whyyyy?? Why should I keep it down, huh?? It’s a party, baby! Everybody’s yellin’!” He shrugged. Peter smirked, throwing his head back again. He shouted another, “WHOOOOO!!”

A crowd of partygoers kept their eyes on the two of you. Their gazes lingering for a little longer than necessary. You snickered again. So tipsy, you could hardly get a word in through your giggling.

“You really are drunk, oh my gosh. You’re crazy, Peter! I can’t even-” Dropping your head into his chest, you erupted in woozy huffs of laughter. Great. He loved the closeness, “Peter, sorry, I’m sooooooo-”

“Mind-blowingly hot?” Peter lazily blinked, “Because yer-...you-ohhhh, man. You look really hot. Like-” He made a meaningless gesture with his hands, shaking his head, “Like, WOW! Have you seen yourself? Someone tell ‘Ro to make it rain. ‘Cuz yer on fiiiiiiire!” He joked. Cheesy and lame, but too smashed to even care.

You scoffed, cheeks set ablaze, “Oh, please! Give me a break! Mister Terminator casanova over here. Are you trying to butter me up like you did all those other ladies?” Playfully, you pushed off his chest. Peter mourned the loss of your touch, “I saw you! Getting all handsy out there!” You said, your tone lighthearted. Still accusatory.

Somehow, you recognized his costume. That caught him a little off guard. Peter’s heart did some kinda funny, fluttery thing. Jumpy, warm, and beating beating beating in his chest. But…nah. Couldn’t be because of you. Could it? Maybe the booze did it. Yeah. Irradiated Beast hooch must’ve give him palpitations. He’d tell Hank about this side effect later.

Peter arched a silver brow, “Oh, yeah? Mmmhm. Sounds like yer just jealous. ‘Cuz the ladies find my inner Schwarzenegger, action hero totally irresistible.” Bullshit. Most of them thought he dressed as Neo from the Matrix. Wrong action movie. Peter kept talking out his ass, “I bet it drives you up a wall to see ‘em all over me like that.”

“Oh, you think? Suuure. Like Leia would ever have the hots for some dollar store Terminator.” You teased affectionately, “Likely story, Quickie.” Fuck. Quickie. He loved when you called him that. You deceived your own protests, pressing your body against Peter's.

Your nails dug into his shirt as you palmed his chest. So…you wanted to play this little game now, huh? Alright. Fine. Peter bickered back and forth with you for an indiscernible amount of time. Standing in a corner by the snack tables, away from the noisy, party bustle. Unbalanced and wobbly, Peter leaned in. Keeping you both pressed together in a way too intimate for wandering eyes.

He almost spilled his neon concoction on your dress. Exchanging giggles again, Peter lingered even closer. His lips on the cusp of reaching out for yours. But in a clouded moment of self awareness, he stopped himself short.

“D-Do you…uhhhh-” He swallowed dryly. His nerves buzzed all through his body, “Y’wanna…get outta here? Maybe go do somethin’ reallllyyyy dumb? Like-uh…maybe make a mistake you’ll regret in the morning?” Peter suggested, wiggling his brows.

You gave him another lidded look, igniting a blistering fire deep in his bones. With your body still pressed to his - bodacious and oh-so-tempting - you brought a hand up. A beat of silence passed, as you moved his sunglasses up over his hair. Silver strands fell loose. You gazed into his puppy dog eyes directly. 

“And what makes you think I’d regret it?” You asked, your voice smooth and somewhat slurred. Oh...were you being real with him right now?

Your fingers traced flirty circles over his chest. Scorching flames in Peter’s heart burned warmth through his veins. Heat gathered in his groin. Peter’s eyes widened to a planetary degree. Clutching his solo cup a little too tight, he brushed your ass with his other hand. By accident. He only intended to pull you closer. You held his intoxicated gaze. 

Peter let his lips ghost yours again, without any direct connection.

“See, that’s-uhhh…hah…that’s just the booze talkin’.” He whispered with a soft chuckle. Steadily, he pulled himself from you, “Wanna know what it’s tellin’ me?” Peter gave you another lazy grin, nibbling his lip, “Youuuuuu and meee…” He sluggishly said. He dragged you along with him. Stumbling backwards, “...should-uh…gooooo have some…adult fun, yeah? A little romp in the hay?”

Did you know he meant that verbatim? Probably not.

Moments later, Peter clumsily navigated through the party. He made a beeline for the entrance hall, holding your hand the entire way. Floundering with every step, he traversed the crowded halls. Through each doorway the two of you passed, fluttering streamers dangled above. Soft tissue brushed across your face, tickling your nose.

The streamers proved more unkind to Peter. Staggering through the last doorway, he became tangled in them. Peter tried to shake the tissue off, twisting around and flailing his arms. He cursed aloud, making a spectacle of his embarrassing predicament. Caught in a web of orange and black, he looked like a Halloween decoration all his own. The streamers wrapped around his body and arms, even covering his head.

“MOTHER FU-” He cursed, jerking the tissue down with a rough tug. Peter tripped forward in the process. But he caught himself just in time. Compensating for his humiliation, he laughed, “I’m okay! I’m okay! Allllll good, guys. I’m good. Totally good! Meant to do that, actually.” Peter cleared his throat. He averted his glassy gaze from any partygoers nearby.

One of them being Hank, who stood alongside Raven. The two shared a few drinks and quietly chatted. The big, beast of man wore torn, red flannel. His blue fur peeked out from the undone buttons, appearing frayed. His costume? A smurf werewolf. A smurfwolf. Or something. Peter couldn't tell. And Raven? She hadn’t dressed up at all. Labeling Halloween: The one time of year she chose not to disguise herself. Why? Because, in her words, "It's funnier that way."

Raven stifled a laugh at Peter’s expense. But Hank didn’t hold himself back. He roared a rumbling chuckle, “I see the serum’s treating you well, Peter!” Hank teased, cradling a drink in his fluffy paw, “Why, it certainly looks that way. You seem to be having-uhm…fun? Yes! Fun. I'm delighted to see it!"

Peter idled in the middle of the doorway, swaying a little on his feet. Forgoing the streamers, he left them tangled around his limbs. Fuck it. His costume could use some added flair.

“I’m havin’ a-uhhhhh…a total blast, Beast my mannn!” Peter slurred. He passed Hank on his way out the mansion’s entrance. And roughly patted the scientist on the shoulder, “Thanks again, buddy ol’ pal! I owe you one!”

You giggled, beaming an elated smile as Peter dragged you out the door. Once you flew ungracefully by, Hank and Raven both did double takes. They gave you cautious looks, as if to say - uh, do you think this is a good idea? A little too sloshed, you failed to register their concern. Following Peter out the door with an inelegant skip in your step, you waved the pair goodbye.

“Well, now…that’s certainly going to be awkward for him tomorrow morning.” Hank joked, looking down at his drink. He swirled the beverage, the cup appearing itty bitty in his clutch. Showing off a crowd of snaggle teeth, he yawned.

Raven shook her head, scoffing, “Oh, it’ll bite him in the ass later. That’s for sure.” She added, sipping her own drink, “You proud of yourself?” Raven quipped, arching an orange brow. Hank held up a single claw, playful in his self defense.

“Not my fault! I gave him that serum because I thought he could have fun with it! And he is! Didn’t you see him? What he does under its influence is completely out of my jurisdiction!” Hank shrugged, stating in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ll have you know, I did try to warn him!”

In hindsight, Peter should have heeded Hank’s warnings. What he did under the effects of disco liquor proved supremely stupid. The nanosecond your feet hit the grass outside, he lost any restraint he had left. Peter kissed you full on. Ushering your sweet lips into an alcohol induced session of heavy smooching. Tongues interweaving, lackadaisical and reckless, the two of you shared careless kisses. Under decorative spider webs and amongst inflatable Snoopys.

But no Great Pumpkin in sight.

You slung your arms over Peter’s broad shoulders, letting him devour you. His sizable hands slid over your hips. He pulled you closer as he stumbled like a complete klutz. Thick fingers curled into the cloth of your dress. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Peter didn’t dare consider any consequences. With no filter to hold him back, one of his palms felt for your breast. He copped a handful, before you stopped him in his tracks. You tore your lips from his candy corn kisses.

“Heyyyy! Hey, hey, hey! Not here! What are you even doing??” You laughed, giving his nose an affectionate nuzzle, “Someone might see us, doofus!”

Peter hummed, pulling you against him in a more firm grip. He stole frantic kisses, heated and mouthy. Squeezing your hips, his nails scratched across your gown to your ass. Kneading your plush cheeks with little shame.

“So what? Let ‘em enjoy the show!” Peter snickered, diving in for yet another kiss, “I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to touch you like this. Now that I finally got you…”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t seem to take him seriously. In an attempt to pull yourself away again, you stumbled backwards in the grass. Even with his reaction time outta wack, Peter managed to catch you before you fell. In one awkward motion, he scooped you up bridal style and carried you into the woods. The streamers coiled around his limbs came loose, at long last. Flitting away behind him in the wind.

He held you in his strong arms, following the mansion’s haunted, Halloween trail. The hayride already closed down for the night, leaving the trail - and the barn - open for some private necking.

Finding his way to the barn, Peter wobbled, slowing his stride. In his arms, you took a moment to admire the decorations he put so much effort into. Orange, twinkling lights lined the barn’s entryway. Vibrant in late night darkness. Magical, and kinda romantic. Through the trees in the distance, the garnished mansion appeared visible. A Halloweeny spectacle, engulfed in simulated fog.

Party music echoed from afar, faint, but clear enough he could hear. Peter perked up, overhearing a classic, Hallow’s eve tune.

“‘CUZ THIS IS THRILLLAHHHH!” Peter shouted off key, moving backwards into the barn. His steps were careless, “THRILLAH NIIIIGHT!” He sang, falling into a bed of cool hay. Strands of straw bounced in the air. You came down with him, and he kept singing, “AND NO ONE’S GONNA SAVE YA-” He cut himself off, leaning in to feast on your lips. Peter cradled you in his arms, humming Thriller amidst awkward kisses.

You laid bridal style over his legs, dipping your head back. Inviting Peter to devour your neck like a thirsty vampire. Without all the grace of Bela Lugosi. More like a hammered Nosferatu. If either of you had second thoughts, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. He left that baggage behind. In the morning, sober Peter could unpack it all. Right now, he wanted his hands on your body, under your dress.

“Ohhhh~! Oh my-” You moaned, tacking on an erotic squeal of his name. Giggling in a kittenish tone. The sound made him wanna bite you harder, “W-Wait-...Peter, maybe we shouldn’t-oooooh~! Maybe we shouldn’t be-”

His sloppy kisses cut your hesitance short. Peter nodded his head in a lazy, loose motion. Bringing more dizziness upon himself.

“Mmmm? What? No-...” He hummed, “Baby, we should. We definitely should. Don’t even worry-” Peter paused for an abrupt beat. Holding you tight, he adjusted in the hay. Uncomfortable, Peter knitted his brows, “Wait-...this hay’s so-...why’s this hay so fuckin’ itchy, man?”

At the chime of your silly snorts and giggles, Peter’s words became lost on him. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t think clearly enough to recall them. Instead, he drew his attention back to you. Peter’s lips found your neck once more. Your floral scent replenished his lungs, a lifesource he desperately needed. Hot kisses peppered down your chest. In his clouded stupor, Peter buried his face between your breasts.

He loved the flustered squeal you made in response. Enough that he couldn’t help but do it again.

“Ohhhhh…hot damn, baby.” Peter groaned into your chest, motorboating your knockers. A graceless gesture. Lifting his face, his hair appeared a disheveled mess, “Yer so awesome, y’know that? Liiiike…yer really great. I know I’m pretty drunk right now, but-uhhhh…” He slurred, sneaking thick fingers under your dress, “I do mean it. No joke. I think yer really cool. Cool and-uhm…and-uh…hahaaa….I really like you.”

You erupted in more buzzed giggles, parting your lips to protest his drunken confession. But Peter silenced you with shushes, “Shhhhhhhh! Shhhhh, don’t-” He hiccuped. Your laughs were so contagious, he couldn’t help but giggle as well, “Shhhh! Don’t tell anybody!”

“I won’t! I won’t!” You chuckled, gently holding his cheeks. You pulled him down for more smooches, lips meeting in a slower embrace, “I like you too, Peter…but shhhhhh…keep it a secret.”

His fingertips danced along your inner thigh, clumsy and unsteady. Peter’s hand disappeared between your legs and under your gown. Hot digits grazed your panties. A flimsy, soaked piece of fabric awaited those digits. Breathing a low huff, Peter whispered, “Fuck.” into your neck. The steamy word tickled your skin, giving you chills.

Blindly, he wormed his fingers into your panties. Peter dipped his digits into your honeyed heat. Thick, syrupy cushions sealed around him. He focused on parting your tight walls. A little too uncoordinated to pleasure you in a more ideal way. Rough, repetitive motions curled at an awkward angle. Digging so deep, Peter could hear the squishy call of your insides - leaking wet, all for him. 

Your body tensed, knees spreading on instinct. Cool air caressed your thighs. Peering down into your lidded, baby doll eyes, he held your gaze. As your cunt pulsed around his digits, soft and constricting, he knitted his brows. Humming another groan, Peter dove down for your neck. He sucked mouthy, wet hickies into your skin. Leaving gifts for sober you to discover later tomorrow.

Speaking of sober.

Sober Peter never had trouble keeping up with anybody. Moreover, everyone else found it impossible to keep up with him. But in his buzzed daze, he could barely follow your lead. One blink, and his fingers buried themselves to the knuckle in your cunt. The next blink, you took initiative. Throwing him for a loop, you changed positions. You pushed Peter further back into the hay, straddling his lap.

As you fumbled for his jeans and pulled them open, more giggling ensued. Heated tension hung over the two of you like those glimmering, barn lights. You felt around, guiding your hand to a hot thickness in his pants. It rested in a curly bed of silver hairs, limp and untouched. Your giggles ceased, and your expression shifted.

“Peter, you’re not even-” You started, squeezing the softness of him in your hand. You gave him a few loose tugs, your voice teeming with hesitance, “Are you…are you sure you want-”

“Yeaaaahhhhh. Yeah. Yanno, it’s just-...I never thought I’d be the one gettin’ whiskey dick. Haha.” Peter joked, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. Buzzed and uncoordinated, Peter harbored little patience for foreplay. His fingers sought for your weeping heat again. He pushed them through your soft, supple pussy lips, “Sucks a lot. I was really hopin’ I’d get to-uhmmm…ahahaaaa…” He bit his tongue, laughing, “Really wanted to show you a good fuckin’ time. But this shit feels like rocket science right now, sorry…”

Eventually, through sheer determination, you worked up enough sorcery to liven him up. Waking his cock from its soft slumber. Peter fumbled, clumsily guiding his dick to your flowery mound. It took some serious concentration on his part to do so. His tongue poked between his lips, brows furrowed tight. He leered between your sweltering bodies. Humid air clung to his skin, contrasting the sharp coolness of an October’s night. The smell of booze permeated in your sweat, mingling with the scent of your perfume. 

You sank over his cock, taking the now raging length of him fluidly. He bottomed out in a single intake of breath. Peter moaned, rolling his hips upward. Your fluttery walls stretched, cozy and soft around his dick. He dropped his head back into the hay, howling a goofy shout. It echoed through the trees, catching autumn wind.

"OHHHHHHH~! THAT'S IT! WHOOOOOO~!" He yelled. Peter chewed his lip hard, meeting your bounces with sluggish thrusts, "That's it. That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' about. Hoh-fuck..."

His rhythm was a little off beat, but he blamed the booze. Clenching the fabric of your dress in his fingers, he bunched it up tight. As if to hold you by horse’s reins, arduously guiding you on your ride.

Far in the back of his mind. Like, so far, Peter may as well have been on another planet. He had his first conflicting thought. Screwing you for the first time like this - hammered and careless - struck him as kind of…wrong. Really, he should have waited it out, and done this sober. But Peter couldn’t deny himself either.

"Peter, ohhh~! Feels really good~!" Your squeals of erotic, but sluggish pleasure sounded too much like music. Now cemented as one of his all time favorite songs, "Sooo good, I-aaahhh~!"

The bubbly feeling brought upon by Beast liquor made his body burn with ecstasy. His cock throbbed inside you, loving the tight embrace of your walls. Pleasure burned to an incomprehensible level of intensity. 

Even your dress felt unreasonably soft on his skin. Peter moaned again, drilling your cunt in unsteady surges of carnal bliss. He breathed thickly, the air between the two of you now sweltering. Choking on air, he kept his slow pace. His cock dug tunnels through your walls at a slacking speed. Completely unnatural for him. But overflowing with intoxication, he thrived in it.

“N-Not gonna-” Peter laughed. His voice a rough, breathless mess of incoherency. Sticky heat flushed his cheeks, and his tone wavered, “‘M not-...god…not gonna last. Fuck. Oh my fucking-” He swallowed another groan, suffocating on it. Peter’s hips rolled, their movement leisurely, “Sooooo tight. Feels like yer tryna-...like yer gonna-...aaaahaaaaafuck.”

Playing with your pearly clit, you squealed. The swollen nub burned, tingling as you circled it. With difficulty focusing, Peter brought his head up. He watched your little fingers while you pleasured yourself. His lidded, dark eyes stared, so spacy, so clouded. A growl caught in the back of his throat. You toyed with yourself a little longer, spreading glossy slickness under your fingers.

Your whines stayed at a respectable volume. Quiet enough, no one outside the barn could hear. But Peter refused to keep his enthusiastic voice down. He dug his big hands into your hips, fingernails clenching your dress. Scratching rough lines into the white cloth.

"Fuck, you gonna-...you gonna keep touchin' yourself like that? Gonna cum for me?" His words slurred. Peter used his immeasurable strength to hold you in place. Stuffing his cock through your pussy’s luscious, spongy grip. He fucked you in lethargic, but needy ruts, "P-Please-ohmygod-...please cum for me, baby. Lemme hear it, please?"

"Noooo~! Pe-ahhhh~! Peter, I cannnn't! Someone might-...Peter I can't-" You whimpered. Swirling your clit, you pushed yourself even further towards climax. A delightful, oncoming wave of scorching pleasure surged in your body. Sizzling through your veins, "OH, FUCK, QUICKIE~!" A sharp squeal bounced from your throat, as Peter surprised you.

"FUCK!! Yeah? You sound so fuckin'-Ah-...Yer so fuckin' good for me. Don't hold back, baby. Wanna-ohhhh~! Wanna hear you scream. Don't you fuckin' hold back-" Moving suddenly fast, he slammed his cock in deeper. His cherry red dick shattered your poor cervix. Burying himself to the brim, he slapped your mound hard with sharp pounds of his pelvis, "Mmmmmmfucking-...gonna fuckin'....aaaahhaha..."

Peter’s body tensed. His heels scuffed along the ground, crushing hay under his boots as he braced his feet. More loose strands tickled his skin where his shirt bunched up. Making him itchy again. But his intoxicated rutting never dwindled. He whined again, his voice cracking. Ruthless, quickening grinds of his cock knocked you hard. Sending you straight into a dimension of overwhelming, euphoric pleasure.

As tremors hummed across your sweaty skin, bliss ruptured deep in your core. At that moment, Peter forgot to consider any further risks. He burst with a hot, white pop of gluey heat. Rocking your sore cunt in sloppy, shallow thrusts. Peter soaked his dick in your sweet, inebriated love. The scent of booze and sex simmered in his nostrils. Lifting his hips, he met you in one or two more reckless, offbeat bounces.

Barely conscious of reality, Peter panted. Lying with you in a clumsy heap, he shared lazy kisses and steamy breaths with you. Had he been anymore sober, Peter would’ve rushed you off to the nearest bathroom. In dire need of a minute’s recovery, he laid there. Splayed out, Peter’s limbs rested loose and flimsy. The seconds passed, and he sobered up quickly. Post-orgasmic haziness began to clear.

You snuggled up next to him, grazing his cheek with your nose. The scent of alcohol lingered on your breath. Remind Peter that, unlike him, you were probably still a little drunk.

“You okay?” You asked out of the blue, tickling his neck with a giggle, “What are you thinking about? You’re not second guessing yourself already, are you?” Your fingers toyed with the zipper of his jacket. Which he gave you to wear in the cold, shortly after fucking you senseless.

In the distance, the faint roar of the party continued on. Rustling from inside the mansion and seemingly endless. Peter stayed silent, before snickering. He turned his head to the side, returning your nuzzles with a kiss. His lips met your hair. The smell of your conditioner made his heart skip a beat for some reason.

“Nothin’. It’s not-” He shrugged, turning his head again. Peter stared up at the glittering string lights hanging in the barn. His coffee bean eyes jumped from twinkle to twinkle, “It’s not super important. Kinda weird to be thinkin’ about it after-uh…” His voice trailed off again. Peter cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush, “Seriously, no big deal.”

You rolled onto your back, watching the lights sway in a cool breeze, “You sure?” You laughed, humming an, “Uh ohhh!” Before you continued, “Did somebody sober up and realize he made a dumb mistake? Hehe…” You teased, though he could hear the sliver of hesitance in your tone. A beat of silence passed, and you hugged his jacket closer.

“Regret wh-...huh? Nahhh, baby. You kiddin’? That was awesome.” He snickered awkwardly. Peter brought his hands to his face. He sighed, “I-uh…I was just thinkin’ about how…I could be spendin’ this holiday with my dad. I mean, shit…maybe he wouldn’t wanna spend it with me, but-”

He assumed you might take offense to this. Wouldn't it come off as a little inconsiderate? To think about his dad right now. After such an intimate moment between the two of you. But being the understanding person you were, you rolled over to face him. Drawing gentle lines into his shirt, you snuggled up close to him again.

“Is that where you wanna be right now? With your dad?” You asked, your tone gentle.

Peter swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A pounding headache swarmed him from nowhere. The repercussions of Beast hooch. Hopefully, such ailments would pass just as quickly as he sobered up.

“I-...yeah? I guess? But…it’s not like I can just-...like, I can’t go see him. Since he still doesn’t know about me, y’know? It’d be weird if I just showed up on Halloween. Like, hey, man, wanna hang out? Goddammit.” Peter shook his head, sitting up fully in the hay. Straw-like strands stuck to his clothes. He brushed them away.

“Well…hey, I got an idea, yeah?” You tried to follow his lead, sitting upward. Swaying a little as you did, Peter could tell you were still on the edge of tipsy. You giggled, “Let’s go inside. And I’ll…try to get everyone together for a movie. Maybe a horror? And you can run off! Go find him. Use the movie as an excuse. Offer him the opportunity to come down and watch. Sound good?”

It didn’t. Erik wasn’t the type to indulge in such activities. Still, Peter smiled fondly at your consideration. Nodding, he stood to his feet in a flash. You blinked, finding yourself lying bridal style in his arms again. With a hand to his chin, you tilted his head down. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thanks…” He hummed, his half lidded eyes gazing down into yours, “I really did have…such an awesome time with you. I haven't done that kinda thing with anybody in a while. But lemme-uh…” Peter bashfully chuckled, “Lemme get you to a bathroom so you can clean up, 'kay? ”

After the surprisingly deep chat he shared with you, Peter rushed you off to a mansion bathroom. Leaning against a wall, he waited outside the door. As the party settled and people filed out into the streets, he became more nervous. The two of you spent the rest of the night together, by the other’s side. Treating each other as normally as you would any other day. Soon, you sobered up enough to gather the X-family for a late night movie.

Peter took your advice, despite expecting the worst. Zipping upstairs and all through the mansion, he searched for his estranged father. To Peter’s surprise, Erik caught him off guard with a yes. But before he made his way downstairs, Peter took a moment to chat with him. He asked Erik how he was doing, and what he’d been up to. Ever since he chose the mansion for a temporary hideout (an arrangement most everybody felt uncomfortable with).

Erik - for good reason - wasn’t the most emotionally open. He kept their conversation short, before dismissing Peter. They both caught up with everyone else in the living room. The X-family sat together with snacks and drinks, joined for a movie. Erik chose a spot next to Peter on one of the sofas. Something he hadn’t anticipated at all. Since he didn’t get much out of the guy too often, he felt he could settle for his company, at least.

Sitting at Peter's other side, you eventually passed out. You rested your head on his lap, and he raked his fingers through your hair. By the time the movie ended, everyone veered off for bed. At last, calling Hallow’s eve quits. But Erik remained. He spoke to Peter a little while longer. Chatting about nothing at all, and everything at once.

Come next morning, Peter stood tiredly in the mansion kitchen. It was an unreasonably cold Monday in November. Freezing weather seemed to hit Westchester out of nowhere. He held a mug full of coffee, milky white and loaded with enough sugar to send anyone else to the hospital. Scratching his head over a mess of silver hair, Peter yawned. Even though he had more important things to worry about, he couldn't stop thinking about last night. For several reasons.

The impromptu bonding time he spent with his father lingered in his mind. Even if said father didn’t know what their interactions meant to Peter. It happened all thanks to your tipsy encouragement. Peter knew, even sober, you would’ve pushed him to do the same. Because you cared about him that much. Always inspiring him to step out of his comfort zone.

Aside from the estranged dad stuff, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more…steamy moments the two of you shared. Intimate interactions he still hadn’t sat down and discussed with you. Peter didn't have a clue what that little fling meant to you. Or if it meant anything at all. Distracting himself, he focused his attention elsewhere. Like the Halloween decorations littered about the mansion. He planned to take them down today after classes.

You came padding downstairs and into the kitchen not even five minutes later.

“Gooooood morning!” You cheerily said, blinking your sleepy eyes. Groaning, you brought a hand to your head. Your fingers touched your temple, “You know what’s surprising? I actually don’t have that bad of a hangover!”

Peter’s heart did flips, and he felt his stomach tangle in knots. Humming into his coffee, he threw you a casual nod of his head. Play it cool, “Mmmm. That’s good, though, right?”

You headed straight for the cabinets, standing on your toes to reach the highest one. You flailed around for the near-empty tub of coffee grounds. He left it up there without any consideration for short, mansion inhabitants like you. Totally absent-minded. Peter almost felt thankful he did. As you reached, the itty bitty, sleep shorts you wore rose by a touch. The cheeks of your ass caught his eye. Your bottom appeared etched in faint scratches, painted with red splotches. Damn…what the hell did he do to you last night?

Sipping his coffee with a groggy look on his face, Peter grinned.

Man alive, he wanted to screw you sober. Doing it drunk really wasn’t enough. Quickly, he dismissed that thought. Filing it away in his scatterbrained memory for later.

“Did you talk to Erik last night?” You asked, pulling Peter from his not-so-safe-for-work thoughts. You stretched a little further up, really reaching for that tin tub of Folgers.

Peter blinked, “Sorry, what?”

“Erik. I asked if you talked to him last night? Because I kinda remember you two having a chat. But then again, I was pretty out of it!” Your shorts hugged the shape of your cunt as you stood on your toes. An ache stirred in his groin, but he shook it off. Holy shit. What were you trying to accomplish here?

Peter’s heart skipped twenty beats. Sifting through the disorganized cabinets in his brain, he retrieved his previous thought. Ah, yeah. Screwing you sober? Not a want, but a need at this point. Focus, Quickie. He needed to focus. Especially if you planned on talking about something as important as his father.

“Uhhhh…” He ran a hand through his messy locks, taking a moment to process his racing thoughts, “Yeah, we talked. Not a lot, though. I meant to say thanks for that, by the way. Since I didn’t get to last night…” Peter brought his mug to his lips, averting his gaze, “Really. Thanks a lot. Don’t think we woulda had that time together, if you hadn’t pushed me to ask him 'n stuff.”

Still struggling to reach for that tin, you sighed. Your heels hit the floor, as you lowered your arm and turned to meet Peter’s eyes. Your sweet voice brought him an unexpected feeling of comfort. 

“Hey, anytime, Peter! I know it’s been really hard for you. Seeing him around here lately. And you don’t need me to tell you the obvious. But-” You timidly gazed down at your toes, shrugging. Peter knew exactly what you were about to say, before you parted your lips to say it.

Something along the lines of: Maybe it’s finally time you told him the truth. Or whatever.

It was too early for this kinda deep, introspective talk. Peter didn’t give you the chance to continue. Setting aside his mug on a countertop, he appeared by your side in a fwip. The breeze from his abrupt movement tickled your cheeks. He reached into the cabinet for the tub of coffee grounds. Handing it off to you with a tired, hooded expression. He sluggishly grinned.

“We got class in, like, twenty minutes.” Peter interrupted, and you took the bait. Whether you knew of his intent to dissuade the previous conversation, he couldn’t tell.

“Oh! Yeah! Shit!” You slapped a hand over your forehead. Peter gazed down at you, admiring your early morning features, “I’m so screwed!” Not yet you’re not, “I totally forgot to put together a lesson plan! I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do today!” Well…you could always do him. Again.

Jeez. Dude. No. The hell’s wrong with him?? Be reasonable, guy! At least take your buddy out to dinner first. Which...yeah. Might be time to think about asking you on a real date.

“Yeahhh. I kinda forgot too. Had a bunch of other stuff on my mind, yanno?” Peter said, completely lethargic. He shrugged, “I’m so bad at my job, man.” He kept his eyes on you, as you threw together your own pot of coffee.

“Actually, that’s bullshit. And I think you know it too. You’re amazing at it. That’s why all the kids love you so much.” You replied. Smiling like you meant every word. Because you did. Man, why'd you have to be so freakin' sweet?

Early morning sunlight beamed through the windows. It bathed your hair and face in sparkling gold. Peter wanted to kick himself for swooning. He opted to change subjects.

“I gotta take these decorations down eventually.” He said, gesturing to the streamers hanging from the kitchen ceiling. For an instant, he remembered tangling himself in them last night, “I keep puttin’ it off. But it’s gotta happen sooner ‘er later.” Taking initiative, he reached up to tear some of them down. Balling them up in his hands.

“I could help you! If you need an extra hand!” You offered, innocently sipping your coffee. Peter took in the curl of your lips as you smiled. He cleared his throat, chuckling.

“Y’know you don’t have to, babe. It’ll literally only take me a second. I just gotta stop sittin’ on my ass.” Peter said. He tossed the balled streamers with a failed, Michael Jordan-style execution. They landed in a nearby trashcan, “Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to put Christmas decorations up too. Might get started on 'em as soon as these ‘re down.” He smirked, “I’m thinkin’ I get everyone some seriously ugly sweaters. Even Mags, if he's still around by then. Oh, and I'll need more Snoopys. The crotch goblins love Snoopy.” Peter paused for a beat, his dark eyes drifting down your body. A subconscious instinct, “And-uhhhh…gonna need lots of tinsel…uh…”

Peter reached for his coffee mug. What was he talking about again?

“Oh? That all sounds nice!” You tilted your head to the side, flirtatiously grinning at Peter. As if you could tell how distracted he was by your body. Heat set aflame in his cheeks, as he glanced up into your eyes. Noticing the way they seemed to twinkle, “Think you’ll decorate the barn again too?” You asked, a flirtatious tease pouring through your tone.

He choked on his coffee mid-sip.

[l-in-the-light]

Thanks for your answer 😊🙏 Another question that came to my mind when I read your post about Law liking boys: what do you think about the LawxRobin scenes where he tells her about his "D" (and that he trusts her) and the one after wano victory where they go to underground together?

You're welcome! Also a warning, this is another post replying to multiple asks at once :D

Law x Robin, huh. Sure, let's elaborate on it, but just so you know, my view on them differs greatly from how fandom tends to see their Wano interactions. I spent a lot of time analyzing it in my head (way more than any sane person would) so my initial reaction of "awww so cute he trusts Robin" kinda faded to almost nothing now haha. Just like I stated in that post, I think it was mostly about business. He wanted to know what the D. stands for so he approached the person who was the most likely to know some more information. Sadly, he didn't really gain any new knowledge. As much as I love that scene because it feels like Law is trusting Robin there, I think we shouldn't overestimate it in general. He basically offered a trade (I tell you my hidden name, you tell me something back in exchange - favour for a favour! It's his usual MO with strangers) and I doubt he would do that without any good reason for it. That scene has a different vibe from the one in which he shares about Corazon to Luffy, he's actually opening up and he doesn't expect anything back for it (you can argue he does that so Luffy understands fighting Doflamingo is personal for Law and to leave it up to him, but it's still just for that - so that Luffy understands. It's not a trade). With Robin he seems rather guarded when comparing the two scenes together.

I have my suspicions about their talk there. Law is using veeeery vague words when he claims he shares the info "because he trusts Robin". What he actually says is just this: "omae dakara hanashita" which means literally "I told you because it's you" and you can interpret it any way you like, Robin took it a sign of trust and thanked him, but it's so vague it can also mean something like "I tell this ONLY to you" and that smells of a hidden reason to me. But of course it fits Law's withdrawn personality to not say the words like "trust" straightforwardly, right? But in his scene with Luffy he is kinda openly emotional in contrast - he literally tells him Corazon was the person he loved who gave him his life and that he is deeply indebted to him. Law didn't use many words, but all those words carried emotional weight, unlike the vague phrase he used with Robin. But anyway it wouldn't make sense to say my conspiracy theory here without explaining loose links from Water 7. Also I'm like 50-50 on that and I really think fandom wouldn't want to get spoiled this way in case I'm right.

Their randezvous in the secret chamber doesn't strike me as romantic honestly (I know people love it just because Robin and Law are alone together and oh just few inches from each other, and interpret what Robin says as teasing, but I need more than that for romantic vibes, sorry :D). It basically starts with Robin accusing Law of being a hyena (at least that's how he subjectively felt about that! and she didn't deny) and he gets back at her for it when he shambled only himself to that window (he even keeps his sour face on when she's complaining it's unfair, he doesn't even want to tell her it's a payback haha). Yes, he's that petty. Don't you like it in him? I certainly do, he's so hilarious.

Anyway, the whole scene is just them sharing business together, and it's slightly hinted that Law was kinda eavesdropping on them before he actually joined in, that's why Robin's reaction might have been that strong and a bit hostile. Robin prides herself in being sensitive to people around and their intentions, picking up on the slightest hints other people don't (like she said in Water 7, it's her survival's instinct), but she couldn't sense Law so ofc that would rub her the wrong way. Anime especially did a great job at showing it, with Law appearing out of nowhere exactly when Robin is gonna go down the hidden stairs. A timing a bit too perfect, eh? I wouldn't call Law a hyena (he had perfectly rational reason to be there!), but he sure was so damn sneaky and smooth about it.

Anyway, I guess my point is: those two are very guarded people, both dislike to show a moment of weakness because they know it can result in deadly situation. And they're also both very business-oriented. If there was any scene between Robin and Law that showed them as closer to each other, it would be all the way back in Dressrosa.

Just look at the mutual respect they show each other here! Law isn't acting freaked out by Robin's powers (because why would he, right? His powers are also quite peculiar. But I bet that earned him extra sympathy points here. How many times Robin heard it as a child that she's a monster just because she has devil fruit's powers) but also immediately worries about Robin and Usopp's safety instead of his own. Then he sits down to talk with Robin, just so they're more or less on eye-level, that's really considerate of him, especially in such a tense/crisis situation. And at the end of their talk Robin tosses him a "good luck" (in Japanese apparently it's a different phrase, one you say before a battle), and Law says "same to you" which is the closest he ever gets to say something even slightly akin to a greeting in the whole series. Soon afterwards Robin notices the ground shaking and worries for Law, because she knows it's a sign that he's in a tough fight. This is a huge step for Robin to worry about someone she actually suspected of betraying Luffy in Punk Hazard. She was always guarded whenever Law so much as appeared on screen.

This is also a great scene between them. Robin can't understand Law's dedication to Luffy, she clearly thought Law is indeed seeing their cooperation as only business-style alliance, they share a common goal, Law shouldn't feel like he owes anything to Luffy, and so she tries to appeal to Law's sense of reason here. She does it because she's concerned about him, she reacts really strongly to see him defeated (he definitely has her respect for his strength and skills to manage crisis!), and even more concerned when she notices his severed arm. She tries to make him think straight so he takes care of himself firstmost, but it's not for herself that she's saying it: it's for Luffy. I think Robin realized in Punk Hazard already that Luffy is really attached to Law, so of couse she wouldn't want to see Luffy sad if Law loses his life here, especially not after Luffy entrusted Law to her. She must be really taken aback with Law's final answer. I wonder what she might be thinking about Luffy's importance to Law now, because I would say she kinda caught a wind or at least a hint that Law cares more deeply than it seems at first glance.

Honestly every single one of their interactions in Dressrosa is much more meaningful than anything they shared in Wano, where both of them are just honestly clamming up again. I mean, there is no battle going on anymore (they had conversations in Wano before the plan was set into motion and after the battle has ended), and fighting together tends to bring people momentarily closer. But we shouldn't forget that in daily circumenstances Robin will still keep her guard up and so will Law, because trust in an ally in a battle is different than being emotionally open to a friend. They're both smart and they're not gonna pretend that just because Luffy calls Law his friend, that for Robin alliance means friendship as well. This also stays in line with what I believe is quite realistic when two very traumatized people having issues to open up actually meet and interact. Law might know about Ohara from the newspapers desciribing Enies Lobby incident, but I doubt Robin knows about Flevance or would know to connect Law to it in any way (fics often make her almost clairvoyant how she figures him out, but nah, that's just wishful thinking). That shared traumatic experience could bring them closer, but I think for now it's mostly one-sided, because Robin has no way to know.

Damn, I had a lot to say about all of that, haha. I hope you had fun reading about their interactions from a different angle!

Personally, I think Law x Luffy dynamics work better overall.

Law x Robin:

two very traumatized people

both don't open up and keep their guards around strangers

none can cheer the other because they both have pretty gloom personalities

they like cute things

share same or similar sense of humour (though Robin's more morbid)

both very serious

both good listeners and observant

both independant

both like to tease/stress Usopp (they could form a "tormenting Usopp fanclub", they tease him out of affection ofc)

both like their peace and quiet but also to watch other people cause chaos from afar (unless someone provokes Law)

both cling to cheerful people, both remember their mentor's smile

Etc. I think they would be great best buddies in the longer run and understand each other on a special level.

Law x Luffy:

both like to cheer up people (Luffy's the ultimate person to cheer anyone up. And it brings this side of Law to the light of the day too)

both are reckless little shits liking to cause chaos and beat people up for hurting people dear to them, both don't know when to give up

friendship is a serious matter and so is trust for both of them

one constantly smiles outwardly, the other inwardly

they both know the pain of losing their most important person

one is a younger sibling, the other the older sibling personality type

they understand each other without words

take each other seriously (and almost no one takes Luffy seriously)

both are stubborn mules with competetive side

overdedicated to protect others and not care enough about their own wellbeing in the process

remind each other of people they once loved the most and which they lost

In the longer run those two will cover up for the other's weakness and could literally turn the world upside down together while laughing/smirking.

Summing it up, Robin and Law are similar souls, going side by side. Luffy and Law instead have each other's backs, complementing each other. I feel like it's really a matter of preference and I sway towards Luffy x Law, their interactions are just so fun. But I do enjoy Law x Robin, just more as a friendship. Tbh both work as friendships the best and I tend to prefer them this way. I just think the friendship Law and Luffy have going on is something extraordinary on a whole different level. They're behaving with each other in ways they don't really share with others.

I think it would. But it doesn't have to be his biological family for him to be happy, you know. Whether his partner is a woman or a man, whether his own kid or more like picked up and adopted, it would make him happy just the same. He has already his adopted family in his Hearts Pirates and Wolf. He definitely is already part of Strawhats adopted family as well. And who knows to how many other "found families" he can belong from now on! He deserves a family, he actually deserves more than one that he can call his own.

There is lately one scenario I'm especially fond of actually. If Law becomes a Strawhat officially and Bonney will be also adopted in the crew as a sort of "next generation", he would totally act like a father/older sibling towards her. Sure, he would still act annoyed, worry all the time, but deep down he would love every second of it. He could finally be a brother to a kid that reminds him of Lammy. Life denied him that before so it would mean so much for his healing progress if he could reclaim it. I think as a father he would still act a lot like an older sibling actually. The same way Cora-san is also hard to classify, was he an older sibling, a father figure, a younger sibling, a bit of each combined? Anyway, I'm sure Law would try to live up to his caretaker and return the favour to someone else.

No matter how it would happen, yes, having his family, found or biological, would make him happy. I truly believe it's that one thing in his life he truly wants. Of course, once he has one, he would be worrying and afraid of losing them. Perhaps in that case Strawhats would be his best choice; they're very strong people capable of taking care of themselves, so he could perhaps learn to believe in them, that they wouldn't kill themselves off the moment he takes his eyes off of them. He would still worry a lot and protect them, but at least maybe he wouldn't self-explode in the process. He probably still will.

Indeed it has been asked before :) but no worries, I will link you to the answer so you can read all upon that: https://www.tumblr.com/l-in-the-light/760279386040795136 Enjoy! Sadly I don't have any new thoughts regarding that, otherwise I would add some now :3 Maybe just one: it doesn't matter if it's friendship, romantic relationship, the progress would be similar in this case, or at least I believe that.

[thousandfourhundreddays]

6 Where Y/N just got bumped or something or she got bruised by someone and mason comes home to suprise her and when they start getting a little hot and heavy he notices the bruises and starts freaking out. You can do it to your extent of comfort !!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

My Girl

Prompt 6: who did this?

A/n hey anon! Thank you for for sparking my inspiration after so long, I changed it a tiny little bit to fit an idea I had and made it a kinda fwb situation but I hope I did your request justice anyway, hope you enjoy!!!❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The familiar sound of your doorbell rang through the house, and the noise had barely faded by the time you’d reached the door, your feet moving subconsciously as you raced towards it without a second thought.

“Hey” he spoke with a smirk as his eyes fell on yours, raking up and down your body, taking in every inch of you that he’d missed whilst he’d been away.

“Hi” you replied coyly, trying to fight the effects of his stare as a shiver ran down your spine. You stepped to the side, a silent invitation for him to come in, a now habitual routine that occurred every time Mason turned up at your door, and that was something that happened often these days. Masons smirk grew wider as he stepped in and moved closer to you, a hand coming to grip your waist as the other slammed the door carelessly before his lips crashed against yours, the space between you disappearing within seconds as he pushed you against the wall,

“I missed you” he muttered through the kiss, his hot breath against your skin pulling a soft sigh from your throat.

“I missed you…” you echoed breathlessly, “so much.”

He didn’t reply, the way his hands moved to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he tipped your head backwards was the only response you needed as your bodies were pressed impossibly closer. Your jaw fell slack at the sharp burn as he gently pulled on your hair, Mason stealing the opportunity to push his tongue through your lips, dominating your own breathlessly as he pushed his hips forward, desperate to feel any sort of friction. Your grip on his T-shirt loosed and moved to his wrist, reluctantly pulling his hands from your hair as you dragged him towards the stairs in frantic pursuit of your bedroom.

Limbs fumbled and teeth clashed as you stumbled blindly up the stairs, Mason lifting you off of your feet swiftly when you got about halfway, impatiently carrying you the rest of the way.

Pushing his way through the door, he wasted no time in kicking the door shut with his foot carelessly, something which you usually lecture him for if it wasn’t for the burning sensation spreading from between your thighs. You were snapped out of you thoughts as he threw you down onto the bed, the sudden coldness of the space between you bodies making you squirm, but not more than the way the way he looked down at you lay beneath him, eyes dark and filled with desire. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths as you pulled your lip between your teeth longingly, as his hands run up and down your thighs which rested wide either side of him, sending a wave of goosebumps across your whole body.

“God, I’ve been thinking about this all week” he spoke lowly, his voice horse and lips swollen before swooping down to your level, one hand pulling your leg high upon his hip and the other pinned next to your head as he held himself above you, as his body pressed you further into the mattress,

“Please, Mase” you whined, your voice cracking as you felt the bulge in the jeans against your core.

“Patience baby” he teased as he pressed his hips further into you.

All you could do was groan impatiently, back arching off of the bed desperately as you tipped your head backwards into the sheets, clawing at his back as your hands fought their way under his shirt leaving harsh lines in his skin.

All air escaped your lungs when you felt Masons lips against your neck, his small kisses slowly turning into sharp stings as his teeth dug into your skin. Lost in a state of bliss, you moved your hands to grip his hair, tugging gently in a silent plea for more.

You giggled smugly as he moved back up to kiss your lips, his fingers moving crudely to find the waistband of your leggings, hands meeting the hot skin of your thighs as he pulled the tight material down your legs. He sat back on his knees as he eyed you from above, leggings now long forgotten and thrown in a direction he couldn’t recall. Eyes wide and lips parted, as he watched you writhe beneath him, an unruly growl left his lips as he tried to contain himself before he reached to pull your sweatshirt off of your body. But just as his fingers found the hem of the material, his eyes fell upon your hip bone, the faint shadow of blue and purple sitting just under your skin, fading beneath the lace of your underwear. His eyes hardened as they flicked up to meet yours, his brows furrowing in concern as he tried to figure out what had happened.

“Who did this to you?” He questioned suddenly,

Your heart rate spiked even more than you thought possible as you looked at him in confusion, suddenly feeling insecure under his worrying gaze.

“W-what?” You asked shyly,

“You’ve got bruises y/n” his voice was harsh, but not at you, your eyes snapped down in search of whatever he was looking at as his fingers brushed over your bruised skin, fingers hooking under your underwear, pulling upwards to get a better look.

“Oh my god” you spoke with a sigh, the slight panic leaving your body once you realized what he was referring to as his eyes remained trained on your own as they lingered expectantly for an answer,

“I fell in the gym, that’s all” you explained, hand reaching up to hold his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek gently, trying to disperse the concern that was present in his eyes as he tried to read you, not yet totally convinced by your explanation. “I promise” you assured, your eyes widening in promise as you watched him look between you and the bruises on your hip. “I promise” you repeated as a whisper, pulling him back down towards you as his chest fell heavily as he let out a long shaky breath, pressing your lips to his gently.

“Thought someone was hurting my girl for a minute then” he whispered shyly against your lips, hands moving to run along your waist, relief washing over him.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his choice of words, “your girl, hm?”

“Yes” he spoke surely, words laced with certainty, as he continued his journey down your body, picking up where you left off,

“My girl”

[dreamsicle262]

My personal merfolk lore

Not a fan of the tagging system, so I'm just gonna say some things here. There's not really much violence graphically described in this post, but there are mentions of humans eating merfolk or otherwise preparing and using them as a food source, as well as putting them into aquariums for entertainment or keeping them as pets and likely not treating them well. I'm pretty sure that would be the only part of this that might make some readers uncomfortable, so stay safe, and enjoy.

———

Merfolk originated from humans many decades ago when coastal societies began to gradually develop features for aquatic living. This occurred faster on island countries⎯especially those that were small⎯and also societies living near the ocean. To some extent, this also occurred in people living near other bodies of water, like lakes or rivers, but it took more time for merfolk to evolve for living in freshwater. Over the passage of time, merfolk became their own genetically diverse and entirely separate species, and therefore lost the ability to be able to successfully procreate with humans, not that any of them wanted to anyways. More on the relationship between humans and merfolk later.

As for physical descriptions of these creatures, it largely depends on what fish they are based off of. Size wise, they are on average slightly larger than the average human, and that also applies to weight, since their tails are considerably heavy and can be used to swat things away or even sink ships if necessary. They do grow hair, are endotherms (or, in simpler terms, warm-blooded), and actually do produce milk for their young, so they are mammals. Generally, they have fins on the sides of their head they can move to express themselves, inner ears like most aquatic life, and sharper teeth than humans. Their skin is composed much like human skin, and gradually becomes more scaly the closer you get to their lower half where their tail is, which normally starts at the waist. Merfolk tails cannot move the exact way that human legs can, as their bones are different, so they can’t bend them at a ninety degree angle; if this is the case, then their tail is most likely just broken and they are in considerable pain. They have gills on the sides of their neck, and fins along their spine, sides, and tail. They also have fins on their forearms, starting from their elbow and almost reaching their wrist, and webbed hands for swimming. Notably, instead of having normal fingernails, they have claws on the ends of their fingers.

Biologically male merfolk tend to have a sheath where their reproductive organs are, and have all of it situated internally. It is covered by a patch of loose scales that can be moved to reveal an opening. They have retractor muscles. This is all I'm saying on this matter. Think dog anatomy, sort of. Biologically female merfolk just have something similar, just without the exact parts biologically male merfolk have, obviously. Merfolk can also spontaneously transition if they wish to. Nature does it all the time, so why not have them do it under the right conditions? It requires some effort though, and this is put in place to prevent unwanted transitions (although they could easily transition back with those same conditions, so it's not that big of a deal).

Internally, they do have lungs, although those are hardly ever used in favor of breathing through gills. However, if a merperson breaches the water to look above it, then they can switch to using their lungs briefly. They usually avoid going above the waves or out of water at all, due to the dangers associated with it. If a merperson is out of water and on land for too long, their skin and scales dry out and it becomes painful to try and drag themselves around since it starts peeling away with their movements. It also becomes painful to breathe, as even though they don’t necessarily use their gills above water, they still flex from time to time, and dry gills hurt when they move. Most beached merfolk can, with some difficulty, drag themselves back into the ocean, but not all of them are lucky. Many common deaths on land include blood loss due to their skin/scales peeling off, starvation, or dehydration, but in the case that they are found by humans, a much worse fate awaits them.

Merfolk have specialized vocal cords that allow them to be able to produce sounds that serve as echolocation for them, and can allow them to travel through dimly lit areas, as well as communicate with each other. Since other sounds don’t pass through water as fast and voices are muffled, merfolk tend to not speak any known human dialect, and instead have their own tongue. It is possible for them to speak this out of water as well, although any human bystanders will likely not be able to understand what they are saying. It also may sound unpleasant, since it largely sounds like gurgling (ex: oOoOOoo). Their eyes are also special in the sense that they have slit pupils, allowing more light to enter them. Another fun fact about merfolk is that their skeletal structure in their hips has vestigial ball socket joints left over from when they evolved from humans, and their coccyx (aka their tailbone) is actually what evolved into a fish tail over time.

There are two distinct types of merfolk: those who give live birth to their offspring, and those that lay eggs and protect their young contained within those membranes. The former is made up of the more older breeds of merfolk that evolved long before their more modern counterparts did, whereas the latter consists of the newer breeds of merfolk. These two types are not separate species, and can reproduce together, but the method that the offspring are brought into the world is dependent on the individual merperson who is bearing the offspring. For example, if they were a dolphin merperson, they would give live birth, but if they were a salmon merperson, they would lay eggs.

Merfolk reproduction is strikingly similar to humans in the sense that a pregnancy lasts roughly nine months and commonly involves one embryo, but it is different in the sense that the produced offspring is immediately able to swim upon being born. The child is generally more capable of reacting to danger and much more independent than a human child is, but still does require some support from their parents in order to survive. The average lifespan of a merperson is only about in their mid to late fifties or so, making it about twenty years shorter than the average lifespan of a human. Still, merfolk reach sexual maturity in their adolescent years, and are not generally expected to find a partner to procreate with too quickly. Merfolk that lay eggs differ in the child bearing process based on method alone, but otherwise end up with offspring that are just as capable as those that were given birth to. The eggs get fertilized before being laid though, as opposed to being laid first and then getting fertilized later. (<- I’m sure that everyone who makes an oc off of all this lore will definitely be responsible when incorporating this little tidbit. /sarc)

The kind of society that the merfolk live in depends heavily on their method of child bearing, considering how dangerous the ocean is. An average merfolk clutch can be anywhere from one to five eggs, and these eggs look similar to normal fish spawn, but much larger. A good size estimate would be volleyball at its earliest stage of growth, and a basketball near the time of hatching. Egg laying merfolk commonly travel in pods/schools (the term can be used interchangeably) and are generally distrustful of outsiders, preferring to keep moving instead of stopping for long periods of time. However, they will occasionally stop in estuaries or shallow waters to rest, if only for a little while. Estuaries are popular as places for species of aquatic life to rear their young, and merfolk in general are no different in this sense, since most do make trips to these places at some point in their lifetime.

Mothers with eggs or young children (referred to affectionately as guppies), injured merfolk, as well as the pod’s elderly, will remain in the innermost portion of the pod, whereas any able-bodied merfolk will remain on the outside. Most roles can be filled by both sexes; there’s very little, if any, discrimination on who is suited for what role. These pods can be composed of members from the same family group, or stragglers who have lost their previous pod. Generally, only egg-laying merfolk travel in the schools, and it is uncommon to see a merperson who is capable of giving live birth among their ranks.

Merfolk who give live birth are usually capable of settling down and forming underwater cities, and therefore have more structured societies than the nomadic lifestyle of egg-laying merfolk. Cities are composed of a fine mix of egg-laying merfolk, and merfolk who give live birth, since oftentimes egg-laying merfolk see these cities as safe havens for them. Most merfolk do prefer shallow to semi-deep waters, as the open ocean is largely inhospitable to them and most sea life. Despite being called a city, these societies are usually not very large, and few and far inbetween. They are usually situated nearby coral reefs, although cities in the Abyss are not unheard of. Abyssal merfolk have largely been cast away from contemporary merfolk society due to the civil war between them and ‘Surface’ merfolk, or those who are closer to the surface of the water. Once again, more on that later.

Merfolk will live in underwater caves that are either natural or made by themselves via burrowing. They will also scavenge resources from shipwrecks for many things for a variety of uses, and even live in shipwrecks themselves at times. Coral reefs are teeming with life and are magnificent hunting grounds, as well as optimal for egg laying or giving birth, depending on the type of merperson. Merfolk also live in every kind of water: from saltwater, to brackish, to freshwater. Very few live in frigid waters, but the species has seen some migration towards those areas, along with suitable evolutionary traits for them to survive in such conditions. Orca merpeople are among the different merfolk breeds that can be found in arctic regions. Similarly, there are very few merfolk residing in the deep sea due to the high water pressure and oppressive darkness that can be found there, but some have made survival down in the depths work out.

Merfolk diets can range anywhere from typical seafood (fish, crustaceans, mollusks, aquatic mammals, etc.) to aquatic plant life (seaweed, kelp, seagrass, etc.). Some merfolk, like leech merfolk, latch onto other creatures by biting them and drinking their blood, and these merfolk do act like vampires, so they may bite other merpeople as well. Due to the nature of their lifestyles, merfolk populations would likely not be able to support filter feeders, so they unfortunately do not exist. Merfolk based on filter feeders in their body structures usually eat fish and plants much like other merfolk do. Similarly to humans, merfolk are omnivores, and benefit from a well balanced diet, although some have more carnivorous dietary needs than others. Merfolk are also opportunistic, and will feed on dead whales and other corpses when available. Humans are not exempt from this, whereas other merfolk are. Cannibalism is exceedingly rare except for in the most dire situations, and is usually a desperate last resort. Typically, merfolk bury their dead as best as they can, and leave a marker there, similar to how humans do so.

Despite living in the ocean, merfolk do have a well defined culture. Elders are greatly respected in merfolk society for living so long, and most traditions and tales are passed down generations orally or through writing (or carving things in this case since they can’t have paper). Stories are either etched into their cave walls in the merfolk written language that consists of runes, stone tablets, bits of driftwood or debris from sunken ships, or bones. Some even use clay tablets if they are fortunate enough to be in an area to leave those out to bake in the sun. Oftentimes, it takes many rounds of baking and packing more clay onto the tablet to make them layered, and therefore sturdy enough to withstand being underwater. Written words that have started to erode away will be carved into what they were on again to ensure that it is still legible.

Merfolk use sand dollars as currency, and merfolk businesses will frequently have small enclosures where they keep these sand dollars. They will occasionally let customers stick a webbed hand in to gently pet them, although sometimes these small animals need reasonable breaks from affection. Sand dollars also have the added benefit of being cute, thereby attracting more business. During feeding time, they will let these small creatures free roam and eat things off the floor, or move on their sides to filter the water around them out. Other times, they feed them by sprinkling tiny bits of fish or plant life into the enclosure. The larger a sand dollar is, the more it’s worth. Differently colored sand dollars also have different values as well. Sand dollar skeletons are the least valued form of a sand dollar in terms of it being used as currency to pay for something. Sand dollars are also useful to prepare for danger, since if they happen to detect something off in the water, they will burrow under the sand and serve as a visual cue that the merfolk in the area need to be on high alert. Outside of using sand dollars as currency, merfolk also frequently barter or trade for goods, meaning that their society isn’t totally based on the economy. Sand dollar populations also benefit from having merfolk protection, so this lessens their chances to become endangered or extinct. When one dies, it receives a proper burial just like a beloved pet might.

Merfolk are capable of making weapons like spears or daggers by taking shed shark teeth, sharpened bones, sharp seashells, or stone carved into spearheads or blades and tying it securely to a stick. Sometimes, this stick is also carved with markings to differentiate it as a weapon instead of a mere blade on a stick. Abyss merfolk have access to deep sea hydrothermal vents, and can actually become blacksmiths involved in metallurgy. How they use raw metal ores in their weaponry is simple. They have coverings or gloves for their hands and arms from the fat of other animals, and they hold the metal over the hot vent until it becomes malleable for them to shape themselves. Due to their unconventional method of running a smithy despite having no access to fire, Abyss merfolk are also capable of making armor, as well as other metal things, whereas Surface merfolk primarily rely on the bones or scales of other creatures being shaped, carved, and put together in a way that serves as armor. Scale armor is set up similarly to chainmail, in a sense. Bones are used in it to give it shape and form, so it’s a framework for the armor to allow it to be worn.

Merfolk are not strictly religious, but have a sense of religious reverence for the ocean, as well as the moon due to its association with the changing of the tides. Some merfolk also take up human religions sometimes. Nature is a heavily respected subject in merfolk society, since they depend on it to survive so much, making it worthy of praise in their eyes. Merfolk sometimes breach the surface of the water at night to sing due to its cultural importance of talking to the moon, not to attract humans to eat (although if any of them do come along, the merperson would be a fool not to kill and eat what is basically a free meal).

Much like humans, merfolk enjoy gifts. Different gifts have different meanings to them, however. Sand dollars, and pretty rocks and seashells are great gifts. Gifts of half-eaten fish or outright fish bones are a sign of either anger, hatred, distrust, or an implied death threat. Dead fish gifts themselves aren’t seen as bad, as long as they haven’t been tampered with in any way (being prepared and put together in a dish is an exception; merfolk would absolutely love to be given a full course meal) Any other gifts would probably be neutral.

Pearls as gifts are especially precious, but are only used in a few contexts, and the meaning varies based on how they are presented to the merperson receiving the gift. Naturally occurring pearls not formed inside a mollusk are the most valued pearls, whereas pearls that are produced by mollusks are still exceedingly rare, but only a little less valuable. Various colors are appreciated as well (yes they can kinda have different colors). The bigger the pearl, the more valuable it is, as well as the feelings that it’s supposed to convey.

Pearls are gifted to merfolk by others of their kind, and are usually shared to show romantic attraction with the recipient, but can also be gifted platonically as well. Usually, smaller pearls are for more platonic matters, but a big pearl can be gifted as well, alongside a clarification that it is intended as nothing romantic in nature. In courtship, when a merperson finds a pearl, they present it to whoever they wish to impress, and then the other person is presented with a decision. If they keep it, it means that they didn’t reject their gifter’s feelings, but if it is discarded or destroyed, then they have most certainly rejected them. This first pearl is like asking someone to date in human terms. A second pearl will be given at a later date to ask for engagement, and if their partner reciprocates it with a pearl of their own at some point, then the couple will be considered engaged.

The third pearl is considered the most important, as it requires two components: the pearl, and a mollusk. Once the pearl has been acquired, it is placed inside a clam or oyster. The merperson then approaches their engagement partner, and opens it in a fashion that is not unlike proposing in humans, but without the ‘bending the knee and getting on the ground’ fiasco.

Abyss merfolk and Surface merfolk had a major falling out a long time ago over which part of the ocean was safer: the deep sea, or everywhere else. This argument grew into a war that led to a substantial loss of life on both sides, and lasted five whole years. Eventually, after human activity ramped up in areas where merfolk lived, the two groups were forced to reach a compromise and form a treaty, lest their numbers dwindle even more. Merfolk were already probably endangered by that point, anyways. The two groups still have tensions towards each other, but respect the treaty and don’t attack. Abyss merfolk are perfectly able to swim up if they wish, but mostly keep to themselves in the deep sea cities and rarely contact the Surface merfolk. They sort of have an isolationist policy, but will still regulate trade between Surface merfolk groups.

Merfolk relations with humans are terrible. Humans will regularly fish in waters with large nets that capture both merfolk and the fish they eat, leading to population issues. Furthermore, they do not release these merfolk, and are perfectly fine with taking them to the mainland in order to cut them up in fish markets and such. Merfolk meat is considered a fine delicacy, and is extremely pricey since they’re rare catches usually. Merfolk are priced by age, with younger merfolk being less expensive, and older merfolk costing more. Younger merfolk are more commonly caught, while older merfolk are not. Merfolk eggs have also been in danger when it concerns humans, as they can be collected and used as caviar in dishes. Similarly, this can also be pricey. Beached merfolk found by humans will usually be either slaughtered for food purposes or research, or be forcibly put into aquariums for visitors to gawk at.

Merfolk in aquariums are often forced to perform, and aren’t treated well by the human staff members. Merfolk that become visibly depressed or try to kill themselves by ramming into the side of their glass enclosure are usually harshly punished for not being eye catching to the visitors. Other times, they are put into lab settings where they are forced to produce more merfolk for study, or as a cruel way of humans attempting to effectively farm merfolk meat. To prevent themselves from self harming or willingly clawing themselves to death, merfolk are commonly declawed. Their teeth may be sanded down in some way to make them less sharp and less dangerous as well. Some people also opt to keep merfolk as exotic pets.

In the case they are caught and killed, merfolk are subject to being prepared by humans. This involves slicing them in half at where their tail begins, decapitating them, and then proceeding to debone them and take out any non edible bits (like some organs) Essentially, they are field dressed. Both halves of the merperson are prepared separately, and will be used. It is not uncommon to see these brutal displays in fish markets.

Merfolk take great care to avoid humans at all costs, but are capable of defending themselves if need be. They will also swarm any form of boat if it gets too close to a merfolk city or hunting grounds, drowning the crew and making holes in the hull of the vessel. Once again, being opportunistic, they will not waste any dead humans that they manage to kill.

There are many misconceptions of merfolk being able to draw humans in with their voices. This is not fully true. The combination of human curiosity and stupidity is what draws them in after they’ve heard beautiful singing and see gleaming scales off in the distance, but there’s no especially strong urge that causes them to seek out merfolk. Merfolk do not generally have magic, but they do have unique skills that vary based on the kind of merperson. Merfolk are capable of screeching loud enough to damage a human's eardrums, however. This is likely where the siren misconception originates from as well.

Merfolk can also be subject to some human diseases, as well as some diseases that affect fish. This can also apply to some parasites. Furthermore, the Great Pacific trash pile is like the slums to their kind.

———

That should be all. If there are any questions, feel free to ask.

[vashtijoy]

after makoto awakens, ryuji and makoto make a bon jovi reference in a group chat. what were they talking about in japanese?

Hi! This was originally a reference to a song called THE NIGHT (１５の夜 juugo no yoru), by the late Yutaka Ozaki.

Ryuji 俺も盗んだバイクで走り出してえ… ore mo nusunda baiku de hashiridashitee… It'll be just like the song! "I'm a phantom, on a steel horse I ride…" I could let loose on a stolen bike too... Makoto 人聞き悪いこと言わないで 別に盗んでないわ hitogiki warui koto iwanaide, betsu ni nusunde nai wa Don't say such things. And for the record, I am most certainly not "wanted." You'll give me a bad name. Anyway, it's not stolen.

translators of Atlus West, "you give love a bad name" was right there

人聞き悪いこと言わないで hitogiki warui koto iwanaide literally means "don't say disrespectable things", but in practice seems to be used to scold people for saying things that make you look disrespectable!

Also, note that (as per usual) the Japanese script doesn't feel the need to hit the player over the head with the fact that they're referencing a song.

This song appears to be pretty well-known, and according to Japanese Wikipedia, is relevant to our interests:

This song was written based on Ozaki's experience of being found smoking a cigarette at his junior high school when he was 14 years old, or of one of his classmates being cut by a teacher with clippers because he had long hair, and running away from home with his friends in rebellion. Ozaki says that he ran away from home in the middle of the night with 10 friends and rode around the city on a motorcycle, but later, with nowhere to go, he was found by a teacher while taking a nap at a car scrapyard and was taken into custody... However, according to the diary of his father, Kenichi Ozaki , it is clear that the song was actually inspired by a friend of Ozaki's who ran away from home. Kenichi's diary states that the runaway occurred in October 1978, and that he "searched for his friend until 3 a.m.", and that "this is the incident that Yutaka later sang about in '15 no Yoru'.

Here's the original (rather sad) lyric. You can see why Ryuji might like it.

盗んだバイクで走り出す　行き先もと解らぬまま nusunda baiku de hashiridasu, ikisaki moto wakaranu mama I'll let loose on a stolen bike, still not knowing where I'll go, 暗い夜の帳の中へ kurai yoru no tobari no naka e Into the night's dark curtain, 誰にも縛られたくないと　逃げ込んだこの夜に dare ni mo shibararetakunai to, nigekonda kono yoru ni I said I didn't want anyone to tie me down, the night I ran away, 自由になれた気がした　15の夜 jiyuu ni nareta ki ga shita, juugo no yoru I thought I could be free, that night I was 15.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.1 (2024/10/07)—forgot the wikipedia link!

v1.0 (2024/10/07)—first posted.

[sgiandubh]

Mild promo

Mild promo for FMN gin, something people have been consistently asking me questions for about 11 months, now. I've seen better MO, when it comes to fan engagement. And nope, not the first time I am saying this, when it comes to Greta's spirits business projects:

Blonde hair loosely places this pic between June 2023 and February 2024. And funny how both of them find interesting to associate their product with childhood memories. The common botanical reference doesn't strike me as much - this is fashionable, right now, so it's only normal.

I have to say I am surprised. Still no changes in the Irish company records, as far as I can see. Anyways, what's the big mystery - 'posting info on how you can secure a bottle in the following days'? Why not just post all the relevant details, with clear order and payment info, for everyone to be informed? Why the fake build-up?

That lackadaisical mystery always reminds me of that forlorn Xmas tree in the middle of the London summer. And I sigh.

Meanwhile...

For what it's worth. Coincidence? I doubt it.

Last but not least, I am still lacking a logical explanation for C's decision to have her own booze just after S launched the SS whisky. I mean, she could have sold just about anything else with great success, from a modeling halcyon days' memoir to (I dunno, totally random thoughts here) anything gourmet, or healthy, or gourmet and healthy.

Things that make you go hmmm. Even now.

[scrapyardboyfriends]

I feel like I'm good at mostly ignoring this story until I catch up on the show and then I have to rant about it so....

the rant...

Obviously the premise of this story was already bad from the conception of John as a character. It was already kind of lazy and one single character was not going to rebuild the Sugden family anyway.

But every decision they've made since that character conception has been more baffling than the next really.

Because they could have just told a straightforward story about Vic finding a long lost Sugden brother and him coming to the village and getting to know Vic and Harry and Sarah and meeting Aaron and them trauma bonding over his army past and them getting together after that even though the Robert of it all is weird and maybe causes some surface level angst because god forbid they actually do anything with that.

And like...that would have been pretty dull and boring but it would have been a vaguely functional story.

Instead, they've been promoting this story like it's this big A story with Aaron sleeping with his ex husband's brother and being seduced by the Sugden charm and having sizzling passion overtake them all the time etc etc. And then on screen they're always like the D story and half the time you wouldn't even know what the scenes are trying to get across if you hadn't read the spoilers.

And then they keep missing out on actual story by going surface level with any of the Robert mentions, by not giving anyone any kind of motivations realistic or otherwise and constantly undercutting any potential drama before it even happens.

They've paralleled a bunch of random Robron affair scenes for no apparent reason other than to vaguely remind the viewers of Robert and Robron cause they want it to be dramatic but then it's not in the actual story and because they think that's all it takes to sell a romance story for Aaron? Unclear.

They've really done very little with the Robert mentions other than get them in there so they can put his name in magazines. But Aaron seems to have gotten over it all very quickly around the time John "kissaulted" him in the barn.

Their entire relationship thus far is based on sex. They've never even tried to have a conversation about anything else. Certainly not on screen. Aaron appears to have feelings according to the spoilers but we've seen very little evidence of it on screen and they haven't given any reason why he might like John. John is just blank. And I don't even feel the sexual attraction or sexual chemistry between them in any way because they have to sell it by John constantly telling him "I know what you want" etc. So I just have no clue why they're even doing this.

Then you have Vic who's stalking him because she's desperate for family, which I get but also he's kind of mostly been an asshole to her but that doesn't matter cause he's family and she must have it.

Then you have Mack who they created this animosity between him and John out of thin air for no apparent reason to the point that Lawrence doesn't even know why his character hates John.

And then they have Vic catch them in the barn and then tell everyone so you can have Mack be all weirdly jealous and tell Aaron he deserves better and have Aaron lie to him about still seeing John and lie to Vic because she doesn't want them to date so they won't break up and John won't leave.

And like fine I guess.

But then you do this fire story and have John be the big hero and now Chas is fawning all over him when before she had some minor reservations and you have Mack thanking him for saving his life.

So is Mack still going to be that upset when he finds out Aaron and John are still loosely a thing? I feel like they totally undercut that bit of future drama. I guess he can be upset Aaron lied to him but he's gonna be mad for like one scene and then everyone will move on.

And then is it going to be that dramatic when Vic finds out and has...*checks notes* the exact same reaction as before most likely?

Where is the story?

There isn't one.

And it's not like when Robert and Aaron's affair was discovered and Robert's whole marriage imploded and then eventually he worked his way back to Aaron and they got together properly.

Aaron and John are already basically together?? I guess?? Like there's nothing stopping them. It's not like there's any story in them getting together properly after they're discovered again and everyone has their very tepid reactions?

Sigh.

And then there's the Aiden Moore mystery they threw in there, which everyone has mostly guessed will be someone he lost in the army.

And is that supposed to explain his whole character and why he pushes everyone away? Cause he lost one person in the army?

Stacked up next to the trauma porn king, Aaron Dingle?

John tells Aaron about losing Aiden and Aaron's like "Yeah I can relate" and John's like, "Really, you lost someone too?"

And Aaron's like "Yeah take your pick. You want the boyfriend who got hit by a train and was paralyzed who then made me help him die and then I was on trial for his murder and started self harming? You want the boyfriend who was killed by the local serial killer and then my sister was arrested for it cause she was drinking so much at the time she couldn't remember if she'd killed him? You want that same sister who was then killed in a storm by a falling caravan that I probably could have stopped if I'd told people about my mom having an affair? And that's not even getting into the Robert of it all and what losing him did to me. Or there's you know my whole childhood wrecked by my father abusing me or my traumatic coming out and suicide attempt."

And John's just gonna be there all...

Just...like...I'm sorry...his little traumatic army past is not going to hold a candle to Aaron's litany of traumas or explain enough why he is the way he is.

And then what...they trauma bond. People find out they're still sleeping together and are vaguely bothered about it for one scene and then they're just...together?

Just what is the point of it all?

Why create all of these obstacles to them being together to then not actually really use any of them?

And then is Oliver going to want to leave in a year and then it's all for nothing anyway?

Sigh....sigh...sigh...

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day fifteen

@ailesswhumptober 15 — waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.” ↳ the farm, circa 1890 word count; 1.3k

cw; teeth pulling, possible minor gore, psychosis, catholicism, child abuse

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morris is screaming like he's being murdered.

He's just got a loose tooth. Oscar knows he does, he'd been the one to find it at some point in the dead of night when he'd woken up to Morris crying beside him — eventually managed to coax him into mumbling hoarsely that his mouth hurts. He'd let Oscar pull his lip back, after he'd sworn to God to be gentle and not touch anywhere near what hurt, and Oscar had seen blood smeared over baby teeth. Remembered how Da had whacked Morris hard in the mouth the evening prior, and the pieces had clicked into place. Da had knocked a tooth loose.

It's one of Morris' canines. They've always been a little crooked since they grew in when he was a wain, tilted forwards to stick out like fangs, and they're sharp as anything too. Sharp like a dog.

Sharp like the devil, Ma's always said.

She hates them. She's always hated them. And she's screaming now too as Da wrangles Morris through the kitchen, a pair of his pliers in one big, work-rough hand.

"Get them," she pleads, tears shining on her face, something terrifying in her pale eyes. Something shining and manic. "Get them, Morris, get the deamhan out of him. Sé do bheath' a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta—"

"Stop fuckin' fightin', lamb," Da grits out, spit flying between his teeth. "You'll only have me pullin' out another."

Morris is still screaming.

He's wailing, sobbing, face red with his terror and Da's suffocating arm around his neck, a desperate bid to keep him still, but Morris is writhing despite it. Kicking and scratching and turning his head. It reminds Oscar of trying to hold one of the barn cats, but Mo's nails aren't anywhere near as sharp.

His teeth probably are, but that's the issue, isn't it? He can't bite anyway — not like this. It's clear the tooth is still hurting him bad, only piling onto his panic, all his fear at what Da's going to do. And Da's trying to make it better, Oscar knows. He's just. Not doing it right.

"Le'mme do it," Oscar pleads, not for the first time, but his voice is once again lost over Mo's wailing and Ma's shrieking and praying. All nonsense words, that dirty language she ain't allowed to speak, but for once, Da isn't punishing her for it.

He gets the pliers into Morris' mouth instead. Forces them inside as he's screaming and Oscar watches as he squeezes them tight around what must be his target, scarred knuckles bleaching white with the force of it — and Morris howls. A shrill, awful sound that jerks some sort of primal terror awake within Oscar. A blind, protective urge.

But then Da rips the pliers out, and Oscar can do nothing but watch the blood that sprays, splatters across the wood of the cupboards when Da's arm comes swinging backwards. There's a wee tooth between the jaws of the pliers in his hand. A dangling thread of red-pink skin torn from the inside of Morris' mouth.

Morris bawls. Blood pools over his wet bottom lip, dripping down his chin to join the mess he's already covered in, all drool and tears and snot. He goes down with the tooth when Da drops them both, and a mouthful of saliva washed pink falls from his slack mouth onto the floor as he chokes and gags and sobs.

Oscar tries to run to him, but Ma gets there first.

Oscar had hoped, blindly, that she'd be done now, her insanity satiated for the day. For the morning, at least. But she's still muttering, still crying, still shaking, and heaves Morris up with hands under his arms, strong in that way she only is when she's crazy like this. Dark, unbrushed hair in her face, fire in her cold blue eyes.

"Wash it away," she mutters, voice a hoarse whisper, breathless. "Defiled. Defiled. A Naomh Mhuire, a mháthair Dé. He will forgive but only if we repent in humility before Him, A Dhia—"

She drags Morris up further, to the edge of the sink basin, and forces his head down backwards over the lip of it. Holds him there with a hand tangled in his curls, upside down, neck wrenched back. Flayed out like a sacrifice.

"There is nothing we can do to cleanse ourselves, only Dhia, only His mercy can save us—A Naomh Mhuire, a mháthair Dé, guí orainn na peacaithe, anois is ar uair ar mbás—"

"Ma," Oscar says cautiously, scared in such a different way than he is of Da. "What're you doin'?"

The water turns on.

Oscar's heart stops. Over the immediate thundering of the water as Ma wrenches the pump back and forth, he hears Morris begin to choke and retch beneath the water flooding over his face, pouring into his nose and mouth with how he's pinned turned up to it. Oscar sees him kicking and struggling once again, even more frantic this time — primal — but he's utterly helpless pinned backwards like this. Pitted against Ma's mania rather than Da's brute strength.

"Ma!" Oscar shouts. "Ma, fuck—You're gonna drown him!"

He runs forwards, but, fuck, Ma is strong when she's like this, and she fends him off like she's battling another demon —- one like she's convinced has possessed her youngest. Been convinced since those fucking teeth grew in. She shoves at him with bony elbows, blocks him from Morris with every inch of her scrawny figure, and Oscar can't get past her. Not without hurting her bad, and he doesn't want to. Can't stomach it.

He feels a lot less than his twelve years suddenly.

"Ma!" Oscar pleads.

He knows she'll regret it. She always does, every time she gets like this with Morris. He's her sweet babby, her little angel, her wee lamb. She'll come back to herself hours or days from now and sob over him, over the marks she left, the ones she let their daddy leave. She'll kiss him and cradle him and apologise a thousand times over until the words are meaningless.

But Oscar can't imagine what'd happen if Morris weren't even here for her to sob over when she came to. Buried in the garden like their sister, dead at Ma's hands just the same.

"Ma, you're gonna kill him," Oscar sobs.

Then, finally — "Da!"

He steps back as Da comes running. Watches, crying, as he pries his wife off of their son. Tosses her aside and whacks her hard for good measure, sends her sprawling to the floor, wailing like a child — like Morris — and the water trickles to a stop without an active hand on the pump.

Morris is left wheezing and heaving, awful breathless sounds like he's just been pulled from the lake, still stuck where he'd been left without the leverage or wherewithal or strength to pick himself up.

Da shoves him forwards and he folds, collapses on his knees. Keeps retching until finally he throws up, water and bile and another mouthful of blood. He's not screaming anymore. Just crying, sobbing like he used to when he was a tiny baby and couldn't talk at all, didn't have the lungs to scream.

Da pats him hard on the back, and he retches again.

"Alright. Alright, lamb," Da soothes. "Don't break down on me yet."

Da strokes his soaked, tangled curls back from where they're plastered to his forehead.

"Take a breather, yeah? You have a second. An' then we'll get that other tooth out for your Ma."