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xhoneygirlxx · 1 year ago

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Juicy

Eddie Munson x big boob fem!reader

summary: the heat causes you to let the girls hang free and it causes Eddie to be a flustered mess

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader has breasts and wears feminine clothing. skin color/ethnicity is not mentioned! Eddie being a flustered cutie. idiots in love :) mentions of high school jocks being gross. 18+ MINORS DNI. smut: heavy making out, grinding, titty sucking, premature ejaculation. mentions of titty fucking and cumming on tits. shitty writing and not proofread.

a/n: hello my honey buns!! i wanted to get something out while i work on some of my current wips. i got inspired to write this bc i have a tig bitties and every time i wear a bra i feel like i'm dying and i'm too insecure to not wear one lmao. also, i just wanted to say that all different shapes and sizes of bitties are beautiful!!! also please be kind! smut is not my strong suit.

The late August heat made living in Hawkins unbearable. That might be an over exaggeration since you've never traveled anywhere outside of your town, but it still felt like the underside of satan's ballsack.

You regret agreeing to hangout with Eddie the minute you saw the afternoon weather forecast and regret it even more when you got into the metalhead's van. With no working a/c in the vehicle, there was no choice but to have the window's down to get some sort of circulation.

It wouldn't be so bad if there was a breeze but the air was dry, burning your lungs with every single intake of oxygen. You could feel the sweat rolling down your spine, making the thin cotton tank top you had on stick to your skin.

The cotton shorts you had on didn't quell any heat that you were feeling, only making your thighs stick together uncomfortably. Eddie being the angel he was, had already stopped at the gas station, picking up whatever snack he thought you might want, including a cherry icee that was already melted.

The sweat the beaded at your hairline, falling down your face like raindrops, matched the sweat on your cardboard cup. Syrupy sweetness coated your tongue as you drank it, coolness going down your throat to extinguish the flames within your body.

You needed to get out his car as soon as possible and into some air conditioning. Eddie on the other hand looked as cool as a cucumber. His cut band tshirt blowing through the warm air, black jeans tight on his lower body, and his brown curls in a low bun.

You almost wanted to hate him for being so calm, never showing any discomfort when it got hot like this. God, you hated the way he looked so relaxed, puffing on his cigarette and driving with one wrist on the steering wheel. The sun shining off of his ringed fingers, the band squeezing at his tiny waist, the black ink on his alabaster skin dancing with every move he took- he was so beautiful and it was making your temperature rise even higher.

When he pulled up to his trailer, you were up and out of the van before he could even pull the keys out of ignition. To your dismay, he was taking his sweet time getting out of the car, making you wait in the blaze of the sun. If you didn't know any better, you'd think the cheeky asshole was doing it on purpose. As he rounds the car, a plastic bag dangling from his wrist, a playful smirk paints his lips.

He's definitely doing it on purpose. Asshole.

"Where's the fire, Cherry?" he jests playfully at you, making you scowl even more.

"It's going to be in your hair if you don't hurry the hell up." You yell back at him. A small laugh leaves his pretty lips, shaking his head as he pulls out his key to unlock the door.

"I'll open the door faster if you say please." You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. Playing up the part even more, Eddie takes his time putting the key into the door.

"Oh please Eddie, would you be so kind and unlock the door?" You smile sarcastically up at him. He mimics you, straight white teeth flashing brightly in your eyes.

"Now was that so hard?" Scoffing at him, you push right past his body and enter the trailer.

The small a/c unit the sits in the window works overtime, buzzing and rattling loudly, to cool down the small trailer. It feels like heaven when you walk in, the immediate temperature drop makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

Plopping down on the well loved couch, you sprawl your limbs out trying to cool every inch of your skin. Placing the bag of treats on the table, Eddie makes his way into the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the fridge.

"Is Wayne off today?" The absence of the older man only coming to your attention.

"Yeah, he went to Darla's house." Eddie mutters his response as he works the cap of the beer bottle off.

Darla was Wayne's new girlfriend he had been seeing the past couple months. You had fallen victim to many of Eddie's rants about his uncle coming home late and never calling letting his nephew know he was safe.

Humming a response, you turn your attention to the television that's currently playing reruns of The Golden Girls.

Now that you've been in the cool air for not even five minutes, the creeping heat comes back into your body. The culprit being your chest, heat radiating in the cups of your bra. It was uncomfortable already with the weight on your back and shoulders, not to mention the sweat that collected in the fabric.

Jumping up abruptly from your slouched position, you work your hands around your back preparing to take off the article of clothing. . Before you it off, you remember that you're not in your own home and that it might make Eddie uncomfortable.

As he walks in from the kitchen, sipping on his chilled beer, he catches your stare. Raising a brow and removing the bottle from his mouth, he turns to you.

"You okay over there?" He questions you, eyeing your posture and how you look like you've been caught in the act of something you shouldn't be doing.

"I need to take my bra off but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Oh boy is he caught of guard, choking on his spit loudly. His cheeks are tinted a deep red, eyes wide and bulging from his face. Of course he didn't care, you guys were friends and he always wanted you comfortable. The only problem was that you would be braless, sitting next to him.

It's not like you haven't before, any time you wore big baggy shirts he knew you didn't have a bra on, but the extra material of your shirt blocked the visuals of your loose breasts.

When you cock an eyebrow at him, he shakes his head, brown curls bouncing with the movement.

"Y-yeah sure. Ya know what we Munson's say, this land is your land, or whatever." He chuckles nervously eyeing you from where he stands across from you.

Letting out a roaring laugh, you reach your hands under the hem of your shirt, undoing the hook.

"I'm pretty sure Woody Guthrie said that, Eds." Forcing out a small laugh, he watches as you pull the straps down your arms and then pulling the material out from under your white tank top.

Yeah he's going to die right here in the middle of his living room. When you finally pull it from your sticky skin and discard it somewhere on the floor, your nipples pebble up from the cold air. You lean your head back and release a sigh of satisfaction.

You don't see how Eddie's drinking you in right now, how he's staring at the way your nipples are visible through the wet cotton of your shirt, or how he can see the fullness of your chest.

It was no secret that you had a bigger bust than most of the girls in town, earning the nickname of Cherry from all the jocks at school, which you took pride in and eventually took ownership of.

Unlike the jocks, Eddie never made any comments about your bust. Not that he didn't think of them when he was beating off in his room every night, but he never commented on them to you which you appreciated. To him you were just you, double d's or not.

While you were in pure bliss, Eddie was living a nightmare come true. The girl he's had a crush on since middle school is braless in his home, right in front of him. He didn't know how he was going to sit next to you now with the way blood was rushing to his cock, the stiff material of his jeans didn't help his discomfort.

"So, what are we watching today?" Cracking your eyes open to look at your best friend, you could still see him standing in the same spot, staring right at your chest.

Oh. OH. He was staring at your chest. You could have so much fun with this, give him a little taste of his own medicine for his little stunt earlier, making you wait longer in the heat.

"Eds?" Your tone was sinfully sweet. Placing your arms on either side of you, you used your forearms to push your boobs together as best as you can.

"Huh? O-oh yeah. Um, we ugh, we could watch Nightmare on Elm Street." He was tripping on his tongue every other word.

Quickly moving from his spot, he knelt down in front of the television to pop in the horror movie. The boy who was so unbothered by record breaking heat, was now a sweaty, heavy breathing mess because of you.

After starting the movie, he slowly retreats to the couch but as far away from you as humanly possible. Maybe it wasn't that he was hot and bothered by you, maybe he was just uncomfortable with your state of dress.

For the first twenty minutes of the film that's all you could think, trying to figure out what you could do to make the situation better. Without thinking, you take a lollipop out of the bag of goodies he bought, popping it right into your mouth.

You took your time, swirling your tongue around the red candy, hallowing your cheeks every so often. You weren't really paying attention to what you were doing, staring straight ahead at the glowing screen. Eddie was paying attention though, growing unimaginably harder than before.

The movement of Eddie taking the pillow from behind his back and placing it right on his crotch, brings your attention the boy next to you. He wasn't as smooth as he thought, the placement of the pillow gave it away right away. His sweat soaked bangs, bouncing leg, and red cheeks definitely gave it away.

Removing the lollipop from your mouth, you place it down on the discarded wrapper laying on the table. Turning to him, your knees criss cross, you say his name softly.

His head turns with speed when you call him, chocolate brown eyes replaced with the darkness of his pupils.

"Are you okay? You don't seem, well you seem bothered. If it's me not wearing a bra, Eddie I can put it back on." You sputter out, worry rising in your stomach at the thought of making him feel awkward with your braless tits.

Releasing a loud sigh, he runs a hand down his face. "Cherry, I'm not bothered by you not wearing a bra. Well, okay, I am but I'm not uncomfortable."

He's staring right at you, almost like he's waiting for you to catch on but you don't. Eyebrows furrowed, you try to understand what he had just said to you. Before you can ask, he reiterates himself.

"Baby, I'm not bothered because you don't have a bra on. I'm very much the opposite and because I'm a gentleman, I'm trying to make myself calm down the best I can. It's just hard to do that when you're deep throating a sucker right next to me." The last part comes out as a joke, dimpled smile to prove it.

So you were right, he was hot and bothered by you. Just like he made you wait for him, you made him wait even longer to rid himself of his discomfort happening in his pants.

"Well Eds, you know if you wanted to see them all you had to say was please." You tease and he groans loudly, throwing his head back.

"Please, Cherry." He begs and you give in, lying back on the old couch. Beckoning him over to you, you spread your legs to give him room. Like a panther, he pounces on you, smacking his lips to yours.

Its heavy and animalistic the way your tongues attack each other. The lingering taste of beer mixes with the cherry from your candy. When you push your hips up to get some friction on your aching heat, he whimpers in your mouth.

He takes your motions as permission to grind into you, the pressure making both of you moan in unison. Pulling away from your mouth so you two can breathe, he moves to his next target.

The warmth of lips meet the chilled skin of your neck, he kisses all around the precious skin to find that sweet spot. When a wanton moan falls from your red stained lips, he thinks he's hit the jackpot. Sucking and kissing the spot under your ear, you're sure there will be a blotch of purple there.

You hiss out when he runs his teeth along the spot, jerking your hips up in excitement. Moving his face so that he's looking at you, you can see the spit that coat his red swollen lips, the lust the pool in his eyes. He's so pretty like this, so fucking pretty and he's all yours in this moment.

"Can I see your pretty tits, Cherry?" He asks so sweetly, like he didn't just sinfully makeout with you. Nodding in approval, he shakes his head at you.

"I need words, princess." He waits for you, who is currently looking up at him like he's hung the stars and moon. You look so fucked out and so disheveled. He's always known he was going to marry you but when he looks at you he has no doubt that he's going to marry you.

"Please, Eds."

That's all he needs to hear before he's pulling the front of your shirt down, revealing your chest to him. He stays there for a minute, looking unbashful at your tits, like they were the eight wonder of the world.

His unwavering gaze starts to make you insecure, worrying that maybe they weren't as nice as he thought they would be. They were heavy and slightly sagged due to the weight, you had stretch marks that decorated the skin like a zebra.

Pulling your arms up to cover yourself, he grips your wrists and pulls them down. Moving his gaze back up to you, his eyes are much softer.

"Don't hide, please don't hide. Not when I've waited so long to see these." A tingling sensation fills your face, making you smile giddily up at him. When you nod at him, he goes in face first into your chest.

"Fuck, I've dreamt of this for so long." You want to respond but you can't when his mouth is placing pecks to the delicate skin of your breast.

Resuming his motions from before, his hips roll right into yours like a wave crashing on the shore. He's everywhere, filling all your senses. Eddie.Eddie.Eddie. That's all that's in your mind, especially when he places your pebbled nipple in his mouth.

"Fuck, Eddie." You hiss out, reaching your hand to the nape of his neck, placing a gentle pressure to keep him there. His switches between swirling his tongue around the numb and sucking on it.

His other hand snakes up to your abandoned breast, groping the fat of it before his fingers pinch the nipple. It's sinful the way it feels, his hard cock hitting right where you need him, the warm of his mouth, and the moans that you release.

Eddie groans, causing your skin to vibrate. Removing himself from your abused breast, he moves to the other one, finally giving it the same attention as the other.

"Fuck, you're so hot." He groans out, eyes closed in ecstasy, high off the scent and taste of you. His movements start getting faster causing him to moan even louder.

Moving away from your chest, he looks down at you, the way your tits bounce with every roll of your hips. He looks at the mark he made on your neck, and how your skin shines with his saliva and your sweat. Your pupils are blown wide, lips puffy and shiny. Then he moves his eyes back to your tits, imagining what it would feel like to run his dick on your sternum, how pretty they would look coated in his pearly white cum, and how hot it would be to titty fuck you.

Every possible scenario plays out in his head when he looks at you and it's too much. With one finally grunt, pulled deep from his stomach, he hangs stops all his motions, collapsing onto of you.

Dazed and slightly confused, you let him catch his breathe. When he brings his face out from the crook of your neck, he has a boyish smile pulled on his cheeks.

"Ed, did you just-"

"Cum in my pants like a teenager? Absofuckinglutely, but if give me about five minutes I'll give you everything you want." You reach your hand up to his face, pushing some of the loose hair that fell from his ponytail, behind his hair.

"If you say please, pretty boy."

He didn't need five minutes, instantly getting hard from the sultry tone of your voice.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 7 months ago

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the secrets that you keep | for @steddiemicrofic's April prompt: Fool AND for my submission to this month's @steddiesongfics, Talking In Your Sleep by the Romantics!

pairing: steddie (duh) | word count: 454 | rated: M | on AO3

Eddie Munson isn't an idiot.

You can't fool, trick, or cajole him into believing the impossible.

And what he and Steve are doing, have been doing, it's impossible.

Okay, not impossible, seeing as how they have been and it’s been nothing short of amazing. Steve's almost unbearably sweet, the sex is indescribable... but it can't last. No matter what Eddie's feelings are on the matter.

He's known from the beginning that he's nothing but an experiment for the younger man,

“Mhm... Eddie..”

He knows where he stands in the general hierarchy of life, and it ain't higher than his knee.

“....More... please.”

Even now, as he listens to Steve's soft moans and mumbles of some dream he’d be loathe to interrupt and it turns into his usual mumbled nonsense from beside him in bed,

“..Eds…”

Eddie knows that in the end, he'll force his way too big feelings for the pseudo Adonis next to him into the lockbox in the back of his brain,

“..I love you..”

And never think about them again after Steve gets sick of hi—

..what.

Eddie blinks down at Steve's sleeping face. “Steve?”

The golden sun come to Earth has the nerve to smile all soft and syrupy, quirk his lips up on one side, and mumble out another “I love you, Eddie.” clear as fuckin’ day.

Eddies heart is in his throat, its deep in the pit of his stomach, its impaled on the icy crags in his heels

“Steve?”

"...waffles.."

"Steve?!"

His last cry finally wakes the other man, the comforter whisking off Eddie's naked lower half as Steve whirls off the mattress, his bat at the ready.

Stark naked himself, standing firm between Eddie and the bedroom door with his head on a swivel, Steve slurs out a still sleepy "What happened, what'd you hear, what's wrong?”

Eddie's traitorous heart makes it hard to say anything, but he manages to whisper, “You love me?”

It takes him a handful of seconds, but eventually Steve turns back to face the bed, much more awake than he had been.

“I do?” Eddie’s face must’ve twisted up at the questioning tone because he corrects course, “I mean, I do.. but how’d you know that? Did Robin say something?”

He starts to pace; quite the sight, him being bare as the day he was born with his bat still hanging from his fist, “I knew I shouldn’t’ve told her something that big (“Steve..”), but how could I not? I tell her everything (“Steve.”). But she promised not to say anything to you and now–

“Steve!”

Steve finally stops pacing, though he’s still avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

“Look at me.” and when he does, Eddie smiles and says, “I love you too.”

#steddie microfic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #eddeve #steveddie #st #st ficlet #steddie ficlet #stranger things #noelle writes

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ddarker-dreams · 10 months ago

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Unique Burdens.

Enver Gortash x F Reader.

Warnings: Dark themes™, unhealthy relationships, implied kidnapping and major power imbalances. Word count: 1k.

Where there are sparks, there can be fire.

Concentrate. Hone your thoughts. Refine them, sifting through any impurities. Ichor is woven into your flesh like threads through a hallowed loom. These threads contain arcane energy that some spend lifetimes pursuing, their noses buried in esoteric tomes.

For you are a scion of a being most high — the Lady of Love’s darling daughter.

Sune’s always had a soft spot for you, fickle as her favor may be. Whispers carried by the wind offered encouragement at the beauty your artistry brought into the world. Your mother may be distant, but so is the sun, both of which provide satisfactory warmth regardless. This distance never bothered you. So long as you were free to wield a quill, lyre, or rapier, you were content.

Indeed, her distance never bothered you, until you realized that just like the sun, celestial bodies must give way to the night.

Focus, focus, focus.

The faintest hum of the Weave resonates within. It reaches out to you, incorporeal hands longing to touch. This is it. Your chance. Your spark. It’s tentative at first, a shy reunion—

—And then it’s gone. Silenced.

Extinguished.

Your shoulders droop as yet another failure joins your ever-growing resume.

Your shoulders droop as yet another failure is jotted down.

“I never took you for a masochist,” tyranny incarnate muses from behind. “That must be it. Why else would you torture yourself so?”

“I’m no more a masochist than you are a worthy ruler.”

You try to keep your tone steady and indifferent. Regrettably, of all your artistic talents, acting is not among them. The bitterness seeps out like blood through thin gauze. He must’ve sensed a fluctuation in the ‘connection’ you share. You thought yourself subtle with your tampering, but your sentimentality betrayed you.

“Ah. That’s where you’re mistaken. There are no ‘worthy rulers,’ only rulers who make their reign worthwhile.”

“That’s your intention?”

“That’s my intention,” he mimics your cadence.

Unwilling to withstand further provocation, you whirl around, ready to slink off. Your abrupt motion proves to be a mistake. The world loses its sharpness, the outline of every object smearing together as your balance falters. A wicked throb blasts through your skull — your reward for this little rebellion. The black fabric fastened around your throat greedily swallows the meal you just offered.

Its creator steadies your body as if he isn’t the source of your malaise. His hands, covered in golden gauntlets, slither around your bicep. You’re vaguely aware of the short journey to an outdoor table set. Water rushes from the garden’s ivory fountain, the sound crescendoing into something unbearable. The evening sun feels too hot, the summer air, too humid; and the deceptively delicate-looking choker around your neck too tight.

Gortash barks out orders toward the maids here to serve ‘you.’ They scurry about, their hurried gait like that of a discovered rat colony. You sit at his behest. Commanding others is second nature to him, he enunciates every syllable with the confidence of a man who knows he won’t be challenged. No good comes from fighting it. You panic, you struggle, and then finally, you sink, succumbing to a riptide you never had a chance against.

He holds a crystal vial to your lips, which you part without prompting. It’s syrupy on your tongue, an artificial sweetness intended to make the tonic more tolerable, owing to your many complaints. Whether he adjusted the formula for your sake or his, you can’t say.

The viscous liquid stubbornly sticks to your esophagus. Eventually, you force it down.

Gortash’s elixir circulates throughout your body and soothes the tempest you incited. There’s little you know about the magic that siphons your divinity, but you do know it’s volatile. The insidious inventor sat aside his pride to explain that much. He foresaw that you wouldn’t sit pretty while he sapped your celestial power. An accurate estimate, considering your current predicament.

He recognizes your lucidity returning before you do.

“Foolish girl,” Gortash sneers. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing eye contact. The bags beneath his eyes appear darker than when you first met. You suppose you’re to blame for that. “Are you so eager to undermine that you’ll put yourself at risk?”

“What does it matter,” you reply, your glare communicating what your weary voice cannot. “Pain is all I know around you.”

Gortash releases you as if your skin scalded him.

“Pain? This? You know nothing of pain, aasimar. The word is lost on you.”

Righteous fury churns your stomach in on itself.

“Then show me!” You demand. “Show me, if that’s what it takes for you to stop flaunting your godsforsaken ‘benevolence.’ A benevolent warden! Can those two roles coexist? Or are you the one ignorant of words and their meanings?”

You fight for each breath. It’s been some time since you’ve snapped at him like this. For good reason, you think, noting the murky abyss in his eyes. Lord Enver Gortash isn’t to be spoken to in such a discourteous manner. People have had lips sewn shut and fingers unnaturally contorted for less. His cruelty isn’t random, there’s a methodology behind each stitch and snap.

Yet here you sit. Physically unharmed, adorned in fine garments, aureate bracelets, onyx earrings, and his favorite shade of rouge upon your lips. You don’t know what to make of this, you didn’t want to know for the longest time either. Should he confirm what you dread, well… at least you’ll have clarity amidst the revulsion.

He studies you like he would a defective construct he’s one adjustment away to fixing. You loathe how vulnerable you feel beneath his scrutinizing stare, that he has the means to take you apart and piece you back together.

An eternity passes before Gortash speaks again.

“... You’re frightened,” he surmises. “Frightened over what it means to be the subject of my affection.”

Your pulse quickens as the cool metal of his gauntlets brush against your hand.

“You want my wrath. The sting of a riding crop, the indignation from the welt it forms.”

The gauntlet’s tips dig into your flesh. It almost hurts, until he lessens the intensity of his grip. He’s mastered applying just the right amount of pressure to leave indents behind without breaking skin. He could break you, but he wants you whole, as proof he could conquer you at your best.

“Keep wanting, you won’t ever receive it. No,” Gortash smiles, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling from mirth. “Endure what it means to have earned my affection instead.”

#2024 is the year of objectifying old men #i'm speaking it into existence #this is just a lil something so i can get a feel for what it's like to write bg3 ....#gortash x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 x reader #enver gortash x reader #my stuff

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allthekingssmut · 1 year ago

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She's Rough And Coarse And Gets Everywhere

Jeon Heejin - Male Reader Word Count - 7.5k (2.2K) Tags: Rough Sex, Coarse Language and only trace amounts of sand... hopefully.

A/N: Welcome to Sandstorm 2: Electric Boogaloo, aka the reboot but not really since the original didn't happen. Which unfortunately means you're stuck with me. All joke's aside, this started as a anniversary present for Flint, which looking at the date... is pretty fucking late lol. Anyway, super big thanks to @nsfwflint for helping my rookie ass out and just being a cool dude all-round.

God, it is hot, a thought you trace as you find yourself nestled in the dark, dingy corner of Chalmun's Cantina. Even over the roar of crashing glasses and seedy elements, it always feels like your home away from home.

It helps that the music is decent.

Still, you can pick out a familiar guttural bark through the swells of liquor and hazy smoke.

"Shouldn't you be at work, kid?"

Chalmun.

His fingers flex and tug at his grey handlebar mustache... Can Wookiees even have mustaches? A lie pulls at the edge of your lips, tempting as it might be, but you know better.

"I-Uh, yeah," your teeth chew at the inside of your cheek. "Yeah, I should be."

"Do I need to remind you of the deal?"

You roll your eyes, something you hope he doesn't quite see or understand. "I get to freeload as much as I want as long as I help out Heejin."

"Which you are..."

"Not doing," a resigned sigh whispers past your lips. "I get it, I get it, it's just really hot in the garage."

Not a complete lie.

There's a flicker of an annoyed snarl that plays across his features, a hint of worry lingers in your gut. A deep inhale sets him at ease, a smile tickles across his lips.

"One would think you're not used to the twin suns of Tatooine," you feel his firm grip against your shoulder, raw and brutishly animalistic. "Odd, considering you've lived here your whole life."

A thumb bounces against his lip almost playfully in thought.

"Or perhaps something else is making it hard to focus and unbearably hot?"

He is right, there is no point doing it. Fight as you must, your brain lingers where it shouldn't. Her taut, sweat-soaked abs, the swell of her hips barely hidden by her jumpsuit.

You feel the greeting of cold glass against your skin, a bottle of liquor offered to your hand.

"Maybe this will help with the heat."

Despite your claims, the garage provides a welcome respite from familiar heats. The squelch of sand gives way to rigid metal.

"Is that you, Gogglehead?" Her voice echoes from deeper within, no doubt immersed in your work.

Pop the bottle, take a swig, cool off.

Focus up if you can.

The liquor saunters through every nerve, syrupy and sweet.

Kowakian rum.

Maybe it will help, if only to make you regret your existence tomorrow.

"Yeah, stopped off at Chalmun's for a drink," your feet dot around a corner, seeking her familiar tortuous figure. "Do you want some?"

You catch the faintest outline of her voice, her feet dangling out of the chassis, a tangled mess of wires and cords, the wiggle of her ass taunts you with an enticing sway.

Her back arches back with the swivel of her gaze. A furrowed crease lingers on her brow.

"I can't seem to get the pod to start."

You press two firm fingers into your temple, as it seems you now have two reasons to drink today.

Your tongue tastes the edge of your teeth with a stinging annoyance. "That's because I removed the thrust coil."

There's a flare of annoyance dotting each step towards you, the dance of a scoff against her lips. "I thought I told you the thrust coil was fine."

Her pointed finger prods at your chest, still, it's hard to ignore the slight hint of cleavage in her tube top.

Wait, were those your goggles?

The briefest touch sparks in your brain with a subtle intoxication, a want for more.

Her voice lingers in the air, the low huskiness is captivating even in spite of her irritated parlance.

A slow release of air is all you can manage.

Focus.

"Yeah, technically. Except it wasn't fitted properly for the cooling pump."

All this talk of thrusts and pumps isn't helping.

"Which, as you know, would make the engine blow."

A stressed huff is all that escapes her lips, fingers dancing across her temples as her eyes crawl shut.

There's a slightly forced smile that splinters across her lips, "What were you asking about again?"

Her lips soften as her eyes adjust over you, reinforced with a proper smile.

The glass bottle almost seems foreign and forgotten at that moment, "Uh, Kowakian Rum."

Her nostrils flare ever so slightly, her lips roil and dance with the idea before an exasperated sigh joins the fray with knotted eyebrows like tangled cablework.

"I'd love some, but I can't."

Huh?

"Excuse me, what?" The words sound more surprised and scornful than you anticipated, dancing in the simmering heat. You offer an arched eyebrow as a consolation. "Could you repeat that?"

Her lips flatten, curving into the tiniest frown.

"I said I'd love to, but I can't."

She stresses the word once again, you catch the flash of an almost cringe-induced grimace.

There's an almost troubled weight to her brow. A far cry from the Heejin you knew with a liquor tab nine pages deep.

You take another swig, almost habitual as the bottle rests in your hand.

"Do I even want to know?"

There's the lingering whispers of embarrassment that echo through her body onto her features, a dejected huff.

"Well, the Boonta Eve Classic is soon."

Your eyebrows knit together in a handshake of confusion.

"Yeah, next week. What's that got to do with today?"

There's the briefest flicker of her tongue against her lips before her teeth bite taut.

Her fingers pinch at the bridge of her nose as she paces.

"It's dumb, but my old coach would make us cut out all our vices before a race."

You offer her an understanding nod before taking another swig.

More for you.

Sweet rum trickles through your lips as a question cradles at the edge of your brow, before placing the bottle against the ground.

"So, like boxers before a fight?"

It would explain why you've been able to find moments away from her at the cantina.

"Yeah, exactly the same."

It's habitual the way your hands work and coast through wires and machinery, a habit you picked up from your father.

"Is that why you've been a bit…" Your hands struggle through the mess wrought by Heejin's handiwork, locked seals and knotted wires.

"Of a bitch?" She scoffs, a scowl burns across her face.

"Not the words I would've used," your eyes dance across the sandy brown ceiling. "Passionate, maybe?"

You catch the edge of a laugh, hidden by the roll of her eyes. Her laughter ripples with a melodic spring that dances and bounces against the tension that once hung thick in the air.

Still, there's something else that crinkles against your skin, a scintillating static that teases thoughts best left unsaid.

They're unprofessional, to say the least.

Yet, your eyes linger against Heejin, leaving the task at hand forgotten and abandoned. You swear she feels it too, if only for a second.

"Passionate, huh?" There's a flash of amusement that twinkles in her eyes. It twists slowly under your gaze before her eyes narrow, her voice drops lower with its husky richness, almost tauntingly. "Chalmun said you had a mouth on you."

There's something about the way that word rolls off her tongue, the coy dance as she moves closer.

Yet, she says nothing of it, of the deeper insinuation that lingers against your brain. Instead, her hands move with practiced precision, deftly manipulating wires and connectors, untangling the mess she'd left you with.

It's a practice you're used to with other clients. Why should you undo their missteps? Yet, there's a sensual grace to her movements, a fluidity that reminds you that she isn't a slouch in the mechanic department.

Yet, your brain lingers on the other applications such grace could be used for.

She pauses, taken by a sudden thought. There's the flicker of a smirk as she turns to you. "Being a little rough, or even bold, is more my style."

You lean against the nearby workbench, watching her continue to work in silence for a moment. You quickly find the rum in your hand once again, the cool liquid soothes your parched throat, but it does nothing for the simmering heat that lingers in your mind.

Your eyes never leave her taunting sweat-soaked figure, the lingering taste of rum on your tongue only intensifies your imagination and longing.

The question bites at your lips before you can even stop it.

"So, cutting out vices, huh?" You finally respond, your voice rich and huskier than you intended, betraying the thoughts that lingered. "Does that mean no late-night indulgences of any kind?"

Heejin looks up at you, her gaze meeting yours, a flicker of intrigue glimmering in her eyes. She pauses for a brief moment, as if weighing her response, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Well, let's just say that focus and discipline are essential before a race," she says, her voice lower, carrying a sensual edge that carves a shiver down your spine. "But let's just say all this talk of pumps and thrust isn't helping me with my frustrations."

The innuendo in her words hangs heavy in the air, weaving a web of temptation that becomes harder to resist. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the air between you charged with an undeniable chemistry.

Your gaze lingers on her as she continues working, her body moving with a seductive grace that seems to draw you in closer. The image of her sweat-soaked jumpsuit clings to her curves, amplifying the allure she exudes. The desire to reach out and touch her becomes almost overwhelming, but you fight to maintain composure.

As you approach her, your voice is laced with a mixture of desire and restraint. "Tell you what, when we win, I'll buy you as many drinks as you want."

Heejin's eyes darken slightly, her fingers pausing momentarily in their task. A smile plays at the edge of her lips, tossing and turning. She leans closer to you, her breath caressing your ear as she whispers, "Don't let your mouth write checks you can't cash, Gogglehead."

Her fingers play at your collar, a twinkling mischievous glint in her eye.

The suggestive implication hangs in the air, leaving your senses reeling. It takes all your self-control to keep your composure as the sexual tension between you and Heejin becomes nearly palpable.

With a knowing smile, you take a step back, forcing yourself to break away from the electrifying energy that crackles between you. "Let's focus up. We can't win if the pod isn't working in the first place."

Heejin's eyes follow your movement, a mix of longing and frustration flickering in her gaze. She bites her lip, as it falters, pushed back by the need for victory or perhaps something else?

A twitch of a smile lingers.

Tension hangs sticky and thick like the sweat that clings desperately to your overalls, there’s an anxious pace to your movements. Each wire, each connector, and every intricate detail weigh heavily on your mind and body, with ache and strain.

One small misstep spells defeat... or perhaps even worse.

As soon as the pod leaves the garage, it’s out of your hand. Heejin is no slouch, unless something catastrophically wrong happens... She can handle it.

Something you need to remind yourself of.

Yet, even as the days quickly blur together, there is a... weird nonchalance to her. That isn't the right word.

Calm and collected.

Unnerving.

At least compared to the itchy stressed friction you have grown accustomed to, though perhaps it is just her storied experience kicking in.

Even if she has been out of the saddle for a bit.

Still, it does nothing to settle your own worries.

“You know someone would think you’re the one racing Gogglehead,” her voice dances with a teasing playfulness. Even as you scan over the engine for the umpteenth time, you can practically see the smirk that plays on her soft lips—

Focus up.

“I-” How do you say you worry? That maybe it’s not so bad working with someone who isn’t useless an- “I just don’t want you blaming me if you lose.”

It's cocky the way her teeth flare, as her eyes look you up and down. A scoff echoes from her lips, the thought simply unimaginable. "And here I was thinking you were worrying about me."

Her fingers play at the collar of your jumpsuit, and it's hard to ignore the heat that builds with her touch. The way electricity hums under your skin as she steps closer, pushing into your space with an ease she only knows.

"Plus..." she whispers, and you feel each syllable brush against your skin, it’s light yet tempting all the same, pushing you with coaxing waves towards the edge.

The worry is almost an afterthought as her hand crests your hip. Her voice dips to a sultry, soft, husky whisper. "I have something of a good luck charm with me."

It creeps in your chest, the sparks that dance with her touch. You know better, as her lips peak with a smile, taunting and teasing. Still, it's hard to ignore the magic hidden in a magician devious yet charismatic trickery.

You hate the part of your brain that accepts she might be referring to you. Her taunts and jabs, a way to ease the tension that builds under her skin without indulgence.

It stings, as you bite your tongue, fighting the pull she has. You roll your eyes, step back, hand grasping a cloth to wipe away sweat and grease that mar your skin.

It's easier to breathe without her held in your gaze, your mind clears against her temptation. Still, you can't help but feel the heat that lingers thick in the air with her mere presence.

"Yeah, and what's this good luck charm?" you bite the bait, it's unwitting and against your character as your eyes stray back towards her plunging back into the thick heat.

Her lips brighten with that beautiful smile that pulls you deep and tugs at your core.

You almost miss when she is insufferable in a different way.

Still, there's a weird softness that flickers briefly on her lips, burning into her eyes for haunting microseconds. Your brain begs to understand what it means, if there is more under the surface.

But it quickly fades, a nameless speck of sand lost in an ocean.

She pulls out a familiar object, your eyebrows knit together—when did she?

"Really? My goggles?"

Your keepsake, your namesake, has been an afterthought against the heated hours in the garage. Too focused on the pod as a way to ignore the temptations that linger on the horizon.

She cocks her head to the side, the flare of her teeth with a scrunch of her nose tells you everything. Your reaction is priceless to her. To be fair, you completely forget about them in the ebb and flow of your conversation last week.

Still, there's a flit of actual happiness that plays on her lips, curving into a brief yet genuine smile.

You remember the hazy conversations from weeks long past, held in the drunken allure of the Cantina. A confession of vulnerability on your part, held together with liquor and a rare interest in you.

Your father's goggles.

Your good luck charm.

Yet, it means nothing to her, should mean nothing to her. The contradictions to your thoughts and assumptions linger on the sparks that twinkle in her eyes.

Her words are fuel to the fire.

"Of course~" her voice saunters with a teasing edge., flickering against the embers of something more. "A reminder of all the free drinks you'll owe me."

Her words poke and prod, flecked with a flirtatious taunt. Yet there's something that hums deep at the base of her voice, it twists with words unspoken.

Perhaps you're putting too much value on yourself in her eyes?

Yet it bounces and lodges in your brain, her own hushed worry.

The idea that you'd be with her, at least in spirit or a reminder of who to win for.

You catch the hitch of a smirk that scatters across her lips, the wind-up for another remark or jab.

"Plus, I can't wait to see all your winnings disappear on my tab."

A groan leaves your lips before you can stave it off, perhaps you are just her mechanic. A damn good one, mind you. Hell, you'd dare to say one of the best.

At least on Tatooine.

"Yeah, yeah." Your hands are already smoothing out the last details with the Pod, closing hatches and double-checking connectors. Your hands stray and drift, placing your goggles on her head. "Just make sure to bring those back, okay?"

Again, there's that flare of softness that beckons at the edge of her eyes as she looks up at you.

A weird tenderness clings in the air, it's vapid and calming. An entirely different beast to the charged and heated air you often share.

"I'd hate to come up with a different nickname for you after all."

The aftermath is a storm of its own kind, a mess of sweltering heat in Mos Espa's Grand Arena, charged with tense excitement.

It's violent and sudden, like a crash of thunder to the chest. Your human eyes aren't able to keep up with the sudden burst of sand that trails through the arena.

The roar of the crowd, akin to a gunshot breaking through the air, is the only evidence the race is over.

There's a hum of worry that lingers in your lungs, shoulders tense with an anxious weight. Your hand grips at Chalmun's shoulder, his fur jitters underneath your touch.

A roar tears through the air, a simple guttural howl, animalistic and excited.

Heejin would've probably asked you what he said.

A cheer of excitement, elation... but also smugness? You watch as his eyes dart towards the Hutt Clan's private box, the lavish adornments are lost on you as you catch a pained, scorned look echo across the Hutt's face.

You don't need to know Huttese to know someone is going to get fired.

Chalmun's energy is infectious as he grips your shoulders, lost in the throes of victory he shakes you violently.

Pain twitches through you as the world becomes a blur, yet even with the pain, your brain is focused only on her, the small speck in the distance putting on a show.

Flared waves of sand make it all the harder to pick her out through her victory laps.

Still, you can imagine her smile all the same.

It's unnerving, the chill bustle of the night air that saunters through Mos Eisley. Even through the thick haze of laughter, celebrations, and intoxication.

Chalmun's is your home away from home, normally you'd be in the thick of merriment, a sly attempt at free drinks. But something is missing... and you're hesitant to acknowledge it.

Have you been so caught up in the insinuation, the allure of her words that you've actually fallen for them?

...No, you're just tired.

Probably.

Still, you owe yourself a drink at the very least, a chance to join the revelry. After all, it is a rare thing for the Cantina to be filled with fewer of the more rambunctious and unsavory types you've known all your life.

You wave at Ackmena, two fingers a signal for your usual. She smiles, moving with a comforting warmth. If only she could work day shifts instead of Wuher.

Your drink slides over, punctuated with a wink.

"Thank-" the drink is gone in a flash, snapped up in a blur and returned with a slam.

Empty.

Some of the more usual behavior you're used to. A scowl licks at your teeth, your fist clenches tensed with an eagerness to make amends.

"You mind telling me why?" You ask, twisting around prepared to deck the dumbas-

Heejin or at the very least a beautiful woman in her shape and mannerism. The flare of teeth that takes pleasure in your reaction gives it away.

But fuck is she breath-taking, you mean no slight towards her usual appearance. If anything, there is a unique allure to the messy sweat-soaked and grease-smattered appearance that you've grown used to.

Replaced, draped in a luxurious fur coat that almost mocks Chalmun's usual patrons if it didn't enhance her already enrapturing allure. Her black crop top taunts you with the flare of her abs and soft curves aided by her black shorts and leather boots.

Her skin is no longer a teasing insinuation in your unfocused moments, rather a full-fledged suggestion for desire to latch on to, tooth and claw.

A girl out on the prowl through Coruscant's tempestuous nightlife, if you didn't know any better.

Her grin creases into a smirk, because oh god, you're staring and she knows.

It's hard not to, even with the flare of obnoxious confidence that glitters in her eyes.

Any words you have die in your throat, assailed by her charm.

Her tongue flits across her lips with a seductive grace, how would it feel against you in every sense of the word?

"If I'm not mistaken, someone promised me drinks." It's tantalizing the way she pulls herself close to you, lips hovering against your ear. "I intend to get my fill."

It's paradoxical the way you feel underdressed and yet overdressed for your desires. Heat prickles at the nape of your neck, your body's insinuation for how much you stick out, your jumpsuit mere rags in her company.

You knew you didn't, hoped you didn't. Yet it's hard to focus on logic when she lingers so close to you, her short hair tickling your skin.

Her proximity teeters on the edge of electric and intoxicating.

You're thankful your mind lingers on a memory, brief and fluttering, a passing conversation to ease the heat that settles in your core.

"Why the short hair?" An attempt at idle chit-chat before liquor loosened you up to conversation.

"My coach suggested it, said it'd get in the way." An oddly straightforward answer for the racer, you didn't know better back then.

You still remember the touch of her fingers as she leant closer, eyes focused, her voice dropping low to that tauntingly low husky whisper. "When fighting, racing, or fucking."

The grip of her hand pulls you back, calloused yet soft. You can feel the whisper of a smile, her breath tickling your cheek.

"Show me how you do it," her voice saunters like honey dripping with seductive sweetness, you cling to her words against the overwhelming bustle of a busy cantina. "Teach me."

It's hard to ignore the heat that builds, you know she's talking about slipping an order to Ackmena. But you can't help stiffen under the insinuation that haunts and tempts you.

You can practically see the pleasure that would quiver across her lips, tempting her to aid you.

A dry swallow is all you can manage to fight off the thought, a temporary fix.

She follows your guiding touch, moving with an almost uncharacteristic soft tentativeness. "Just like that?"

You swear you catch her breath hitch when your hand clasps against hers, pushing her fingers into place with unintended roughness.

A rare moment of catching her flat-footed, yet the moment drifts away like sand between your fingers before you can pounce.

A firm hand binds your wrists together.

Tork, Chalmun's bouncer.

"Boss needs the both of you in his office, pronto," his voice booms, despite his overwhelming stature and size, a small dumb animalistic fleck of your brain is tempted with the idea of a brawl.

Thankfully, Heejin moves first, slipping her hand out of his grip with spry ease. "We'll be there right away."

She smiles, the soft disarming smile you almost don't see anymore. Earning her a soft nod from the pale blue bouncer.

She shuffles slightly, straightening out her clothes.

"Wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good day for him."

Tork only grunts in response before guiding you both through labyrinthine sandstone backrooms, the rooms twist and turn with each step before you find yourself in front of familiar doors.

Familiar is a generous term, only having seen them once when you were a kid. Your heart prickles with anxiety at the thought.

You're surprised when the door opens softly, his familiar brown fur gesturing for you to come inside.

You inch forward, your blood thrumming in your veins. You take in the dimly lit office, a timeless recreation from your youth. Your gaze falls upon the wall of blasters and you can feel their powerful presence.

You can still practically taste the freshly heated air, cooked with blaster fire. A fragment that haunts you from years long since past.

Still you push through, nudging Heejin away from the small inviting coffee table opposite his desk, the plush decorative rug stained with years old coffee hints at its sinister nature.

You didn’t want to see another victim, let alone Heejin of all people.

She falls in line with your touch, trusting your guidance. As Chalmun moves with a frenetic pace, a giddiness that keeps him moving.

Though you doubt Heejin could see the nuances when it comes to the Wookie.

"I wish I'd been alerted to your presence sooner," he smiles through his guttural barks. "My friends should only drink the finest liquor."

He rummages through cabinets and containers with a rough ferocity.

You roll your eyes, a smile twists across your lips. "Here I was thinking it was something bad. You can't get Tork to tell us you want to reward us?"

You catch a sigh of relief from Heejin at your words.

"Please, boy, where is the fun in that?" He beams a well-placed smile as he produces two familiar bottles. "I deserve some fun despite your efforts."

"I doubt you brought us here just for two bottles of Kowakian rum... even for a little bit of fun on your end."

"Of course not, make yourself at home, away from the riff-raff and her adoring fans." Mischief dances in his eyes as he steps closer, twisting the flare of a smirk against his lips. "I have a Sabacc game to get to, an attempt by the slugs to regain their honor."

"Alright, boss." Your eyebrows twitch, unsure of what he's playing at or for. He moves with confidence, shuffling past you towards the door.

There's a moment of hesitance as he turns back to you for the briefest second. "Just don't make too much of a mess."

"What was that about?" She asks, head tilting to the side with less than subtle curiosity. The Wookie becomes nothing but an afterthought, a fading ember in your isolated presence with Heejin.

"Oh," you turn to her, biting your lip. "He just wanted us to make ourselves comfortable and enjoy his private stock."

Even in the dim light born from the single illumination panel behind the desk, you can pick out the way her eyes narrow. Her lips purse, teasing on the edge of a question. "What about that last thing? It seemed pointed at you."

Her voice hums with something foreign, at least to your interactions.

Worry?... No, that doesn't seem right. Her nature, her confidence forbids the very idea. No, it's something else that dances tauntingly at the tip of your tongue.

"Relax, it was nothing, Heej," the nickname rolls off your tongue before you can even stop it, you watch as it lingers in the air, moving with a sauntering slowness. Your brain jostles with awkward apologies that die in your thoughts before finally it lands.

Square in her chest, judging from the swell of her smile.

"You don't have to call me that, you know?" there's a warmth that's strange on her lips, a flicker of softness as her eyes linger on you. "It's nice, though."

Her feet shuffle, shifting under the weight of vulnerability. She develops a sudden interest in everything, except for you. Unable to build up the courage to look you in the eye.

To speak plainly too, apparently. A rare silence fills the void in conversation.

A smile bubbles to your lips, you should cut her some slack, offer her a life ring. "We were gonna drink, weren't we?"

Your words cobble together the version of Heejin you're used to, fluttering eyelashes and teasing smirks.

She preens under your gaze with a sultry swipe of her tongue across her lips. Each movement is enticing, weighed heavy with calculated seduction.

The sway of her ass buzzes with a tantalizing edge, pushing into your space with a graceful twirl. "Yes, we were."

Your baser instincts beg for permission, to indulge her in her attempts. To feel your hands carve into her taut, firm ass as you take her.

It's hard to ignore the stiffening desire that stirs in your loins, her hand traces your chest pushing you back into the hardwood desk.

A smirk blooms across her lips, dancing with the often-times obnoxious confidence you'd grown to love to hate. It's hard to resist the tug, the control she has over you.

The only defense, the only respite you can manage is found in a bottle of Kowakian rum.

Syrupy sweet indulgence.

Her hand brushes over your bottle-held grasp, coaxing it out of your grasp into the embrace of her lips. She's less than subtle, as the liquor spills from her lips, trickling in enticing rivulets down her chin.

A knowing wink, pulls you deeper as she continues to imbibe; desperate to get her fill. Awe and admiration bubbles underneath your skin as she throws back the bottle and all of its contents.

The bottle slams against the desk, a devilish grin burns across her lips. She looks up at you, cheeks flushed with liquor that lingers on her every breath.

Her tongue plays against her lips, her eyes sparkle with a flash of insight, a realization.

Her teeth tense against her bottom lip, as the air cackles with tension, heavy and sweltering.

A flash of resignation, as words leave her lips.

"So," her voice drips with a hungry, ravenous need that you didn't need to hear, you could already feel it. The soft ministration of her hand against your clothed cock. "Are we gonna fuck or what?"

Gone is the pretense, replaced with a desperate gnawing need for her fill. It's intoxicating the way her lips quiver and crack against raw primal hunger.

Your hands crest her hair, soft and delicate as a wry smirk bounces across her lips. Her eyes settle on yours, beaming with anticipation and an unmistakable craving that eagerly awaits your command.

Her head tilts back, her silky locks spilling around her face in waves of delight.

A gasp shatters with a moan as your calloused hand tugs her hair, pulling her closer into your embrace. Her breath hitches and floats on the edge of another moan as you press against her contours.

You take your time savoring each sensation, the heat searing through the air as though it were tangible. Your mouth burns against her neck, leaving bruises that smolder in your wake. Each cinder pushes a smile against her, each ember pulls a purr into her throat.

Your cock is an afterthought against the hazy pleasure that twists and churns in the back of your skull. It aches and yearns, an animalistic need to consume her in your roaring flames, reduce her to an ash that knows only your name.

It's instinctual, the way your hands wander and rove over her body, teasing and taunting in equal measure as you whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

"You weren't kidding," a smirk hangs on your lips between flame-licked bruises. You lock your fingers through her hair, hungrily drawing her tight, clawing a soft whimper from her throat. Your hand trickles down her back with playful fingertips, haunting the edge of her hip before finally carving into her ass with a voracious slap. "Rough is definitely your style."

A flash of shock sparks against her features, eyes wide and mouth jar before it shifts into a hungry, carnal smile as her eyes latch tight to yours. She had no escape, but you doubt she'd want to.

You catch the turn of gears, a witty comeback in the making. Yet, you're too focused on the way her supple, taut ass feels against your hand. Your fingers teeter on the edges of her hips, creeping along the divot of her abs, plucking at the button of her short with a teasing flare.

Her words are shaky, barely discernible against the soft moans that escape her lips, blooming into a whiney drawn out fuck, as your fingers snake through her shorts and past her underwear.

Holy fuck is she wet.

A desperate quiver ripples across her lips strengthened with each passionate caress, her throat hums begging for more as your fingers slide into her slick heat, a flooded river of anticipation.

Your mouth clashes with hers, hot and frenzied as the air sizzles with passion. Her tongue crashes against yours, a carnal dance that leaves you gasping for more.

A tug of her hair earns a breathy honeyed moan as a smile twists across her lips, cocky and headstrong. Slowly it fades shifting with the guidance of your pleasure soaked fingers bucking against her sweet spot.

Any thoughts, any words jumble and die in her throat, replaced with a whispered please. Ecstasy ignites like a wildfire across her face tightening into a low whine as you hold her just shy of the precipice.

Her hips buck with a desperate plea, begging for release in the hazy mist of pleasure.

Yet, something fights within her at the edge of her lips, a small defiant fragmented shard.

Her hand caresses your cock, no longer a forgotten afterthought in your pursuit. She purrs as she strokes at your clothed length.

"I think someone deserves some attention," her voice dripping with seduction, a husky warmth. A veiled attempt to regain some semblance of control. "Let's see if it was worth all the anticipation~"

Her movements are smooth and focused, still you notice the weak wobble of her knees as she peels away your jumpsuit by the zip. Her fingers dance with an electric spark-filled tension slowly creeping to your boxers.

It's intoxicating the way her tongue flits across her lips as she drops to her knees. Raw hunger bounces across her lips, quivering in anticipation.

Her hands tremble and shake, a small crack in her veneer of confidence.

Her eyes linger and smolder burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow you whole. Her lips part with the slightest breath, her teeth clench tight against her bottom lip, her gaze unflinching as she slowly and deliberately peels away your boxers.

It's delicious and succulent, the surprise that echoes across her features, punctuated with a gasp as your cock smacks against her soft, dewy lips like a thunderclap of passion. The shock sends ripples all the way across her face as it curves around the bridge of her nose and plunges off the edge of her forehead.

A warm hum blooms in her throat, cresting into a pleasure drunk giggle as she nuzzles against your shaft.

"Oh fuck," she whispers her eyes dance along your shaft, the glint of held back fantasies glimmer in her eyes. Her hand pumps and twists across your length, extraditing a moan from your lips with her eagerness. Her breath hitches with a hungry excitement, tickling your shaft in between lovingly pressed kisses. "You should've told me, you had such a... fat cock."

She continues, lost in her ministrations, slowly and tantalizingly drawing out your pleasure as you groan against her soft touch. Yet, you can pluck out the fine line edge she balances on, the sound of slick wetness indulged as she pants heavily slapping her face with your cock. "You could've had me anyway you wanted you know?"

It's a feverish, lavish dance of her tongue around your cock, strung together with a primal and wild urgency, as if she would die if she didn't taste you against her tongue. Her lathered spit slowly christens every inch of your shaft, marking it as her territory.

Her gaze is a siren’s call, inviting you to dive into her depths. Her lips akin to silk as they tease the head of your cock

Her hands guide your own cresting through her hair, a silent encouragement to ravage her without restraint.

The sensation is inescapable, as your throbbing cock slipping past her dewy soft lips, plunging into her depths. You can feel the hum of a depraved smile as she gags and chokes against the sheer length of your cock, unable to fully take you.

It's a sputtering cough that echoes from her lips, hazed with watery eyes as she clutches for air.

"Come on, I can take it," there's a flare of a scowl against her teeth. "Don't be a bitch."

She asked for it.

Your hands tighten in her hair as she sucks and pulls in surprise, sending waves of pleasure shooting to your core. She looks up at you through heavy lidded eyes, smoldering with desire. Her fingers grip tightly around your shaft as her muscles contract around you - a gentle reminder that she will never let you go.

You push further into her until you bottom out, her nose pressed to your navel.

You're fully engulfed in heat and wetness as she begins to moan around you - softly at first, but quickly growing louder with each stroke that bulges at her throat.

Her eyes water, brim and swell against the ravaging pressure. She hums, smiles under your assault as the cascade begins, her own twisted badge of pride.

The sensation is overwhelming; a perfect balance of tightness and wetness as she sucks and gags around you.

The echoing sound of ministrations against her own slick heated desire becomes your guiding rhythm, the tempo only increasing with each gag and choke.

Her knees quiver and tremble as you ravage her throat without restraint, a mere tool in the pursuit of your own pleasure.

It only takes one final thrust, deep and hard to send her careening over the edge into a carnal pleasure-filled abyss. She screams into your lap, her body twitching in clear pleasure as wave after wave of her orgasmic bliss crashes against your shaft.

It's a desperate fight to stay afloat, to ignore the call to unload deep within her throat against the crashing waves of her orgasm, but you're after a sweeter prize.

"Holy fuck," she gasps, a hazy smile etched into her lips, she swipes at the stray messy strands of spit. "That was hot as fuck."

You found it hard to disagree, "You're..."

"Kind of a slut?" she adds, a dulcet whisper against your ear. It's hard to ignore the brimming smile.

"I was gonna say intense."

It's a soft genuine chuckle that saunters through the air. "Thanks, I'll take it."

Her eyes drift over you, her warm gaze a caress. She licks her lips and smirks as she looks at your cock. "A shame you didn't cum, the thought of you plastering my face or swallowing all your cum was so fucking hot."

Her delicate fingers entwined around your cock, massaging it with a gentle rhythm as your heart pounded in anticipation. Her eyes roamed yours before she spoke, her voice husky and full of desire. "I can't wait to feel this inside me."

All it takes is one swift move, as you grip her waist pulling her so intoxicatingly close to you, pressing her hips against the edge of the desk. A surprised giggle bounces from her lips as you pull her shorts and panties down her legs. The air crackles with electricity, you catch her rugged eagerness, as her clothes flutter and splay around Chalmun's office.

She's barely able to pull herself up the edge of the Chalmun's desk as your thick cock brushes against her drenched folds. You can see the sparks of pleasure as her eyes flutter shut, arms snaking around you, pulling you closer into her electric gravity.

Her legs shudder and quake as you push deep into her, her breath frozen in her throat as you push harder and harder, deeper and deeper into her.

The desk creaks-you swear it splinters-as you feel her cunt finally take the full might of your cock. It's in her wordless, breathless moments as her eyes roll back with

half-lidded desire, that you actually feel it, even through the torrential storm that is her she's-

"-So fucking tight."

Her fingers dig into your shoulders as her nails scrape against your skin, any words she has die, caught in clutched needy gasps. But you can see it in the flickering fire in her eyes, the twist of her devilish smile.

Make a mess, break the desk.

It's a feverish dance, the slow build to a crescendo that threatens to drown you in pure bliss. Each stroke punctuated with a resounding slap, a jiggle of her chest pushing against you as she moans in a guttural tone.

"Fuck me, fuck me," she chants softly, her eyes glued to your cock, a needy slut to your pleasure. Your hand grips tight against her locks pulling her into a messy torrid kiss.

She nuzzles into you, her lips are sloppy against yours as you plunge further and further. Her muscles clench tight against you, a fire burning with each pull, each thrust and soft moan. Her nails bite into your shoulders, drawing blood as she pants heavily against your lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants against your lips.

A strangled moan escapes her throat, the intensity of your thrusts increasing as the pressure builds within you, threatening to burst forth. She cries out with each thrust, the sound of your cock diving into her depths, a melody to her ears.

Her lips part with the slightest of breaths, her tongue darts across her bottom lip, a silent invitation to dive deeper. The feeling is visceral as she clenches every inch of her muscles tight against you, a searing rapture that threatens to swallow you whole.

The feeling is overwhelming; a soft and wet embrace as you plunge deep into her. The tightness of her walls around you, as they pulse and constrict around you.

She's barely holding onto her consciousness, her eyes glued to the way her breasts shake and jiggle as you fuck her senseless.

You find it hard to resist the incessant call to cum, burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow your mind whole. Her moans fall into a steady rhythm as you plunge into her harder and harder.

"Cum," her voice a husky whisper, yet tinged with something more, a tempered unexpected softness. It's real and vibrant even in the haze of pleasure. "I want to feel you."

It's needy and desperate.

The feeling is inescapable, the sensation of her tight and wet around you. She screams in pleasure, a shrill moan that pierces the air around her.

The desperation in her eyes and on her lips as you're pressed together was unmistakable; a clash of teeth and tongue full of longing. You feel the urgent desire that emanates from her, radiating into your lungs with each clawed breath.

It was more than just sex at that moment, as her lips nip at yours and her legs clutch and locked around your waist. You can feel the raw emotion radiating off of her, a feral passion that throbs through your veins.

You can feel every part of her body tremble with pleasure as each kiss deepens further.

Your hands caress her neck, exploring every inch of her skin as she shudders beneath you. You feel like you're losing control, giving into the sensations coursing through both your bodies.

The sounds of pleasure that escape her lips become heavy and desperate as the sensation builds inside of you both, an explosion of heat that threatens to consume you.

She claws at your back, gasping for air between breaths as each thrust sends jolts of pleasure through both your bodies.

Her hips grind against yours, pushing herself further and further towards the brink of insanity. Her voice catches in her throat as she cries out for more, begging for release from the overwhelming sensation within.

"Cum for me," she whispers into your ear, her voice dripping with lust, tarnished by desperate and undeniable need.

It's all you need.

A crash of pleasure rocks your core, electric shocks race up and down your spine as you finish inside of her, launching rope after feverish rope into her depths. A moan catches in her throat, hitching with each decadent spurt as she truly gets her fill.

"Wow," she opens her misty eyes, her lips curled into a hazy smile. "That was... intense."

The warm air around you is a heavy blanket that settles around you both, a contented and satiated silence that settles against her skin.

"Hey," she nudges you, languid in the afterglow. Still, you catch embers of a teasing smile. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Is this our first date?"

#heejin smut #loona smut #male reader #loona heejin smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #artms smut

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crrative · 10 months ago

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New Year - Sanders Sides

It's like 2am and it's appropriate. Prinxiety nation, human roommate au. You know the drill.

Having a community of young people who look to you and your work for comfort and feeling unable to provide when you didn't expect the pressure in the first place sounds heavy to shoulder alone. It makes sense that the last few years have been unstructured with the context. Because I know there's a chance Sanders himself is seeing this: you did something great.

Happy New Year, fuckbags

It's a tame environment. There are only six of them and everyone would rather be in bed, but the year has been so taxing that it feels right to sign it off with a huge middle finger and then go to bed. All there is to do is wait.

Barely a minute left until New York lights up on the TV and Logan has finished his second glass of wine in the last five. Patton is hunched with his obnoxiously long fingers against his temple, resisting the temptation of accepting yet another offer for a glass and opting to nurse the sleep-deprived headache in stead. Roman has put himself on the couch, fiddling with a pen and its lid from the coffee table. Virgil is on the arm of the couch, crouched like an obnoxious prick in an attempt to express his edge, which only really serves to make him look like a dork and unintentionally lightens the mood a smidge.

"Where are the chuckle twins?" Logan poses, observing the swirl in his drink as it settles from being poured.

"Janus said 'surprise' when he went into his room," Patton answers.

"Remus went with him," Virgil grumbles.

The silence reignites as a door opens from down the hall. Remus walks out with a tray of six shot glasses, brimming with syrupy liqueur. Janus walks a metre behind him, head held high.

"We'll all sleep better after this," he insists proudly as Remus parades the tray around, face blank and ashy as slate. He doesn't take sleep deprevation particularly well, but he handles it better than Roman copes with Janus sitting beside him. Where Virgil has turned and planted his feet on the couch seat, Roman parks himself, arms curling around his waist as the countdown starts. The crowd on the street chants and the six watch, breath held.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" It screeches, fireworks filling the screen with a blinding light, flooding the living room with a rectangular explosion of warm white. The group heaves a collective sigh.

Before the festivities can draw themselves out too long, Virgil leans down and over Roman, placing his fingers flat and sideways beneath his chin. In compliance with a rhythm long established, Roman closes his eyes and allows Virgil control. Their lips part, connect, and close around the other's in a chaste display of commitment and affection. Roman seasons the display by running his hand up Virgil's outer thigh.

"Oh! Well, if we're getting crazy," Patton posits with a muted smile, skirting the breakfast bar he'd been slumped on and bending over the couch. Janus looks up and to the side to recieve and return what he had rightly expected to be a sweet, tired peck. It brings a modest and satisfied smile out of the shadow that was his bored expression.

"This does not constitute crazy," Logan commented, unbeknownst to the presence lurking behind him. It makes first contact with his waist, cold fingers slid beneath his sleep shirt. He sucks in a shocked breath as the ice burns his skin. "You do."

"Love you, too."

Janus sits up and addresses the three behind them with a raise of his glass. "Are we ready?"

"Affirmative."

"Yeah."

"Okay..."

"Indeed!"

"I don't have to, do I?"

"No, dear, but it's not ordinary spirit. I think you'll like it." Patton grimaces at his glass and observes the others. A beat passes, Janus gestures to the room with his drink and everyone follows his lead in taking the shot.

"It's almost unbearably sweet."

"I did not expect that coming from you, Logan," Roman comments as he inspects his cup. "Do you not like toffee?"

"I didn't say that."

"No need for the defenses, Doc, I only asked."

"He just wants us to know to save him some whenever it's goin' 'round," Virgil swoops in, smile on his face, voice raspy. Roman takes his glass and hands it to Patton.

"I wonder why you chose something so sweet," Roman implicates. Janus turns around and looks up at Patton, who is smiling with such soulful conviction that it hurts.

"I loved it."

'Score,' Janus thinks as he settles into the couch and joins the others in watching the screen.

#remus sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #prinxiety #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #intrulogical #moceit #janus sanders #logan sanders

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tomoshibi · 1 year ago

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@curmoritor : No one could ever explain the thoughts that go on in your head. Nothing could prepare you for flurries of unexplained emotions and annoying nagging in the back of your head. Emotions are certainly not your strong suite, they never will be. You ripped a mans eye out for no reason you can describe, but because you like it you refuse to return it. Though feeling feels no different The desire to possess something. You can easily take it, it's not hard. You are stronger then the witch in front of you who stands washing glasses in silence.

She's probably starting to wonder why your gaze isn't leaving her, however.

❛ Shylock~ ❜ You say with a rather sing-songy tone, waiting for her to look up and open her mouth before a gloved hand snatches her cheeks up, pulling her half way over the counter roughly as you do not even hesitate to have your lips meet hers. A kiss is something that is meant to be intimate or loving, yet you lack the ability to make either carry through to such an action. Rather... You want to devour her whole. Yet, not in the traditional ways that Witches and Wizards find devouring one another. Rather, tongue wastes little time in exploring the crevices of mouth. It's wet, it's strange... the aftertaste of a wine he can't place and the taste of smoke from her pipe. So very strange.

Yet you aren't done until your teeth come and bite her tongue, eager to claim a place that few others have had the chance. Only pulling back when you deem the action is done, over with. Was any of this necessary? No, yet it felt that way to you. A inner urge to claim something that few others got too.

Pulling back with a giggle as you let her go, you lean on one of your hands as you observe her. ❛ You taste rather fruity. ❜

Shylock is not unused to situations like these: love is love and it is darling, yes, but there is something that exists deeper, in the same crevices and cracks of the psyche, something so much more wholly affectionate and loving, something that surpasses the limits of the heart and claws its way tooth and nail into another's body through the ribs and out the spine.

It does, really, feel like being devoured when he kisses her.

He is all teeth and lips smashing and shaking and thrashing together, not like a kiss but like a war fought in the mind and she wastes no time in returning every ounce of feeling given to her — she reaches over and grabs his shoulder, the other hand bracing herself against the counter lest she be thrown over it in his haste. Fingers dig into wood, dig into shoulders, nails into skin through fabric protective but not thick enough to hide the bite of each sharp point.

Shylock has kissed a lot of people in her life.

You learn more about someone through a kiss than through hours of conversation, she thinks: how scared they are, how nervous, how outgoing, how kind, all of it from a simple kiss. It's becomes them, entirely, and this is surely so Owen it's unbearable. The way he bites her tongue, not hard enough to draw blood but more like a threat: a show of hands, a veritable I could, if I dared.

And all too quickly it's over. They break and she is left clinging to the counter beneath her and breathing heavily, her heart in her throat and that familiar burn that lingers in it just dancing at the edge of her consciousness. She smiles. How Owen it was.

' Your sweet tooth lends much to the taste of your lips too, Owen. ' Shylock leans back, adjusts her shirt and shawl, and pours a sweet, syrupy drink into her glass before pushing it over towards Owen to drink. Another kind of kiss. The kind only Shylock knows how to give.

#s. ic #Woops

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justburningdaylight · 2 years ago

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Icarus and the Sun | S.H.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Summary: Reader's in love with her best friend. Considering she can’t tell him about this particular secret, she instead entrusts it to her diary, neglecting to remember Steve’s old habit of reading said diary.

Warnings: fluff (finally!), best friends to lovers, a little bit of kissing, multiple references to the greek myth about icarus and daedalus, glorification of bob dylan, spoiler free!

Word count: 3.4k

a/n: hi besties ! sorry i’ve been quiet lately but vol.2 dropped so here’s a lil somethin’ i wrote just for you <3 it’s one of my veeeery favourite works so far. i’m a firm believer in best friends to lovers supremacy and i figured it was time i gave y’all something sugary sweet instead of the usual mountain of angst. let me know what you think ! p.s. asks are open, come chat with meee !

Certain as the crashing tide always rises and the conflagrant sun always sets, you’re positively resolute that the secret you’re so strenuously harboring will always remain just that; A secret.

It’s trivial, you think, arduous, to venture into the plethora of prominent memories you benevolently share with your best friend and attempt to pinpoint the precise genesis of your affections.

Would it be helpful to reminisce upon the exact juncture in which love became love?

Would it be helpful to identify when, in your mind, his eyes stopped being brown? When they instead transformed into the purest shade of delectably rich milk chocolate. When the sticky, syrupy sweet pools of golden honey began to hold such a brilliant tepid glow to them that the sun itself could have seemed dull in comparison; the world itself could have seemed dull in comparison.

Would it be helpful to establish the specific moment that his laughter was no longer a sound? When the aforementioned laughter transmogrified into a mellifluous, harmonious symphony. When no vinyl or cassette tape that you owned could compare to the melodic original composition of his euphonic joy.

Would it be helpful to remember the first time a friendly touch led way to an ever-hastening heartbeat? When the gentle grazing of his fingertips against your skin set a metaphorical wildfire to the surrounding area, leaving the searing warmth no choice but to take up semi-permanent residence within your body, the remaining smoke loosely floating its way through your airways and constricting your heart in a biting display of affection.

Would any of this prove helpful? Considering you’ve inadvertently managed to fool Steve into a smooth and blissful ignorance of these feelings, why should it be helpful to dwell on the origins of your tender yearning?

The verisimilitude of the situation is as follows; You’re desperately in love with your best friend and he’s none the wiser to it. This is precisely how it should always remain; A secret held as though it were an oath, forged in love and kept in fear. You’ve not a doubt in your convoluted mind that the revelation of your feelings would negatively alter the course of your friendship, which is simply not something you’d ever be willing to risk.

But it’s been tearing you apart. The sheer density of the secret weighing you down is nearly unbearable and you need to emit your innermost sentiments before the tear gives way and splits you in two; One half of you finally free from carrying around the burden of unrequited love, whilst the other wanders around aimlessly, aching on the precipice of being demolished from the unwavering mass of her devotion.

For obvious reasons you find yourself unable to relinquish this information to Steve, the only person you would ordinarily trust with a secret so immense. Taking the current circumstances into account, you’re left with only one viable option to break your internal confidentiality.

Your diary.

The juvenile undertones of writing to your diary about this situation are not lost upon you, but desperate times call for the invocation of desperate measures.

You don’t fight the triumphant simper that overtakes your lips when you manage to skillfully locate the well-worn diary, comfortably wedged on the bottom shelf between the sturdy wood of your trusty bookcase and your near-deteriorated copy of Little Women.

You’re instantly regretting the gentle blow of air you gave in an attempt to efface the wispy layer of dust coating the cover, your throat constricting as you breathe in the primitive particles. It’s been longer than you thought, you suppose, since you last publicized your internal conflicts in the pages of your diary.

Here goes nothing.

“-And it’s like, yeah, I get it, you wanna watch Top Gun, so does every other teenage girl on earth, that’s why we don’t have it right now!” Steve sibilates exasperatedly, tumbling jauntily onto your bed and landing on his back in the space beside you.

“I don’t really get the whole Tom Cruise thing,” You start, referencing the noticeable crush of whichever teen-aged girl it is that’s gotten under Steve’s skin at the video store today, “If we’re talking heartthrobs, he’s not coming anywhere near Rob Lowe.”

“Wha- Rob Lowe? Seriously? C’mon (y/n), did you even watch About Last Night? The best thing about that movie was Seger on the soundtrack.” Steve retorts, turning on his side to face you directly.

You make the intrepid decision of cultivating direct eye contact, instantly filling your insides to the brim with equal parts gratitude and regret.

His eyes hold all the warmth in the world, and you know this for a fact because the sun itself is resting contentedly inside of them. The longer you look, the more fervently the warmth spreads through you, and yet you can’t resist it. You find yourself no different from Icarus, flying ever-closer to the sun solely to bask in its warmth. And just like Icarus, you crave the proximity, consequences be damned. It was the death of him and you’re sure it’ll be the root of your own demise, but at this very moment you can’t find it within yourself to descend the smallest of distances, not even as you feel the wax starting to melt the feathers from your own back, dripping down carelessly into the sea below, you’ve simply no sense to heed Daedalus’s warning. This is the end, you think, and what a seraphic way to die.

“(y/n)? Did you hear me? ‘Cause usually you’d be fighting me to the death right now or something.”

“Yeah- Yeah I heard you, I just- I thought you needed a long silence to really soak in the idiocy of your words. You know, let it marinate a little.” You snap out of your reverie, grateful there’s no residual burn from your trip to the sun.

“Oh I’m marinating like a big juicy steak right now,” He scrunches his nose in a darling display of antipathy, a visible opposition to your words, “I just don’t get what you see in that guy.” There’s a certain deflation laced amongst his words as the sentence dies off. He wants to say more, he longs to say more, but at the potential of anything interfering with your friendship, he bites his tongue instead.

“Whatever. And to think I never said anything about that Jane Fonda poster you used to have hanging in your room.” You state with a deadpan delivery, quickly erupting into a fit of laughter once you catch sight of Steve’s mouth gaping like a fish, a playful expression of mock betrayal painting itself like a masterpiece upon his heavenly features.

It’s then that he regrets holding it in, with the canorous sound of your laughter floating impeccably through the air, with the empyrean sight of your face delicately scrunched up in amusement, with your hand right within perfect holding distance, practically begging to be intertwined with his own, it’s then that he wants to blurt it out. Hey (y/n), did you know that I’m wildly in love with you? Hope this doesn’t mess with the friendship we’ve had since we were six, he thinks, yeah that won’t backfire at all.

Your laughter gently subsides and you’re all too aware of Steve’s eyes on you as you cast your gaze upon the ceiling, as desperate as you are to bore your eyes into his own once again, you still feel the tepid remnants of your previous vacation to the sun inside, and you’re not ready to head back into the miraculously searing warmth just yet.

They take their time, his eyes, exploring each carefully crafted curve and bend delicately lining the gentle expanse of your face. They stop and ponder at how such true beauty can emanate from behind your eyes, even when they’re not directed at him.

There’s a shine to them, he notes. A glimmer of the moon he’s almost certain is carefully encased behind the irises of your eyes. When they look at him, really look at him, he can see the glisten of that fractured moonlight, gently casting its glow upon a quiet dark night. When they sparkle after one of his particularly atrocious jokes, he sees a shooting star soaring swiftly through the sky, illuminated by the moon aside it, he can almost feel it falling from your eyes and landing gently inside the confines of his own heart where it’s sure to thrive, fuelled by his admiration of it, fuelled by his admiration of you.

The modulation of your ringing doorbell snaps the two of you from your thoughts, leaving you both vexatiously unaware of how similar the meanings of those thoughts are.

“Not it!” You call, your voice combining with Steve’s.

“Noes goes!” Steve states, hurriedly placing his finger to the tip of his nose, not attempting to hide the confident and optimistic smile resting upon his tender pink lips.

“Ugh, no fair. You’re the one who wanted to order pizza in the first place! I have a perfectly good frozen one that could’ve been in our stomachs by now.” You gripe, reluctantly pulling yourself up from your bed and away from the ever-present warmth of your best friend.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m gonna let you near an oven again. I still have nightmares about the last ‘pizza’ you cooked for me. No thanks.” He throws up air quotes around the word pizza, as if you had intentionally burnt the thing to an unrecognizable crisp. He’s the one who still ate it.

“Alright, fine. Just trying to offer you a nice home-cooked meal and this is the kind of thanks I get.” You sigh, placing a hand above your heart to further dramatize your dialogue.

He lets out a soft chuckle as he repositions himself on the bed, now laying his head on your pillow. You almost whisper an unintelligible thank you to the universe as you’re now certain your pillow will carry the delectable scent of Steve’s shampoo.

You’d likely have retracted those unspoken words of gratitude if you didn’t turn out of the room and head for the door so quickly. Perhaps if you waited just a moment more, you would have seen the somehow charming look of physical discomfort on Steve’s face as he feels a rigid protrusion from underneath your typically plush pillow.

He lifts his head, perplexed. After sliding his hand beneath the pillow, his nimble fingers form a grip on the source of his discomfort. He can’t repress the smile that graciously overtakes his lips as he pulls it out and discerns what it is.

Your diary.

He hasn’t seen the thing in ages, you had stopped writing in it years ago. His smile grows as he vividly remembers an excerpt from the time he’d read it in seventh grade, Bob Dylan is the greatest songwriter alive, and so incredibly handsome too… He teased you about it for months, it even led you to arguing over which of his albums is the best, a disagreement the two of you haven’t settled to this day. You, being of sound mind, are aware that Blonde on Blonde is one of the greatest albums ever written, but Steve swears it doesn’t top Highway 61 Revisited.

He lets out a diminutive snicker at the memory and decides he’s going to find that page and dredge up the old jokes he used to not-so gallantly taunt you with.

His lithe fingers move quickly and precisely as he gently unwraps the twine enveloping the book closed. There’s still a pen inside, acting as a bookmark. Maybe she had the same idea, he smiled to himself as he opened the diary to the marked page, his eyes wandering toward the first sentence scrawled across the slightly curled up piece of paper.

It’s hopeless to feel this way, and even more conceivably lame to be writing about it in a diary like a middle-schooler, but I have to get it out somehow and it’s not like I can tell Steve

Can’t tell Steve what? He thinks, eyebrows creasing together in confusion, we tell each other everything. Well, almost everything. Another thought occurs to your best friend, should I be reading this? But then he remembers that you likely haven’t touched the book in years, this is probably something you’ve long since forgotten about, just more fuel for the jokes he’s sure to aim your way. So he reads on.

I mean how would that conversation even go? “Hi Steve, I know you only see me as a friend considering we’ve been that to each other for over half our lives, but did you know that I’m completely in love with you? Oh you didn’t? Cool, well I’ll just see you later I guess” I don’t even know why I wrote that because I’m getting nauseous just thinking about it.

There’s no point in telling him anyway, he’d never feel the same way. And then I would ruin our friendship. Oh god I don’t even want to think about that. Why would I say that? This whole thing was entirely unhelpful. Another great idea (y/n)! So, bye I guess? Do you write that in a diary?

A quick glance at the date scribbled across the top of the page informs Steve that this was written only yesterday.

There should be a word for what Steve is feeling right now, a word to describe the complete and utter happiness, bewilderment, and relief coursing through his body. You loved him? You loved him? He can’t count on both hands how many times he’s backed out of telling you how he feels, ruled by the fear that his affections could be unrequited. Come to find out you feel the same way in all regards. There should be a word for what he’s feeling, but all he can think about is how grateful he is for the existence of words in general; For words, your words, are how he found out that you love him.

He’s donning a splendid, blinding smile. He feels as though it’s splitting his face in two, but he couldn’t subdue it if he tried. He’s aware that there’s a conversation to be had about privacy and personal boundaries but his grin just keeps growing, it’s nearly touching his ears when you finally return to your room, plates in your grip as you simultaneously and near-unsuccessfully attempt to juggle two glasses of water in your hands.

“Ummm. Little help? Please?” You murmur confusedly, taking in the paradisiacal sight of Steve’s broad smile.

“What? Oh-Uh yeah, yeah I gotcha.” He speedily grabs a plate and a glass from your hands, the gentle brush of his fingertips against your hand causing a trail of goosebumps to form along your flesh.

“What are you smilin’ about? You’re watching one of those Fonda aerobics tapes in your mind, aren’t you? Little perv.” You’re joking, but as heavenly as the view is, you’re questioning the sincere origins of his smile.

“Huh? No actually, I was- I was just thinkin’ about your diary. You remember this?” He’s still smiling that blissful smile as he holds up the aforementioned diary, wholly unaware of the dread that’s now coursing throughout your body.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Please tell me he didn’t read it. Please, please, please.

“Y-yeah, mmhmm, yep. ‘Course I remember the ‘ol girl,” What are you saying right now? “Spent many a night wishing I never wrote about Bob Dylan on the cover of Street Legal,” You attempt a giggle but it verbalizes more as a nervous wince, “Definitely got your fair share of torture material out of that thing, didn’t you?” You end off with a shaky smile, disastrously attempting to quell the nerves soaring through your veins like a jet plane.

“Yeah. Yeah I did.” He states with that same smile, walking closer to you and discarding the plate and glass you’ve been clinging onto for dear life, placing them swiftly on your nightstand alongside his own. “Thought it would be fun to do a dramatic reading tonight, y’know? Bring some attention back to your love for old Bobby,” He’s still smiling as he takes another small step toward you, he’s still smiling and you think you’re going to pass out because you’re almost positive that he’s seen it, “I was gonna spend some time on it too, y’know? Really craft out my jokes.” He takes one final step toward you, and though every bone in your body is screaming for you to look away, you chance a look into his eyes once more.

You’re surprised by the sheer admiration you find inside them, dancing in perfect rhythm alongside the sun. “But then I read somethin’ else.” His voice is lower now, a quiet harmony of earnest elation and disbelief, almost as though he’s the one who can’t believe this is all happening. “I read somethin’ else and I need to know that it’s real. That you really mean what you wrote,” He’s almost whispering as he finishes his final sentence, bringing up a gentle hand and resting it tenderly on your cheek, his thumb grazing back and forth slowly as he gazes into your eyes, “Please tell me that you mean it.”

You can almost hear Daedalus now; See? It didn’t work out for you either and you had Icarus as an example! Because you did fly too close to the sun. The wax melted, trickling away like warm water, and the feathers followed suit, leaving you too close to the sun with no means of transportation. But you didn’t plunge into the hungry sea below. You didn’t meet a salty oceanic demise, because you had a paramount advantage over Icarus; The sun rose for you.

Suck it, Icarus.

It took you a moment, to recapture the breath Steve knocked out of your lungs with his lighthearted monologue, to think of anything besides the perfect sensation of his skin resting against your own, his thumb still rubbing indistinguishable shapes onto your cheek. When you belatedly muster up the courage to respond, you’re already smiling, “I’ve never meant anything more in my whole life.”

That’s all Steve needed to hear, that’s all he’s ever wanted to hear. His eyes flicker down to your lips and back up to your own eyes, a silent request to stop talking about it and instead show each other just how desperately you both want this. You barely have time to nod your head before his lips are on your own.

There’s no word deserving enough to describe the way you feel when his lips brush delicately against your own, gentle and precarious, as though he’s expecting you to pull away, you don’t. You move in closer to him, deepening the kiss ardently as you place your arms around his neck, gingerly weaving your fingers through the hairs resting against the nape of his neck. He kisses you back fervently, his hands having found a new home on your waist, letting out a deeply delectable hum of bliss when you give a light tug to the tresses of his hair.

“God, I love you so much (y/n).” Steve murmurs against your lips, only pulling away long enough to utter the words before bringing your lips back to his own.

When you finally make the mutual decision to come up for air, you’re tenderly resting your forehead against Steve’s own, content to live in this moment for as long as humanly possible.

“I love you Steve. You probably figured that out by now but just thought I’d tell you, you know, in case you can’t read.”

“Oh yeah? Thanks, wouldn’t wanna let my illiteracy stand between me and my girl.” His girl? Guess the whole diary thing actually was a great idea.

“You know that was, like, a complete invasion of my privacy, right? Reading my diary? It wasn’t cool in seventh grade and it’s not cool now! Well- Actually, I guess it is kinda cool just this once ‘cause we- Just, don’t do it again, okay? I mean it.” You’re giving Steve your best attempt at a stern tone but you’re aware of the bright smiles covering both of your faces during this speech.

“Got it, no more diary reading. Hey, just to be clear, do you maybe think I’m so incredibly handsome?” He jokingly references your seventh grade diary entry once again with a ravishing smile, leading you to internally debate whether you should throttle him or kiss his delicate lips. You choose the latter, again.

“At the risk of slandering a legend, Dylan’s got nothin’ on you.”

“Woah! Big talk. I must be special.”

“Rob Lowe on the other hand…”

“Ha Ha,”

“That was a joke right? I’m better than Rob Lowe?”

“Sure Steve.”

Certain as the crashing tide always rises and the conflagrant sun always sets, you’re positively relieved that the secret you’ve been so strenuously harboring is no longer a secret, but is instead the genesis of something new entirely.

You flew too close to the sun and lived to tell the tale.

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader

1K notes · View notes

tteokdoroki · 4 years ago

Text

saccahrine sundays | k.bakugou

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 5.3K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff + smut.

♡ summary: katsuki can never find enough time to get some sleep. between being a full time pro hero, a father and a husband— hours of rest are hard to come by. unless it’s one of those sweet, sweet saccharine sundays.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, pwp ( characters aged up to late twenties ), somnophilia, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), fingering ( female recieving ), tummy bulges, mating press, pregnancy!kink, daddy!kink, breeding!kink, light!exhibitionism, cumplay + needy bakugou has a praise!kink... <3

♡ author’s note(s): brrr hey guys! it feels like forever since i last posted a full fic, january was bleh so im happy to get this out !! special thanks to @greenchild for feeding me this idea and thank to all of you for your love, support and 2.8K. i love you all, enjoy <3

♡ masterlist | requests

katsuki bakugou couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full nights sleep. between being a pro hero and family life, the full eight to nine hours of pure rest wasn’t easy to come by— now he wasn’t complaining, he was far too grateful for the life he lead to whinge and whine about the finer details. bakugou was right on track to becoming the number two, he had a beautiful wife who loved him and supported him no matter how reckless he might have been and two little brats that he adored more than anything. he was miles ahead of his high school classmates, never letting up or resting so like he said, there was no room to complain.

but even as the faintest wisps of light slip through drawn curtains and a vermillion gaze settled on the old all might digital alarm clock ( reading 9:01 AM ), katsuki bakugou can’t help but feel grateful for the sleep he just had. no interruptions from wailing toddlers or infants who need changing, no late night call ins for patrols— none of that, just an arm around his wife’s waist and the soft sound of her breathing to coax him out of his sleepy state.

bakugou remembers now, a distant yet far from faint memory of where he and his wife spent two days of their honeymoon under slumber’s spell, having ravished each other the very night they arrived in paris for their honeymoon ( all mina’s idea, she had told katsuki it was the perfect destination for newly weds in love— and whilst the several districts his alien friend recommended did appease you, the blonde had promised to take you on a more luxurious getaway when he was hire up in the hero rankings ). of course that very honeymoon lead you to fall pregnant with your first little miracle— taiga bakugou, the very spitting image of her father except or the slight tilt to her nose and the sparkle in her eye that only her mother possessed.

raising her had proven to be both an enjoyable and exhausting experience for katsuki, with a matching explosive personality to rival even her daddy’s— there were many restless nights the pro hero spent butting heads with his daughter while his sweet spouse was away on missions and getting used to the field again. even during the pregnancy, full nights of rest were little to none— the cravings taiga gave you were almost unbearable for the blonde, not to mention the 2AM labour his little girl put you through...and yet he would repeat the last four years of lack of sleep all over again if it meant reliving every single moment with you. raising tatsumo was much better; however.

so as the weight of well deserved slumber lifts from katsuki’s shoulder’s he’s forced to deal with the memories of your sweet cries from the night (or rather, nights) he made you his wife. he stirs under cotton sheets, a familiar hardness pressing against his inner thigh as he recalls the way you tightened around him— “honey baby,” the desperate whisper tastes foreign, bitter across his tastebuds as he licks his lips. katsuki was usually much more composed when it came to sex, he could hold out for hours while you pleaded and begged of him to give you more. but this morning was different, very much so.

skilfully, the ash blonde slips a hand between your sheets, finger tips calloused with years of training and battle, dancing up your bare thighs from where you wear only his shirt and a pair of panties. the fingers trail up to your underwear, pressing them against your cunt as bakugou watches your face for any reaction— you twitch once before falling back into a deep slumber, letting your husband know that he can continue. he peels like orange silk away from your core and down your legs, half resisting the urge to sniff your undergarment like the dirty man he is but he decides that he can longer wait, already turned on by the feeling of your bare pussy against his hand.

the pro knows exactly how to turn you on, dragging is nails down your thighs just an inch from your wetness and his mind fogs with lust at the thought of the sounds you’d make for him if you were awake...not yet, he says to himself. his next move is to fuck your mouth, two of his digits sliding past parted lips from where you snore— gathering the drool that pools on the surface of your tongue. back and forth; move bakugou’s fingers until he’s satisfied with how wet you’ve made them with your spit. returning those very same fingers to your cunt, he parts your folds— already slightly sticky and hot with the nectar he’s used to savouring. if this were any other time, bakugou would be eating you out like a man starved of his last three meals but the rising sun tells him that his moments to fuck you are very few.

so now, he slides those lubed up fingers right into your tight little hole, shuddering under the sheets at how you automatically clamp around him— even while you sleep. katsuki’s vermillion eyes seek out your face in the warm light of the dusk, watching as your expression contorts into that familiar look of pleasure— lips blossoming into a cherry pout, brows furrowed as if you’re focusing on the way your husband makes you feel.

“fuck, honey baby, so good ‘n pliant for me even when yur fuckin’ sleepin’,” katsuki slurs against saliva that slips along his tongue, he’s hungry to fuck you, make you moan and scissors his fingers deep inside your obedient cunt in away that makes your slumbering body jump. pressing a thumb to your neglected clit, bakugou twists his fingers in search for your g-spot, pumping them into you with vigour. “gonna make you cum angel, baby, please cum while you’re like this s’you can take my cock.”

if there’s one thing pro hero dynamite knows, it’s that your body is a slave to him, no matter what state it’s in. your thighs part instinctively; giving your husband room to curl his fingers and press down hard on your pleasure spot— gummy walls sucking him in deeper. he makes you cum while you sleep, juices staining your supple skin, honeyed from the warm light outside.

“atta girl, cummin’ for your husband like that even when you’re sleeping— so fuckin’ naughty...” katsuki grunts, locks of sun kissed hair beginning to plaster itself against his forehead. his body shakes with the desire to be inside of you, his internal temperature rising with every second that he’s not sheathed within your walls. pulling his fingers away from your twitching mound, bakugou slides them, cum soaked and all, into his mouth to taste your very sweetness. “would eatcha out like a starved man, honeybee, but we don’t gotta lot of time left baby...”

with that, bakugou shuffles his sweats down enough for his cock to spring free, tip bright red and leaking against his toned, scarred abdomen. with practised ease, he hooks your right leg over his waist and positions your dripping cunny right over the head of his length. it takes everything katsuki has not to plunge deep inside of you, to abuse your tempting cunt until it’s formed into the shape of his cock but for once he wants to take you slowly, enjoy his time with your limp body at his disposal.

pressing his girth against your slick entrance, your husband sighs, coating himself with the remainders of your delightful release. the mess you made just for him, makes it easier for him to guide his cock between your velveteen folds that take him so well. his free hand comes up to brush over your cheek and even in the depths of your rest you manage to nuzzle into katsuki’s palm and make his coo— what a precious little doll you are, so good for him and always so obedient no matter what state you’re in. fuck, it drives him so insane that he can’t even think straight.

“...suki....”

fucking hell. the way you sigh out for him so mawkishly whilst you dream makes him twitch, not even half the way inside you. “c’mon honey baby, don’t go moanin’ my name like that when i haven’t even had a c-chance to make you mine yet—“ the blonde shudders, eyes screwing shut as he finally bottoms out inside of you. katsuki let’s out a choked moan, from deep within his chest while you welcome him into your lethally syrupy cunt. “ohh, fuck, that’s the stuff, good girl...”

bakugou’s thrusts start slow yet, forcing your limp body to jolt up the bed and your tits to bounce in tune with the rhythm of his hips— your little hole sucks him in so greedily, so selfishly, clamping down on him as if to prevent him from leaving your body as a whole. pro hero dynamite is shaken to his core, how can his precious baby take him so darlingly while she’s asleep, refusing to let go of him and keep his cock tucked away inside of you.

shit, shit, shit.

he wants to defile you, asleep or not, ruin how pure and angelic your body appears even after years of being together. it’s your fault he’s like this anyway, you deserve to have your pussy destroyed no matter the circumstances— ruby framed eyes threaten to roll back into his skull while bakugou picks up the swirl of his hips between your sticky thighs, you flutter and squeeze around the girth that’s stretched you out so many times before and yet you still remain a tight hole designed for your husband and your husband alone.

lips map their way up the column of your neck, committing every dip and scar and blemish to memory even though katsuki knows where each of them are. the amber colour of the morning sun highlights each of your marks, your husband giving you as many lovebites to match each one. “nn, suki...more..” you whimper, so quiet he almost misses it underneath the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin. could you feel how he deflowered you in your sleep? ruining such a good girl while you resting? he wants so bad to corrupt you from the inside.

static stretches across katsuki’s brain, crackling as his neurones fire and dopamine fizzes in his veins. cum. cum. breed her. it’s too soon but the blonde can’t help it, pent up and high on the morning sunrise— addicted to the taste of your skin licked with light perspiration. it’s been ages since he’s had you like this, can you blame him for not hanging on so long? bakugou lifts your thigh higher on his waist, using it as leverage to plough into the deepest parts of you, his precious wife, desperate to cream inside you before wake up.

“mm, know you’re close lovebug, won’t you cum for me suki?”

katsuki’s gaze hones in on you, vision blurred and hazy with lust from his impending orgasm. your own eyes are heavy with sleep but the soft smile on your face is filled with a familiar adoration and saccharine love that the blonde can never get tired of. he knows that you know your voice alone is another to send him speeding off of the cliff of release— your hole squeezing around him, beautiful hips that once brought his children into the world gracefully moving up and down to coax his girthy cock to its final release.

“honey baby,” katsuki whines like a broken man when you cup his face, hot puffs of air warming up the space between you. his hips don’t let up though, driven by the way you move against him beneath the sheets, he’s so close he can almost taste it. “c-couldn’t wait for you to wake up, needed you so fuckin’ bad...”

your mouth hangs open in a quiet groan, getting lost in the claps of sweaty bodies against one another and katsuki latches onto your lower lips to swallow your noise— breathing it in and letting it spread through his body like oxygen. “oh, lovebug, y-you don’t...” you pause, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the angry tip of your husband’s cock grazes against your gummy spot, sending your walls into a flurry of flutters that make katsuki twitch. “ ...you don’t ever have to wait with me, d-don’t hold back, kay?”

you’re a breathless mess, a sight to behold and he can’t take not having you filled with his seed any longer. the lazy push and pull of your bodies smacking wetly against each other become erratic thrusts, heat pooling in the abdomen of the pro hero boiling him alive in feelings of desire for you and you alone.

bakugou quivers from his lips to his toes when he cums, filling your slippery walls with a creamy white and lining your insides with the claim of your man. your man. your husband. “fuck, fucking hell, h-honey, gimme that pussy...gimmie that fuckin’ pussy,” his groans linger in the crisp early morning air, dancing with the static while he orgasms within you, endless bouts of white stuffing you to the brim. you kiss in an attempt to calm him, squeezing around his thick cock to ride out his high. you taste of orange liquor and manuka honey, addicting while he sucks lavishly on your tongue and spares you the air you need to breathe. ‘cause at the end of the day call you need is him.

“did you cum, precious one?” ever the gentleman, katsuki has to ask but even you can see in his blood red ruby eyes ( no matter how tired they may seem ) that he’s gearing up for a second round, shallow thrusts pushing his own release deeper into your fertile womb. there’s about thirty minutes until the kids wake up, but your lover can make you see stars in fifteen.

you shake your head once as bakugou rolls you onto your back— strong arms caging you into the prison if his love. large hands dance tenderly up the back of your thighs and you meet his eyes with such a saccharine smile his heart bursts at the sight of you. “you’re insatiable, lovebug,” the tingling notes of your moan caresses bakugou’s cheek as he manoeuvres your legs to fold you into a mating press, shifting his weight above you. “did you really need me that much, daddy bear?”

“think y’already know the answer to that, honeybee,” katsuki drawls, tripping over his words filled, oh so generously with blazing desire. he still remains sheathed inside you, a darling whine dripping from his cherry lined lips— the ones sore from kissing you— as he gives an experimental thrust into the tight heat of your core. you accept him willingly, opening up for him like a blossoming flower which makes katsuki’s hot breath stutter from the overstimulation. neither of you can look away, sharing the intimate moment of his length sinking into you— katsuki groans as you suck him in inch by inch before leaning over and attaching his lips to yours, licking at the seam of them in order to coax them open. his wife is a tease however; denying him the pleasure of sucking on her tongue...for now at least.

but it’s all worth it, for katsuki wants to burn the erotic sight of you beneath him into his mind forever. your skin shines like it was kissed by the setting moon, eyes hooded and holding a lust that only burns brightly for him while your chest heaves in anticipation of your husband claiming you for the second time that morning. “m-move suki, please—c-can’t...” the tail end of your pleas fall away with the fading night sky.

the man doesn’t need to be told twice.

save for a few shallow thrusts to get going, katsuki soon finds himself pistoning into you at an unruly, god speed pace. the blonde revels in the way one hand of yours twirls strands of his hair between your fingers whilst the other digs crescent moons into his blemished honey skin. helpless huffs and candied cries tickle bakugou’s ears while he presses your body flush against his and pins you down with his hips.

their movements don’t ever waver, cock catching on every ridge your damp pussy has to offer him, each thrust calculated amplify your pleasure that rolls in heatwaves throughout your body. katsuki’s mind grows blank, thick with the mirage you’ve cast over him from the way you push back against him, taking more of his inches into you.

“ngh, lovebug,” you say, high off of euphoria while katsuki’s leaking cock bears down harshly on your g-spot and you smile up at him deliriously— looking like the eighth wonder of the world. you grab the hand your husband uses to keep your thighs up and bring it down to your tummy for him to feel what you feel. “can feel your cock inside me, love, so big...makin’ my tummy bulge like a good daddy bear...”

something snaps within katsuki at the sound of your breathless praise; a feral blaze setting alight deep inside his chest— spreading throughout his body as his cock drives deeper and deeper inside your spongy, wet cunt— just about breaching the gates of your cervix. breed her. fuck her. make her swollen with your cum. bakugou can’t even think straight; intoxicated by the way you move against him, the way you look so full of him and his thick length.

he wants you to look full all of the time. so katsuki does with the only way he knows how. dropping his head to your neck, sharp attack your neck with blossoms of bruises forming under your skin in the name of love— you whine, a gorgeous symphony of his name against his ear while you tangle your fingers in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. “y’can’t jus...jus say stuff like that to me, honey...” bakugou croons against your skin, screwing his eyes shut while his hips pick up the pace and plunging his length right into your womb. the sounds of your arousal wetly spill into the sex scented air— fuelling katsuki to thrust into you faster. “not if you...n-not if you don’t want me to fuck another one of those shitty brats into you.”

as stuttered as his words are, bakugou means every single one of them. a primal desire activates in the back of his mind, overriding every single of senses. just the thought of lining your womb with his pungent seed, making you pregnant once again and seeing you round and full with katsuki’s child is enough to drive him off of the rails. And the pro hero knows that you feel the same, he can tell by the way your heat clamps down on his cock and strangles him, as if to milk him of every ounce of his cum.

“yes, want you to make me pregnant suki, make me a mommy again, please—!” you simper out loud, desperate tears springing to your eyes while the bed groans beneath you. visions of you round and swollen with a baby drives him to thrust into you harder, faster so that more and more of his precum spills into you. “know you want it, want it too...your cum, deep inside me—ohmygod suki—yes!”

bakugou slaps a hand over your mouth, watching as your sweet doe eyes brim with tears at the languid roll of his hips against yours. “careful honeybee, don’t want the kids to...fuckin’ hell... h-hear—“ he stutters, eyes rolling, limbs shaking violently. his other hand drops between your conjoined bodies, drawing vicious circles into your swollen clit to draw you closer and closer to the edge. star dust is littered behind your eyes, the bright white signifying the race to your high that only katsuki can give to you. “or do you want to be heard, you want everyone to hear how full you’re gonna become when i get you pregnant again. how you’ll whine and beg me to suck on your tits when you start makin’ that sweet milk for our baby. is that what you fuckin’ want, yn?”

you can’t help the way your pussy flutters around his cock that brutally grazes your g-spot— the dirty words your husband speaks like music to your ears. a symphony with his moans and the sounds of his balls slapping against your bare ass. “oooh, shit baby, you must do with the way your lil cunny clamps down on me—just like that...”

“oh god, lovebug please...cum...cum! need it daddy bear—can’t take it anymore,” you babble against katsuki’s hand, brain turning to mush at the unbearable pleasure. the knot in your tummy becomes tighter, close to snapping as the white light of pleasure clouds your view.

patterns drawn diligently against your clit speed up; turning to quick figure of eights to tease your orgasm. “‘course you fuckin’ do honey baby, my little breeding bitch. my sweet little wife who can’t wait to be a mommy again. take this cock, you dirty whore. take it and I’ll give you my fuckin’ baby.” bakugou slurs, losing all control as the pace of his hips begins to falter. you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, tip pulsing with the need to paint your insides.

your gazes lock within the frenzy, while your back arches and hips lift to take your husband deeper inside you. dynamite is feral like you’ve never seen before; an animal reduced purely back to instinct. unfocused red eyes become teary like your own with hot pleasure while they lock onto you but you know that behind lust; loved the adoration and love your husband holds for you. thats all you need to reach the edge and tumble into your orgasm,

it takes but a few more thrusts and a pinch to your clit before you’re cumming— release squirting out and splattering against bakugou’s toned abdomen.

the blonde never lets up while you cum undone on his iron hot rod, letting him pump into you with unrelenting feverishness. katsuki is desperate, needing an extra push even with you strangling his cock with your insides. “s-say you’ll make your daddy a daddy baby, say you’ll give me another fucking kid. fuck, fuck yeah...please honey baby—“ bakugou damn near sobs, trembling violently above you as his breath hitches with ever hiccup.

smiling gently, you pull his head to your neck, cradling your husband while his pace slows to circular grinds. “i’ll make you a daddy again, you can cum for me now lovebug...”

“shit, shit, oh god— cummin’...” thats all bakugou needs to hear before bottoming out inside of your abused hole— screaming against your bitten flesh and forcing his cock into your fertile womb as he sprays with his thick, sticky seed. white coats every ridge and crevice of your pussy while impatient thrusts slow to sensual grinds. you feel the tears of neediness soak the supple skin of your neck, rocking your hips against katsuki to milk his cock for all it’s worth— even if slow waves of his cum seep down your folds and to the sheets below.

“g’morning, katsuki,” you sigh blissfully, fingers combing through your lover’s sweaty mop of sun kissed locks. the pair of you lie still, limbs still intertwined as you catch your breath under the orange hues of the light outside.

your husband shifts his head to look at you, eyelids heavy over blood red eyes with a satisfied look on his face. he’ll never get over having you all to himself first thing in the morning— katsuki bakugou will always consider that a luxury and as he looks to you, a great smile soon takes his features. “yeah...good fucking morning to you too, angel face,” bakugou doesn’t dare pull out of you, intent on keeping his word. “love you yn, you’re always so good to me...”

katsuk’s lips mould into a pout as you continue your earlier ministrations of brushing back sweat slicked hair away from his face before pressing a chase kiss to his lip and making his cock twitch from over sensitivity, inside of you. he was always a sucker for the romantic moments after a passionate round of sex, he was a domestic, love struck son of a bitch what could he say? “suki...lovebug, you know you can pull out if it’s too much,” you remind him, the sound of your voice pulling his attention back to you. as he stares; katsuki maps out every detail of your face, the way your eyes glitter in the mellow light that peeks from between closed curtains or the slight dip across your cheek in the form of a scar from where you’d been injured on the field— he spends time committing it all to memory as if it’s the last time he’ll get to witness such beauty. “you’re staring, bug.”

“nuh uh, not pulling out.” huffing, bakugou leans up for another kiss, which you happily provide him with as he curls up onto your chest like a kitten seeking warmth. “keepin’ you plugged full s’you can get preggers like i fuckin’ promised.”

“you were serious?” you question him first, earning yourself another grouchy huff before your eyes roll and a comfortable silence sweeps across your bedroom, periodically interrupted by the morning birds waking up and chirping. “always a man of your word, huh bug? don’t worry, we’ll make you a daddy bear soon, but i’ve got to clean up before the kids wake up.”

“don’ you fuckin’ move— leave the dumbass kids, they’ll be fine on their own.”

“not with taiga’s quirk coming through, now move, you’re heavy.”

with that, you manage to shove bakugou off of you and he only hisses lightly as his softened cock hits the cold air, already missing your heat. the banter between you both as husband and wife is always light and you always win; he wants to bite back but anything he says will be soft on his sharp tongue. damn you and you being the love of his life. bakugou watches as you fix his shirt over your frame and head to your en-suite bathroom to make yourself more presentable to your kids— mumbling something about how many times katsuki came inside of you.

sure there was a lot of it, but he’d only cum inside you twice and he was trying to give you a baby. again.

the shower turns on and he can hear the sound of water running but it doesn’t cover your sweet voice as you call for him. he could never miss that. “katsuki bakugou, you horny bastard, i love you, my daddy bear!” you sing for him; making the blonde smile.

“i love you more, honey baby,” he chuckles back, tucking himself back into sweats before settling back into the ruined sheets.

bakugou was so luckily to have you and you’re beautiful children— he wouldn’t trade any moment of his life for the world except for maybe more time with you. he swore, he’d spend forever loving you if he could.

“daddy?” sweet thoughts are cut off by the groggy voice of bakugou’s eldest daughter, taiga, who stands in the doorway of his bedroom rubbing her cherry red eyes.

the blonde grins, rising from his place in bed and crossing the room in three short strides. he quickly crouches down in front of his little girl and ruffle her unruly mop of matching blonde hair. “g’morning brat, what’s up?”

taiga clutches her shoto plushy tightly, the one uncle todoroki had gotten her for her first birthday ( the one that bakugou hated because it was his daughter’s favourite— kirishima hated it too because he had always thought he was the favourite uncle ), and pouts down at her father, scowling sleepily. bakugou knows if you could see the two of them now, you’d be saying she was the spitting image of him. “tatsumo woke up n wouldn’t stop whinin’, fink he’s hungry, daddy!” the little girl grumbles, clearly still reeling in the after effects of her sleep that got cut short.

“how about we go get him and make some pancakes then?” katsuki suggests softly, hauling his daughter onto his bare shoulders and being mindful not to drop her stupid fuckin’— i mean her plushy to the ground. “y’gonna help me mix up enough batter for ya ma n’ brother, you got that brat?”

taiga squeals as at the new found height, wrapping a singular chubby arm around bakugou’s head for support, making his heart burst at the tiny hand that grips his chin. fuck, he loved his life. “only if we can add choco chwips, daddy!”

“oi, don’t you push your fuckin’ luck with me brat, ya mommy might let you get away with eatin’ shit like that but not me—“ bakugou makes an attempt to scold his daughter while they make way towards his son’s room, but he already knows he’s going to give into her. he can’t say no to taiga.

“i’ll tell mommy you cursed at me!”

“why you little sh—“

“careful, katsuki, if you keep cursing her out i might have to put you on punishment later,” taiga bursts in to wriggly giggles on bakugou’s shoulders, making it harder to keep her in place as you brush past him to grab tatsumo from the nursery.

“daddy’s gonna get in trouble!”

the teasing tone to your voice lingers in the air while you fetch your son, who seems groggy and pouty when he comes into katsuki’s view— wrapped up in your arms while you wear a cleaner shirt of his. there’s that glint in your eye, similar to the one your children posses when they’re doing something mischievous. and that alone tells the ash blonde he’ll be getting punished in ways that could lead to another little one rushing through your house.

bakugou can roll with that.

but for now; he reaches up and pinches taiga’s nose— telling her to stop running her mouth and sending you into giggles while you carry your children downstairs for breakfast. katsuki bakugou couldnt remember the last time he’d gotten a full nights sleep, but what he did know is that he’d always remember the very saccharine mornings he’d get to spend with you and your beautiful children after.

bonus:

“taiga, did you put chocolate chips in the batter even though i told you no?”

bakugou had turned his back for but a mere second to grab some milk for tatsumo; who played happily with smooshed bits of banana in his high chair— and suddenly, the batter was littered with the offending, tiny pieces of candy.

“no, it was mommy!”

“yn...”

you quickly throw your hands up in the air as defence, dropping the packet of sinful treats to the counter. “what? i’m having cravings, bakugou!”

“you’re not even pregnant, yn!” the man himself raises his spatula at you accusingly with a scowl, biting down on his tongue to prevent himself from cursing again.

you smile up at your husband, knowing he can’t stay mad at you for long. “but i will be, katsuki, it’s the thought that counts.” your eyes flicker up as you wipe the melted chocolate on your finger tips off with your tongue before moving to settle your daughter down for breakfast. bakugou splutters, cheeks flaming with a reddish rose at the thought of your soon to be baby and all the activity that comes with making one which makes you laugh. “oh and lovebug? your pancakes are burning.”

with a jump, katsuki turns to flick off the flame and save his batch of pancakes while you tend to your kids— leaving him to contemplate over your chocolate chip breakfast, how lucky he was to have you.

“i crave chocolate, can i get a pregnant?” taiga squeals shortly after.

“not a chance in hell, brat.”

♡ taglist:

@ozzy-bozzy @bakugous-mamas @meg-mystic @runningon-5percentsleep @cyans-bliss @husband-to-tomura-shigaraki @paintedr0ses1 @69meggg69 @sapphoscolonoscopy @toshidou @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @candybabey @alrunemara @greenchild

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gigglinggoblin · 3 years ago

Text

Puppy Love, Ch. 05 (Conclusion!)

Image used with permission from the lovely Princess Maple. Go check out her gorgeous collection on her Twitter and (FREE) Onlyfans!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 (see P.1 for content warning tags)

Vaela’s eyebrows arched.

Bluebonnet flushed. “Y-Yes, Vaela,” she heard herself whisper. “I’m... your pretty Puppy.”

“Aww, you train so easily!” Vaela beamed, and the scritches intensified, as if rewarding her pet. “Such a clever girl. But so silly to not see how gorgeous she is!”

“Y-Yes, Vaela,” Bluebonnet whimpered. She squirmed desperately, feeling that needy feeling welling inside her as Vaela’s hot body wiggled teasingly in her lap. “I.. I, uum...”

“Good thing she’s such a good learner!” Vaela chipped, kissing Bluebonnet on the cheek. “We’ll have her aaaall collared and ready to accept compliments in no time!”

Collared.

Trained.

Obedient.

“Yes, please, Vaela,” Bluebonnet gasped, her whole vision swirling with pretty pink hearts with every breathe she took in, “pleeeease train me!”

“You’re so cuuute when you’re begging,” Vaela cooed, the scritches and wriggles both intensifying as she planted an indulgent kiss on Bluebonnet’s other cheek, then on her neck. “Your pretty eyes get sooo lovely and wide, and those luscious lips of yours... mmm...” Her lips smacked messily along Bluebonnet’s neck, so soft, so sweet...

Bluebonnet whined and keened and squirmed at the exquisite feel of Vaela’s lips on her needy,sensitive skin. “Y-Yes, Vaela,” she squeaked, her whole world swirling with adoration for this gorgeous, angelic being. “Oh, yes... yes, please, m-more, mmmore, please...”

The praise was unbearable. It was delectable. It was addictive, and Bluebonnet needed more,even as she squirmed and blushed hotter with every word.

“Not to mention,” Vaela purred in her ear, and Bluebonnet trembled with need as Vaela gave a mischievous grind of her hips that showed she knew exactly what she was doing to her Puppy, “that beautiful voice of yours, so sweet and wispy as it breaks like fog over a babbling brook~”

“Ooohhh...” Bluebonnet’s head bobbed slowly, entranced, as the hearts spiraled around her head...

“And how cutely she takes commands,” Vaela went on, kissing sweetly along Bluebonnet’s jawline, “when she’s looking at these!”

She giggled, pulling back, and bounced gleefully.

Bluebonnet moaned in desire as her eyes sank hopelessly downward once more.

“She’ll be my good Puppy, now, won’t she?” Vaela said silkily. “She loves to obey Vaela and her pretty boobies, doesn’t she?”

Bluebonnet squirmed and mewled and nodded.

“What was that, pet?” A wicked little wriggle in Bluebonnet’s lap.

“Love... obeying...” Bluebonnet managed, her voice quivering with need as she watched the tits bounce, squish, jiggle... “Love... Vaela...” She flushed as the words escaped her. Nervousness tried to penetrate, but nothing could slip past the molten need she was drowning in...

“Awww!” Vaela sounded genuinely touched by this. She planted another kiss on Bluebonnet’s cheek, this one very tender and gentle. “You’re so sweet! And guess what, sweetie?”

Again, the hand guided Bluebonnet’s head upwards.

Vaela’s eyes shimmered. “I adored you the second your eyes met mine, Bluebonnet~”

Bluebonnet’s eyes widened, and she let out a moan of pure, hopeless pleasure and desire, staring up worshipfully into the angel’s eyes.

Then she felt a click around her neck, and a gentle, almost affectionate tug.

“Now, come along, Puppy!” Vaela cooed, hopping out of Bluebonnet’s lap and waving the loop of a pretty pink leash in the air with a loving smirk.

Bluebonnet stared dumbly for a moment.

Then, with a tiny, almost involuntary whine, she slipped out of the chair and sank to her hands and knees. She wiggled her butt with excitement, the thrill of degradation joining the molten adoration pouring into her body right now, and gazed up at Vaela hopefully, expectantly.

“Good girl!” Vaela cooed, reaching down and petting Bluebonnet’s hair. Bluebonnet moaned and whined and gave a happy, brainless bark. “There’s my gorgeous pretty Puppy! Sooooo obedient and eager to please!”

Puppy nodded happily. She could barely think straight right now. The pleasure flooding her mind was beyond thought, beyond worry. It was pure, unadulterated, thick, sugary love.

She crawled after obediently as Vaela strutted over and behind the counter, watching Vaela’s pretty ass sway, panting slightly and feeling even more syrupy bliss entering her with every breath.

“Now,” Vaela purred, turning back to her happy little Puppy as her hand rested on the door to the back room, “are you ready, Puppy?”

Puppy’s head bobbed brainlessly. She wriggled and squirmed, feeling so, so horny, and cocked her head slightly with a whine. Was she? What did her mistress, her owner, her angel, her true love want from her? Staring up at those pretty bouncing breasts and those gorgeous spiraling eyes, Puppy knew she’d give just about anything. Just about everything.

Seeing Puppy’s confusion, Vaela reached down and scritched lightly beneath Puppy’s chin. Puppy squeaked and raised her head and squirmed in delight.

“What I mean is,” Vaela cooed, turning the doorknob and pushing the door open, “are you ready for your real obedience training to begin?”

Bluebonnet’s eyes briefly widened.

More hearts flowed into them to fll the void.

And she beamed and nodded and barked eagerly.

Vaela giggled and began leading Bluebonnet to the bedroom. “Gosh,” she said sweetly, “you know, in hindsight, it’s a good thing you don’t sell jelly donuts.” She patted Puppy on the head.“Looks like I found someone I can fill with soooo much more sugar~”

THE END.

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#bluebonnet #cupid #cloisteredcreatures

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

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dish duty

freeform for @wayhavensummer as I really wanted to write a water fight

T Rating (for passionate kissing and general tomfoolery) Felix x Detective Esme Kingston, 2000 words

“I wish you were a breakfast in bed kind of person,” Felix complains, though not very passionately, as he finishes what seems like his fourth stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

Esme considers herself a very controlled individual. She dresses neatly and conservatively, her home and office are impeccably organized, and she’s a vegetarian who eats, generally, a very healthy and balanced diet.

However. On the weekends, and especially with Felix’s recent influence, that goes somewhat out the window. Not all the way, but close enough to the edge. No, these are not organic whole wheat dark chocolate chip pancakes. They are the unhealthy kind chock full of additives and preservatives that children adore. But as Tina once said, everything we eat is bioengineered, right?

Felix doesn’t need to eat; well, he doesn’t need to eat a normal human’s diet, unhealthy or healthy, it doesn’t matter. But he likes to, and he has a keen sweet tooth. He claims his taste buds aren’t dulled compared to the rest of Unit Bravo because he was born as he is now, and so he has no memory or experience of eating food as a human to compare it with.

Nothing is lacking for him, because he never had it to begin with. And unlike Mason, ‘loud’ flavors or various textures don’t irk him, so Felix is pretty much willing to try anything, no matter how sweet, spicy, or sour. And especially if it involves chocolate.

“Breakfast in bed on a day like this is a terrible idea,” Esme points out as she gets up to clear her small kitchen table.

It’s not as hot out as it was yesterday, but it’s already very warm for ten o’clock in the morning- they slept in embarrassingly late- and she can tell that by midday it will be unbearable, which is why they have plans to go to an art exhibit in the city.

Esme enjoys long drives and would rather wait out today in air conditioning than suffer through it in her sweltering flat. And Felix is always willing to go to just about anything; it’s all new to him, so why not?

Worst case scenario, he doesn’t like it, and even when Felix isn’t enjoying something, Esme still enjoys him, because rather than sulk or brood he simply strikes up a running commentary on what he thinks they should be doing instead.

Yes, sometimes it’s irritating, but often she has to fight to hide the smiles he strives to coax out of her. She once took him to a lecture at a university and halfway through had to stop looking at him because he found a way to make her grin with just his eyes- the rest of his face was totally stoic.

He worked her up so much she had to excuse herself to get a drink of water, just so she didn’t burst out laughing in the middle of the professor’s droning slide-show. Felix, of course, followed her out into the hall and cornered her in an alcove, where they were sharply reprimanded by a passing janitor a few minutes later, who mistook them for two wild students who couldn’t wait to get back to their dormitory.

A year ago, the thought of this encounter, and of a morning like today, eating syrupy pancakes and lounging around in her pyjamas this late in the day, would have horrified and appalled Esme. But it is very hard to feel guilty or ashamed of anything that happens between her and Felix. Initially that frightened her, that being with him was so… easy. Nothing was ever supposed to be easy, or it wasn’t worth the effort. That had always been her motto.

But now…

“What are you doing?” she sighs, as she watches Felix stack far too many dishes on the palm of one hand, like a particularly adventurous waiter.

“Scoot,” he waves his free hand at her, showing off that he doesn’t even need both to hold them. “You’re in front of the sink.”

Esme shakes her head and steps aside as Felix deposits the rest of their dirty dishes inside the sudsy sink, which she’d just finished filling up with water.

This flat came with a small dishwater but it works terribly and Esme lived alone for so long and used so few dishes that it made more sense to just hand wash them immediately after eating. Felix thinks this is terribly boring but she refuses to have an insect infestation by leaving dirty dishes out for that long.

“I can wash them,” he says now, to her surprise. “You have to go get ready.”

“So do you,” she points out dryly. Yes, she feels oddly exposed in just a camisole and boy shorts, but he’s just in his boxers. She’s doing a very good job of not gawking at him like a schoolgirl.

Felix is not built the way Ava is, with powerful muscles and the stature of a workhorse or, as Mason would put it, a brick shithouse- but nor tall and willowy like Nat or lean and sinewed like Mason. Rather, he is toned and compact- she doesn’t know how else to describe it.

He’s a few inches taller than her, not much wider, and certainly isn’t bulging with muscles or in possession of washboard abs. But the sight of the smooth dark skin of his toned stomach and chest and the way he moves, almost like an acrobat, like he were ready to pitch forward into action at any moment, propelling himself with his arms or legs- gives her a strange combination of desire and envy. He would be an incredible gymnast and he is a beautiful dancer, moving gracefully to any rhythm without having ever heard it before.

In contrast, she feels thin and pallid and wretched- she’s petite and lacks much in the way of fat or muscle- she’s not athletic in the least, her belly forms a small pouch when she slouches, her skinny arms strain and tremble when she lugs heavy boxes of case files in and out of her office, she runs awkwardly and can’t dance to save her life, despite several years of ballet and a ballroom class in uni.

She’d like to be pragmatic and explain it’s just about feeling useful and capable of defending herself, but the truth is she’s vain and self conscious all at once. In her head, she is sleek and hard and beautiful, carved from crystal and not pasty flesh. Compared to Felix, she often feels like a melting snowman.

Felix is busy recounting her entire getting ready routine; Esme rolls her eyes and huffs but waits patiently until he’s done.

“Anyways, I just have to shower,” he shrugs.

“You’re my guest,” says Esme, “I’m not going to leave you to clean up while I powder my nose-,”

“I’m your guest?” he lays a hand on his chest in mock offense, and then his grin turns impish. “Your guest? That stings, Ez. Do all your guests come over late at night-,”

“Felix,” she warns, though her lips are twitching-

“And you sashay over the door and pull it open like, Hello, stranger-,”

“I didn’t say that!”

“No, it was cute!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be cute, you said you wanted me to surprise you, so-,”

“So I was very surprised,” he insists, and then catches her off guard by grabbing her by the hips and pulling her close.

Esme wriggles ineffectively- she’s not really trying to get away, which he knows- and then groans when he crushes her against his chest. He’s not a big man but he gives very big hugs, and she’d be lying if she said the weight and pressure wasn’t reassure, like a heavy quilt bundled around her. But… it’s hot. And he runs hot, too.

She says as much, into his chest, and then, to her alarm, hears him laugh, reach over, scoop up some soapy water with his hand, and drizzle it down her head.

Esme shrieks and rips away from him- Felix’s gold eyes are huge in his face, she can tell he’s torn between delight at his own daring and worry that he pushed her too far and she’s truly infuriated- but instead she touches at her damp hair in shock, then snatches up a wet rag from the counter and flings it at him. It hits him directly in the face; he yelps and bats it away, and she darts back, snickering.

“Oh, so you want a bath instead?” He raises his eyebrows at her.

“No, no, no,” Esme is saying, but the laughter leaking out between her protests says otherwise. “You started it-,”

“Yeah, so I’ll finish it. Come here, Ezza, let me wash you off- you have suds in your hair-,” he feints a lunge at her and she shrieks again, like a giddy teenager, then clamps her hand over her mouth, worrying the neighbors might hear.

Felix has no such concerns, and makes another grab for her- he secures her wrist and she slips on the tiled floor- he takes advantage of this to scoop her up, and flings her over his shoulder, which is barely broad enough for her thrashing torso to fit.

“Oh my God, what are you doing- Felix!” she shouts when he pins her there with one arm, grabs a cup with the other, and dumps water down her back. It’s barely cold but she yelps all the same- he sets her back down, triumphant that now her camisole is drenched and clinging to her, and she darts around him and hits him with a sponge, spraying more soap suds all over his bare chest.

“Wow,” he says. “Wow. That’s weak- that’s a really weak move, Detective, where is your tactical brilliance- okay, pretend I’m a Trapper, what do you do-,” he grabs at her arms to pin them but she successfully ducks out of his reach and hurls the sponge at him as he gives chase out of the kitchen.

“Don’t get water on the floors! I just mopped!”

“You’re the one who took it here!”

She leaps into the bathroom, breathless and trembling with adrenaline and laughter, and tries to slam the door shut in his face, but she never stood a chance of outrunning him- even if they were both human, she wouldn’t have. Still, she notes how careful he is, in the moment, not to crowd her in the confined space, worried about knocking her into the hard porcelain sink or toilet, and he waits until she steps back into the shower, cornered.

His hand hovers near the spout.

“Don’t you dare,” Esme warns.

He turns it on, and cold water cascades down full force onto her, soaking her to the skin. But before she can even flail or sputter, he’s stepped in beside her, wrapping himself around her, the contrast of his warm skin and the cold water making her cling to him all the more.

He kisses her lips, and she tastes soap for an instant, making her grimace, but then he’s moved onto her neck, lips tugging and pulling at the skin there, and she digs her fingers into his shoulder blades as she kisses his jaw in return, dragging her teeth across the corner of his lips.

When he heaves her up so he is half holding her, one hand under her thigh, the other leg stationary, she surges against him until his back is against the tiled wall and they are both directly under the flow of water. Then she gropes at the dial and shuts it off; it extinguishes to a trickle, causing beads to flow down their upturned faces.

She’s panting- he’s not as breathless, but jittery and shivering all over, and not from the cold water.

“Felix,” Esme whispers, and pecks him on the lips again as he reluctantly releases her.

“Yeah?” His pupils are languidly dilating, like a golden bloom.

“You did say you would do the dishes…”

He heaves with silent laughter, and then mouths something at the ceiling. “You’re killing me.”

“I know,” she smiles. “But you started it.”

Out of kindness, she takes a very quick cold shower, so she can help him dry off, too.

#felix hauville #esme kingston #wayhaven summer #the wayhaven chronicles #one shot

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

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Chapter 29

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week oh god it’s only gonna get worse

Wei Ying has watched the lanterns on every fifth night of his birthday festival for as long as he can remember.

His earliest memories are pale and indistinct, a collection of images and sounds, slithering through his fingers even as his grip tightens. The cold rooftop tiles under his hands, being lifted up onto his father’s shoulders, his mother’s delighted laughter. The Empress of the Shan Empire, a cool and dignified statue in the daylight hours, dancing over the moonlit roof peaks in her bare feet. Falling asleep in her lap while the lanterns drifted above, the soft murmur of his parents’ voices lulling him into sweet dreams.

Eighteen years, and eighteen lantern festivals, but most of those he remembers clearly are filled with an ache of loss. He has often cursed his unreliable childhood memories, lamenting the cruelty of recollections that deny him access to those early years. Guilt usually follows after, as relentless as the passing of time. He has never had a cause to feel abandoned; not one festival has gone by where he was allowed to sink into despondency and isolation. Even on those years when copious amounts of wine were needed, his brothers had always been by his side, prepared to chase away the loneliness by any means necessary. Without Nie HuaiSang and Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying is certain that he would have grown twisted and warped by the loss, forever attempting to lean into the warmth that no longer existed. All that he is, and will still become, he owes to them. To shijie, to Wen Qing, to Wen Ning and A-Yuan.

But the easy, uncomplicated joy of watching the lights dance across the sky, that had gone away on his twelfth birthday. He had been convinced that it would never return. Not because of the loss, or the accompanying ache which had, over time, grown dull and heavy instead of sharp and bright, but because he believed it impossible, to feel a child’s joy once having reached adulthood.

There are many things he believed to be impossible before meeting Lan Zhan.

The outskirts of YiLing are sparsely populated to the east, a few sprawling farms and long pasture fields stretching between the town and the river. They have a small hill to themselves; the ground is still warm from the sun, the air saturated with the syrupy scent of the late autumn harvest, the fireflies rivaling the lanterns with their lights. They can hear the sounds of celebration from YiLing, but the noise is far away and muffled, barely penetrating the comfortable cocoon of silence between them.

Wei Ying’s little finger is hooked around Lan Zhan’s.

They are lying down, eyes locked on the sky. Wei Ying is sure that he will have grass and dirt in his hair, and probably a liberal smear of both on his robes. He is also sure that Lan Zhan’s hair and robes will be as pristine as they were before he cautiously stretched himself out by Wei Ying’s side.

Their shoulders are almost close enough to touch. Lan Zhan’s hand had trembled once, then settled into stillness. Wei Ying can hear him breathe, the rhythm slow and even. He thinks, if he were only to shift a little closer, if the din of YiLing were to fall quiet, perhaps he could hear Lan Zhan’s heart beating as well, and discern if it flutters as restlessly as his own.

The touch is small and insignificant. Wei Ying has already held Lan Zhan’s hand in his own, had tangled their fingers together, had felt the warmth of his palm. But it does not feel small. The contact overshadows the lights above; a bright, single point of happiness that Wei Ying would give anything to keep.

“Lan Zhan,” he says.

“Mhm.”

Wei Ying bites his tongue.

It is not the lack of words that gives him pause. He possesses a river of words that relentlessly rushes whichever way it pleases, paying no mind to his intentions or wishes. He has had to learn how to dam this river; the Emperor must always take care of how he speaks, least he means to start a war with an offhand remark. But Lan Zhan is not a an overbearing sect leader, or a supplicant asking for favors. Nothing Wei Ying wants to say can ever be simple, because complexity is rooted in his birth, his status, his entire existence.

And yet.

What can be more simple than a feeling of emptiness finally filled, a sense of completeness, of irrevocable rightness?

Lan Zhan turns his head to look at him. There is a firefly hovering over his temple, a tiny burst of light traveling across a flawless cheek. In the gloom, his eyelashes seem thicker, his eyes black, their depth an endless abyss.

Wei Ying wants to look at him forever.

“Lan Zhan, I really like you.”

The dark eyes widen, then immediately return to their study of the sky. Wei Ying watches his throat move, a heavy swallow that could mean anything at all. He cannot tell if there are words building behind the movement, and despite the obvious surprise in his gaze, as brief as it was, Lan Zhan’s expression has not changed.

No, Wei Ying is wrong. It has changed.

There is a faint tremble to his eyelashes. The tips of his ears appear slightly darker. His throat moves again, but his mouth does not.

His little finger is still hooked around Wei Ying’s. It has not pulled away.

There is an entire language being spoken in front of Wei Ying’s eyes, but it is a language he does not yet understand. It is frustrating and painful to think, that he may never have an opportunity to learn, that Lan Zhan may not want him to know.

His future stretches in front of him, a lone seat on top of a dais, as decades endlessly melt into one another, seasons coming and going, favors given and taken away, a continuous tedium of birthdays, and festivals, and sect leader meetings. Lan Zhan nothing more than a cool and collected face, glimpsed twice a year among the sea of others, forever remaining a half-met stranger.

It is unbearable.

“Lan Zhan--“

“You are the Emperor,” Lan Zhan says, his voice stiff.

“Yes, but--“

“Young Master Lan!”

Startled, they both jerk upright, reaching for their swords.

“There you are,” an annoyed voice comes from the bottom of the hill, “if not for the Lan Sect funeral robes, I would have passed by this hill a dozen times.”

Wei Ying cannot make out the small shape climbing closer to them, but he recognizes the voice easily.

Lan Zhan has already gotten to his feet and moved back, placing himself a respectable distance away. Wei Ying was right. His hair and robes are as immaculate as they were before. Wei Ying, on the other hand, is pretty sure that he has grass sticking to his entire back.

“Why is it always you?” he snaps at the small disciple.

The boy, now close enough where he does not need to shout, offers him a sloppy bow and a disgruntled greeting.

“Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty” Wei Ying grumbles, “not two days ago you tried to bite me. I should have you tossed in the dungeons.”

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” the boy says, “this one would rather spend the night in the dungeon than traipsing through the YiLing countryside. Sect Leader Nie asks Your Majesty to meet him at the Lan Sect camp. There has been a development.”

“The Lan Sect camp?” he glances at Lan Zhan, but this time, the other boy’s face is truly unreadable.

“What is a Lan Sect camp? What development?”

“This one does not know,” the disciple says with exaggerated patience, “but if Your Majesty were to go there, I am sure it will all be made clear.”

Wei Ying ignores him.

“Lan Zhan, what is he talking about? What camp?”

Lan Zhan is silent for a few moments before he speaks, “The Lan Sect escort. The disciples that accompanied us to YiLing. There are no accommodations to be had in the town itself, so they have made camp on the outskirts.”

“Why?” Wei Ying asks, feeling bewildered, “all the other disciples are in the Immortal Mountain City. Why would you leave yours in YiLing?”

Lan Zhan’s throat moves again, but he does not need to speak. Wei Ying understands the moment the words have left his mouth.

They were not invited.

Uncle has always been the one to send out invitations, the Jiang Sect lotus prominently placed next to the Imperial Seal, his signature replacing Wei Ying’s, who could not be bothered with such minor formalities.

Fury rises in him for the second time that night, but this one is cold and already settled, not likely to wane any time soon.

“They will be coming with us,” he says, turning to head back down the hill.

What other small formalities have been left to Jiang FengMian over the years? Many more than Wei Ying can count; if he is to begin questioning his uncle’s methods, each must be addressed, reinspected, and altered if necessary.

This will take weeks. Possibly months.

Striding ahead, wishing he could kick something, he turns to the small disciple.

“Little beast, what is your name?”

The boy grimaces, but offers a half-bow, even sloppier than the one before, “This one is Nie XuanYu.”

“Nie XuanYu,” Wei Ying says, “You have a bad temper and a terrible attitude. Try and pay attention to the Second Young Master, and you may yet learn how a disciple is supposed to behave.”

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #alright my chickens #we're back on track #i hope #sleep is still on the iffy side #but some writing is finally happening #ily

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nightingiall · 5 years ago

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things i love about you: you’re too good be all mine

a post-little do you know drabble series // story page

anon asked: how are moniall dealing with quarantine?

Being at home all the time wasn’t something Mona really minded.

For one, the world was in a strange place at the moment and she’d very much rather be in her own space than outside. But also, it meant she and Niall got to spend more time with one another, which was not a luxury they were afforded for the past few weeks. They didn’t have to rush out of bed in the mornings and didn’t have to haphazardly slap together breakfast. While they still tried to stick to a schedule, considering they were both working from home, there was a lot more time in the day they could spend taking their time on the important things.

The first week or so was spent trying to get into the swing of things. Working from home wasn’t as easy as she initially thought; the distractions were endless and her self-control was often slim to none. Still, she somehow managed to get her work done and also catch up on some household chores that she hadn’t had time for; although, Niall did laugh at her when he caught her putting together a contraption that would clean that space where the refrigerator met the cupboard.

By week three or four—Mona lost track quickly, the days blurring together like watercolor paint—she thought she was holding up alright. Niall was obviously way better at the whole self-isolation thing than she was though. He was good at creating routines and sticking to them, always the level-headed one in their relationship. He even organized Zoom meetings with their friends so they could catch up or watch a movie or have a few drinks or do all of the above.

Mona was fine too. She missed her walks to work or hanging out with Jingle at Connemara’s, but she also enjoyed being at home, in a space she and Niall had meticulously arranged to suit their personalities and needs. He had his own music corner, the kitchen was stockpiled with everything they would ever need, the options for meals endless, and they had a reading nook that they shared. It was a comfortable bench under a large window, the warmest throw blanket folded neatly on top, where they often spent their free time with their legs tangled together and eyes on a good book.

She tried to be productive but had her lazy days too, mostly when her job didn’t require much from her and she had the rest of the day to lounge about. But sometimes, Mona faltered. It wasn’t her fault, it was just something wired strangely in her brain that had her slipping into dark places sometimes. A never-ending pit of insecurities and worries. Her thoughts would buzz incessantly, one after the other, drowning all together until they created a din that was like bees buzzing around a beehive.

Depending on the day, she could handle it differently. She’d call her friends to catch up or bake something sweet or watch one of her favorite movies, general things that usually made her happy since going out for a walk—in New York City, nonetheless—was virtually out of the question. Or she’d lounge about with her sunshine boy, making him talk about the things that made him happy, and he would always happily oblige her, readily pulling her into his arms.

Today, though, seemed to be a particularly bad day, exacerbated by the fact that she didn’t have the energy to even get out of bed and also Mimi, her on-and-off therapist over the past three years, was having internet issues and wasn’t available for their bi-weekly appointments. She was curled up into the blankets, pressing her head into her pillow as though that would aid in quieting the commotion in her mind. She often hated how crippling it could be, how she couldn’t seem to find the energy to move much less do anything useful.

“Darlin’.” Niall’s voice seemed muffled and far away, as though she was drowning underwater and he was just above the surface. But when she felt the warmth of his fingers smoothing across her forehead, she realized he was sitting on the bed behind her, not far away at all. “What’s going on in here, my love?” he murmured softly, lips pressing against her hairline and fingers rubbing circles into her temples as he pulled her into his lap.

The cool air of the room hit her face and she whimpered, feeling excruciatingly exposed, and she turned around to press her face into Niall’s tummy to hide again. She didn’t have it in her to form words. She couldn’t even think straight.

Niall wrapped his arms around her, gently bringing her up so her head was resting against his chest, lips finding her forehead again. “Where’s my Mona darlin’?” He held her tight, warmth blooming into her skin from his, and like she always felt in his embrace, she was safe. “I know she’s in here somewhere,” he continued, lips never leaving her skin. “The house is unbearably quiet without you, my love. Come back to me.”

He said that a lot whenever she got lost inside her head, whenever her mind switched into overdrive and she was suddenly in a daze, a hermit crab retreating into a large, spirally shell, unable to find its way out again. Although, none of those instances were ever as intense as this. This was him reaching into the water in which she was drowning, attempting to pull her out. She pressed harder into his chest, hoping he never let go.

“Come back to me, my Mona darlin’.” He pressed feather-light kisses along her forehead and over her eyes and down her nose, body swaying slightly, as though he was rocking a child to sleep. “I love you. Come back to me.”

Mona couldn’t help the way guilt pooled hot and blistering into her stomach, those unsolicited notions of never being able to be good enough for him now slinking around with the already loud thoughts in her head. Here he was, holding her close, immeasurably wonderful, murmuring sweet words into her skin. And there she was, paralyzed in this world of intolerable desolation, unable to do much else besides hold on to him and wish to the highest power in the universe that he didn’t eventually get sick of her.

“No no no,” he whispered quickly at the first telltale sign of her onslaught of tears, wobbling lips and trembling hands, his fingers already swiping at her cheekbones to catch any moisture that had not yet fallen. “Don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” At his words, she clenched her eyes shut, desperate to keep any potential tears at bay. She felt as though she was clawing for the surface, trying to reach his hand through the current of the water and missing each time. “I’m here for you, love.”

And, oh, how she wanted to give him the whole world. She wished she was half as good for him as he was infinitely perfect for her. It was often times like this when she wondered how she even got so lucky as to call him hers. She inhaled a long and shuddery breath, whimpering as she summoned all her willpower to attempt to quell the war raging in her head, because in her heart of hearts, she knew he was right, knew it wasn’t her fault she sometimes tripped into this chasm of overthinking that seemed to be a never-ending black hole. But she still felt hopelessly inadequate at times.

Niall had somehow maneuvered them until they were settled under the blanket, wrapping his arms snug around her as she used his chest as a pillow, one hand finding his as the other curled into his shirt, her anchor in this storm. “You can tell me when you need me to love you a little extra sometimes.” His voice was starting to sound less muffled, syrupy sweet and hushed in their already silent room, as if he didn’t want the walls to hear, as if his words were only meant for her ears. “And when I need it you can love me extra. But I’m always here for you.”

Mona held onto him tightly, letting his words wash over her skin, letting them absorb into her, letting them find the war in her mind and fight through the clutter. “I love you,” she managed to mumble out, voice getting lost in the fibers of his shirt. And then, another thought managed to knock his words in her mind down for a moment, and she ended up whispering out, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he repeated a bit firmer this time, still mouthing the words into her forehead, as though it will reach her mind faster that way. “Not your fault, my darlin’.” She curled up into him, legs tangling within his, trying to focus on the way his hands were smoothing up and down her spine, body a warm weight next to hers, trying to focus on the way he continued to whisper affirmations into her skin. She focused and focused until the thrumming in her head became nothing but white noise, and then slowly, everything became quiet.

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she opened her eyes to find herself in a different position than before, facing the opposite side of the bed, Niall’s chest pressed to her back. His fingers were loose in hers and she gave them the slightest squeeze, turning around to look at him. She was met with the sight of his beautiful sunshine smile, eyes glinting from the sunset light filtering in through their bedroom windows, and there was that thought again, wriggling its way back into her head. He was too good for her.

“Uh oh,” he got out, smile faltering. “You were back with me for a second there, then you started listening to your head again.” Mona sighed, shifting her way to rest her head under his chin and his arms fell around her easily again. “D’you want me to make you something?” he asked quietly, fingers trailing along her arm. “You haven’t eaten all day.” She shook her head against his chest, unable to think about food at the moment. She didn’t think she had the energy to stomach anything for the time being. Niall only allowed her mope for a few more moments before he started to get out of bed. “Come on, love. Get showered and I’ll make you some food, alright? You’ll feel better.” He smoothed her hair from her forehead, pressing a kiss to the skin there before heading off.

It was only until the other side of the bed started to get unbearably cold that she decided she should probably follow his advice and pull herself together. It wasn’t healthy to carry on like this and she knew it had gone on for long enough already. Still, it took her at least another hour to work up the energy and willpower to slide out of bed and let her legs carry her to the bathroom.

The steam from her shower made her feel more awake than she had in days. It somehow cleared her mind, giving her a boost of energy to wash her hair as well, a task she’d neglected during her visit to that dark chasm in her mind. Once she’d slipped into clean clothes—also something she neglected—and slathered moisturizer onto her body, she felt ready to finally leave the room and wander into the rest of their apartment.

“There she is,” Niall murmured as she walked into the kitchen, smile lighting up the entire room as he held out his arms for her and she stepped right into them. “She’s back.” He pressed a kiss to her temple before steering her towards a seat at the kitchen island. “I made you your favorite.” Sure enough, the plate he slid in front of her had a smile curving along her features, piled with fresh samosas, and not the frozen ones from the Indian grocery store. He’d gotten the recipe from Harlow’s mom way back when the two of them last went to San Francisco to visit everyone and he’d nearly perfected his samosa-making skills in the months he spent experimenting with them.

Mona looked up at him only to find his eyes glimmering with love and adoration down at her, and whatever she was planning to say disappeared from her mind. Instead, she reached out for his hand and brought it to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

She may sometimes think that she doesn’t deserve him, but at the end of the day, she considers herself the luckiest person in the world. Because after everything, he still chose her every single day. Chose to love her, on her good days and bad days and everything in between.

And that was all she could really ask for.

Niall huffed in frustration at his laptop.

He was sitting on the floor, back against the couch because he could no longer sit in the kitchen for lack of focus. He’d been trying to find the correct word for what he was attempting to convey in his article and was failing miserably. Working from home was difficult sometimes because of the lack of communication with his team. When they were all together in the office, if he was stuck on a word, he’d simply ask out loud, guaranteed to receive an answer in moments, and then he could just keep on writing. Sure, there were Zoom meetings and conference calls now, but it wasn’t really the same.

He tried to remain positive though. If anything, he was more grateful that he and Mona were healthy and didn’t have jobs that required them to be out and about, even more so, jobs which afforded them the luxury of working from home. The same couldn’t be said for others, whose services were needed to help care for others, and he sometimes caught himself trying to remember that before complaining about anything.

“Take a break,” came Mona’s voice from behind him. She had crawled on the couch to sit above him, hands on his shoulders as she pressed her lips to his cheek. “You’ve been at this for longer than usual and you keep making angry sounds under your breath.”

He huffed out a laugh, leaning easily into her as she started to rub circles into the back of his neck, trailing down to where his shoulders converged, fingers easily finding the muscles that were taut with tension and massaging them away. “I have a deadline,” he muttered out, but closed his laptop anyway, a satisfied sound bubbling out through his lips when she found a good spot. He didn’t realize how tense his shoulders were, how much he needed this, but as always, Mona noticed for him.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t take a tiny break,” she retorted, but her voice went to that soft and reverent place that he loved, slow and sweet like honey. Her fingers started to press long lines from a spot behind his ears all the way down the curve of his neck and back again, and he sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut. He wasn’t sure why, but it was his favorite spot, mostly because Mona’s hands were usually cold and his skin was always warm and it was soothing in a way he couldn’t really find words for. It was usually made even better because she sometimes pressed her lips along that line too, soft and fleeting kisses that usually left him waiting for more.

Her lips found the skin along his hairline instead, mostly because he was now leaning back into her lap, her arms wrapping around him to hold him close. “What are you doing?” he asked, nearly whining because she was kissing everywhere except for his lips.

She smiled against his skin and he felt his heart give a little start in his chest, warmth zipping through him because he never got tired of when she did that. “I’m loving you extra today.”

He couldn’t help the way he grinned at that, fingers tangling into hers to bring both of her hands to his lips and then holding them over his heart. He sometimes felt it was impossible to love her more but was always proven wrong when she did little things like this, repeating his own words back to him.

She was buried so deep into her head the other day that she wasn’t even answering his questions of concern as he tidied the room around her, where she was still curled into herself in their bed. He had begun to wonder if she could even hear him, a thought that nearly scared the life out of him because that had never happened before. He always noticed the way her eyes glazed over sometimes and she dragged her feet around the apartment, usually leaving her to her own devices for a bit because she was good at finding ways to pull herself out of it, learning that two days was a good grace period before he had to interfere with whatever war was going on inside her head.

But, the other day, time had seemed like it was passing by agonizingly slow, mostly because they were stuck in the apartment all the time, and he knew he had to do something quickly to bring her back to him, two day grace period forgotten after two hours. He wished she didn’t hurt so much sometimes, wished he could just reach in and take that part of her out, so she’d be happy and wasn’t plagued by darkness. But he loved her to the ends of the earth regardless.

“I made you your favorite soup,” she said now, cheek pressed to his head as she held him. “Might put you in a better mood?”

He couldn’t help the way he reached for her then, hands gently pulling her face down to his lips as he kissed her as sweetly as the angle allowed. It was awkwardly upside down but the way she smiled against him made it worth it. All these years later and she still didn’t really seem to understand that what made him feel the most gratified was when she was happy, when she smiled and laughed and glowed from it all, not overthinking, not caring about anything else. But he would pour his love into her until she did, until she realized that she really was the love of his life and nothing in the world could ever change that.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her lips, smile growing tenfold as she let out a breathy giggle. “I love you.” His heart still fluttered whenever she said those words back to him, and he knew that he would never get tired of saying it or hearing it back.

As he followed her to the kitchen and let her pour their lunch into bowls, all he could think of was how even if being cooped up inside all the time wasn’t ideal, it was worth it for how much time he got to spend with his Mona.

#it's been raining all day and i'm in a mood #moniall are my emotional support characters okay #idk who i am or what to do with myself if i'm not writing about them #in the background of my life #i've also decided not to number these bc i feel like they add pressure to tell the story chronologically #and this has no plot so LOL #things i love about you #writings #1dff #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan drabbles

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bensakindofmagic · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Thirteen

A/N: this is basically just soft. enjoy.

WARNINGS: MORE SMUT (yay) 18+ ONLY, unbearable fluff, swearing

w/c: 3.2k+

Chapter Thirteen

You slept entangled in each other; a blur of bodies, united in every sense of the word. With your head laid on his chest, the warm glow of sunlight and the steady drumming of Ben’s heartbeat gently dragged you out of sleep. Sighing, you nuzzled your head in the crook of his shoulder.

“Hey,” Ben rasped, his voice throaty and thick with sleep.

“Hey,” you smiled, running your hand across his bare chest and over his waist, squeezing him into you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Mm like a dream,” he hummed and shuffled down the bed so he was facing you. He peeked through half-closed eyes and smiled.

Without warning he pushed himself onto his arms, suspending his weight above you, and kissed you firmly. As you traced your fingernails up and down his sides, over his back and shoulders, you felt his fleshy member, settled somewhere between your thighs, begin to stiffen.

“You’re insatiable,” you whispered into his mouth.

“It’s all you, love.”

“Then let me take care of you.”

You started to sit up, forcing Ben back onto the bed. Slick arousal had already started to pool at your folds, so when you straddled him and rocked your hips, rubbing your cunt against his cock, they slid easily against each other. He moaned, vulnerable beneath you, and you smiled in satisfaction. You prowled down the bed until you were level with his dick, standing to proud attention. Any nerves from the night before had dissipated and all you saw was a man you wanted to share yourself entirely with, and whom you wanted to receive in return. You looked at him through your eyelashes and let your tongue caress his tip oh so gently; you could still taste yourself on him. You licked a firm line up his shaft and took him fully into your mouth. Ben let out a shuddering sigh, only encouraging you, and you gagged on him. You thrust your mouth onto him again and again, swirling your tongue over his slit, releasing him with a pop when you needed to take a breath, pumping him in your hand. You worshipped him, and soon you were both panting.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice catching and he swallowed hard. His face said all you needed to know, so you crawled back up his chest and kissed him fiercely. You sat up, nestling your dripping pussy onto his crotch just for the sound it caused to tumble from his lips — a strained gasp, heavy with longing, with hunger. You lifted your weight and rubbed your cunt, spreading your syrupy desire over your clit. Watching Ben’s face, you pushed two fingers into yourself. His gaze was fixed on your hand, working yourself into readiness for him. He, meanwhile, grabbed a condom from the drawer and rolled it into himself, wincing in his sensitivity.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, “You good?”

He nodded, so you lined him up and sat down, sliding him into you easily. An already familiar fullness pooled in the pit of your stomached you began rock against him, slowly at first but with increasing power. You leant forward, placing your palms flat on his pecks for leverage, letting your breasts hang above him. His hands wandered tantalisingly from them to your hips to your bum, but you kept your own rhythm. You were fully in control, and watching Ben’s face below you writhe in agonising bliss painted a smile on your lips, hung open in your own panting pleasure.

You rode him until your legs quivered and your pussy was raw. He coaxed you to your high with strangled moans and curses tumbling off his filthy tongue. He followed soon after, pulsing inside you like a heartbeat.

Neither of you moved for a moment, catching your breath and enjoying the warmth of that most intimate connection, but just before you dismounted you wiggled your hips salaciously. He grunted like he’d just been punched in the stomach and you laughed aloud.

“You’re gonna be the death of me woman.”

“Oh, but it’ll be such a sweet ending,” you purred as you settled on the bed beside him. You indicated for him to roll onto his side, his back to your chest, and you curled yourself around him. You threaded one leg over his, an arm around his waist and the other hand stroking his hair softly.

“I never get to be the little spoon,” he mused, his tone languid but there was a boyish delight hiding underneath.

You lay there for a long time, until he sun was bright in the sky — thank god you had the day off because dragging yourself out of that delicious embrace, tight and warm and so close, would have been agony. It felt as if every inch of your skin was pressed against him, like your heart was beating right through your chest and into his.

But eventually you got pins and needles in your arm and your back got stiff and your belly started to groan from inattention (that pizza was a long time ago).

“I’m gonna jump in the shower,” you said, placing a peck on the back of Ben’s neck and rolling out of bed.

“Hope there’s no spiders this time,” he mumbled into the pillow.

You chuckled, and headed to the bathroom.

The water was refreshing on your skin and for a while you just stood under the stream, letting it trickle down your body. You could have stayed there for a lifetime — in that hazy, post-orgasm bliss, droplets drumming on your skin, and the bright excitement of a new relationship in your heart — if not for the thought of morning Ben, soft and fluffy, waiting for you when you got out.

You slipped into his bedroom, wrapped tightly in a towel, to find the bed empty. The sheets, a crumpled mess, bore all the sighs of your love-making. You fished around in Ben’s drawers and found a baggy sweater to throw on. It hung loose on you, falling past your bum to cover your knickers, and you had to roll the sleeves up. You’d thrown your hair up in a bun while you showered, but it now hung in a ponytail, tousled curls with a distinct ‘bed-head’ look about them. You caught a glimpse of yourself in a mirror, lips swollen, peppered hickeys just visible above the top of Ben’s jumper, skin glowing with a post-coital vibrancy.

You heard a gentle humming coming from the kitchen, and smiled to yourself at Ben’s voice. He was singing along to ‘Me and Mrs Jones’, and you stopped in the doorway for a moment to watch him. He bounced around the kitchen in just his boxers, the black of them contrasting deliciously with his pale skin, cast with a golden radiance in the morning sun. His voice echoed sweetly and your heart swelled, until he turned and saw you watching. He licked his lips as surveyed your bare legs.

“Mrs Jones, huh? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you chuckled. He smiled, but you caught the blush that crept up his neck. “That’s your real name, right?” you continued, sauntering over to him, “Ben Jones?”

“How’d you know?”

“It’s the first line of your wikipedia page,” you giggled, sliding your arms around his waist when he turned back to the stove to tend the eggs he was frying. You rested your cheek against his shoulder blade.

“So you googled me, huh?”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, but only rolled your eyes, “I researched all of you before I met you. I was doing my job.”

You had forgotten over the course of the last 24 hours that Ben was still your colleague. He had become your lover, one of your closest friends, but the next morning you would have to go to work and try your best to be professional. That would be a new challenge, but one you would face when it confronted you, not before. For now, you just wanted to enjoy this quiet moment.

“What did you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts, “Back then, when you first met me.”

“Arrogant, self-righteous, boring, standoffish…” you teased.

He turned around, faux hurt plastered across his face. But then it changed, and you saw honesty and even self-consciousness there. “Really though, did you like me?”

“Mmh, I knew you were going to be a pain in the arse from day one, precisely because I did like you.”

Green eyes sparkled emerald with mirth. “So you fancied me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what I heard.”

“You had a girlfriend.”

“We broke up a week after I met you.”

“Your eggs are going to burn.”

He frowned, caught off guard, and cursed, quickly turning his attention back to the stove to finish preparing breakfast. Not long after, he laid out two full plates on the kitchen island and two cups of tea. You sat down gratefully to eat, ravenous after the night you’d had, and marvelled at Ben’s seemingly unlimited skill set.

“Are you worried about her?” he asked tentatively, clearly feeling like he was walking on eggshells.

“Your ex? No?” you shrugged, hyperaware of your tone and body language despite being completely truthful. “You’ve given me no reason to be worried about her.”

“I know, but from your point of view, you see a long-term relationship that hasn’t been over for that long. I suppose I want to reassure you that I’m over it.”

“Ben,” you smiled softly, placing your hand over his as it rested on the table between you, “All I see is an incredible guy that makes me feel wanted when he looks at me. For now, that’s all I need.”

His shoulders relaxed with a sigh and he blinked slowly. “For now, huh?” He was smirking but there was honest inquiry behind his assured demeanour.

You chewed the inside of your lip, “I know we’ve only been on one date but this is a big deal for me. I broke my rule for you. I don’t remember deciding to do it but I did, so now I have to commit to this.” A nervous anxiety gnawed in your chest as you considered the implications of last night, and the possibility that Ben might not understand what a big deal it was to you. “You know what my job means to me,” you asserted, hoping that he truly did.

“I know.” He squeezed your hand, a return of faith and a show of commitment.

You passed the rest of the day in that hazy balm of a new relationship, where you were still feeling out the dynamic between you: how often you touched, how cuddly you were, when to speak and when to enjoy the silence. It never felt forced, never uncomfortable. Sometimes it was fumbly and awkward, but when you giggled he smiled so widely that his cheeks turned into cherries and his elation turned into lines around his eyes. You settled so easily into him, it felt both thrillingly new and wonderfully nostalgic. Those weeks of joking and laughing together, getting to know and understand each other, meant that you already had the kind of familiarity that made intimacy so natural. You could almost believe you had been together in a past life.

When Sav called you to see if you had finally told Ben how you felt, and you told her you had (and what’s more he felt the same), she squealed down the phone and insisted you meet to tell her all. You promised you would, and caught Ben smiling at you out of the corner of your eye.

“She’s your best friend, right?” he asked, once you had made vague plans and hung up. When you nodded he continued, “I’m going to have to meet her.” It occurred to you how natural you thought that would feel, despite the fact that you had been together for a day.

Being back at work was a little more strange, but not as difficult as you feared it might be. Ben really took it in his stride, which made the whole thing easier for you. He left you to your work a lot of the time, respecting that you had a job to do as much as he did, and treated you the same way he always did. He teased you, and shot you looks behind the director’s back and sometimes, when no one was looking, he would squeeze your hand or your hip or your bum just to remind you that he was yours. The rest of the guys where as accommodating too, and when you all hung out together in a group they settled into the new dynamic quicker than you did. At first you had been a bit uncomfortable, wanting to be affectionate with Ben in your downtime, especially in that first week or so, but not sure that the others would appreciate the PDA. But they made it feel natural when they teased you in that fraternal way that they always did, and joked that Ben was punching above his weight (which you would never believe). Keeping things quiet from the rest of the crew, however, was a little more tricky. You constantly wanted to touch Ben, to rest your head on his shoulder, feel his arm, fix his hair, and Ben was even worse. He was a tactile person, stimulated by touch. It meant that being a round him was electric and being alone with him often inevitably led to rather more physical contact than would be appropriate in the workplace, but it also meant that he constantly wanted to be touching you at work too. He would rest his hand on the small of your back or your knee, drape an arm over your shoulder, sometimes he would skim his fingers over your hand, your neck, anything he could reach, just to feel your skin, soft and warm under his fingertips. You loved it, loved the way it sent shivers down your spine, but you were starting to worry about the way Josh would watch your interactions with Ben, frowning and squinting his eyes.

“We have to be more careful,” you whispered one day on set after Josh had walked off, staring at Ben as he pushed the hair from your shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“I think people are starting to get suspicious. Josh keeps looking at us funny.”

Ben scoffed, “Josh is just jealous. He still likes you, you know.”

“I mean it Ben,” you asserted, swatting him gently on the arm, “I’m worried. I don’t want people figuring us out.”

“So what if they did?” His tone was nonchalant but you could see the melancholy behind his bright green eyes, see the longing. You knew he hated keeping your relationship a secret, and how much it pained him to keep himself away from you. Still, you had your reasons.

“You know exactly what,” you chided softly.

“Would it really be the end of the world if they knew how much I adore you?”

“I have to be sure.”

His voice went deep and quiet, thick with vulnerability, “Are you not already?”

“Benny, it’s not even been two weeks.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Your chest went tight, a heavy lump settled in your throat. Your pulse was deafening, sickening, in your ears as you tried not to let yourself be intimidated by those words. You knew that Ben felt things intensely, and that his feelings for you had been growing for far longer than the short time you had been together, but still, to hear him speak with such certainty was more than you knew how to handle. You made a conscious effort to relax your shoulders. “I just don’t want to rush anything. The way I see it, we have the rest of our lives together.”

You let your fingers skate over his cheek, dancing along his jawline. You felt him relax into you, nuzzling his head into your hand.

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away as you heard the muffled steps of someone walking into the room behind you. Your whole body tensed and your mind raced for some false conversation to fill the silence with, but deflated as you heard Joe gibe, “Relax guys, it’s only me. I was just chatting to the others, wanna doing something tonight?”

“Christ Joe, you scared the shit out of me,” you huffed, heart still racing from the moment of panic.

“Uh, we were gonna have dinner tonight,” Ben explained, apologetic.

Joe rolled his eyes, shoulders sagging, and sassed, “Yes, we were also planning to eat dinner. Come on, we barely see you two anymore.”

“We see you everyday, we all work together,” you quipped.

He almost stomped his foot, “You know what I mean. You were all distant when you two were arguing and now that you’re together you’re too busy going on dates—”

“That is what couples do,” Ben interjected. It still gave you a buzz to hear him call you a couple.

“You know you’re exaggerating horrifically, right? We literally all went to the cinema together two days ago.”

“Okay, yes I am, but only for dramatic effect. Please?”

You turned to Ben, “We could do dinner tomorrow?”

“We’ve got the rest of our lives, right?’ he smiled, moving to hold your hand but only gently skimming your pinky finger. You bit the inside of your lip and nodded.

“The Godfather!” you yelled as Gwil pulled his best Marlon Brando face. “Told you, I’m sick at charades.”

“How the hell did you get that?” Ben laughed incredulously.

“You come here, on the day of my daughter’s wedding…” you grumbled out in a poor impersonation of the Godfather.

“That was terrible, Y/N, really. Painful,” Joe snickered.

You laughed, “Good job I usually leave the acting to you lot then.”

When it was your turn, you successfully acted out Jurassic Park by doing the most ridiculous dinosaur impression and pointing furiously at Joe.

“I feel like that was an iconic moment in our friendship,” Gwil laughed.

“You’re never going to forget that dinosaur impression, it’s burned into your brains forever.”

“I’ll be doing at your wedding.”

The evening was spent in such the same fashion, drinking, joking, enjoying spending time with these people who had come to be such important friends. You found yourself in one of those rare moments in life where everything seems to have fallen perfectly into place. You were overcome with the sense that you were exactly where you where supposed to be. The love in the room, the warmth, the joy, was palpable. It tasted sweet on your tongue. Ben caught your eye and smiled, his lips slowing pulling tight over his teeth. Your heart swelled in your chest, delicate in the knowledge that these days, this wonderful dream, would end and you’d be thrust apart. You sighed, content to enjoy the moments you had. You surveyed the room: Rami and Lucy were cuddling on an armchair curled tight into each other, Joe was chatting animatedly with Gwil, recounting some story while Allen handed round beers, laughing to himself at Joe. Ben shifted beside you and threaded his arm around your waist. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, brimming with all the love in the world. It felt very much like these were the days of your life.

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angstmatsuscenarios · 5 years ago

Note

Scenario where the brothers are done of Karamatsu and ask to the Dekapan a potion of change of personality. Dekapan warns that it is not possible to reverse the effects after drinking the potion, but the brothers obviously ignore the warning. Karamatsu (after drinking the potion that was mixed into his drink unknowingly) becomes an easily stressed and verbally abusive person, also likes to destroy family belongings for fun.

I hope you like this one!! I wanted to go for an unexpected twist so let’s see how that goes…

They’d been desperate, and it seemed like a good solution at the time.

When the brothers had asked Dekapan about a potion of any kind that could change a person’s personality, they’d been sick and tired of Karamatsu’s outlandish behavior all the time. Maybe they were being a bit extreme, but in all honesty, they hadn’t intended to change much about him–just subdue his personality, tone it down a little. Nothing too drastic.

And as it happened, Dekapan did have just such a potion on hand, one he promised would change Karamatsu’s personality. He’d warned them in advance that the potion couldn’t be reversed, that whatever happened they would be stuck with it, but while they listened they didn’t heed his advice. They figured all would be fine.

All they had to do was slip it into his drink, which they did. He drank it without noticing a thing, much to everyone’s relief. Dekapan said it would take a few hours for the change to take effect. When they went to bed that night, it was with the knowledge that they’d wake up to a brand-new Karamatsu, unbeknownst to him.

They had no idea what they were in for.

———-

“Karamatsu-niisan!”

Karamatsu glanced up at the sound of Jyushimatsu’s boisterous shouting, but he didn’t smile at him the way he usually did. In fact, he seemed annoyed. “What do you want, Jyushimatsu?”

“Wanna play baseball with me and Ichimatsu in the park?” Jyushimatsu asked hopefully. “It’s a nice day outside today!”

“No, I don’t want to. It’s too hot out, and besides, I don’t want to get all dirty and need to shower and change my clothes when I get home.” Karamatsu scowled. “What a waste of precious time.”

Jyushimatsu was taken aback, his smile faltering. The snappy tone of Karamatsu’s voice was very much unlike him. Yes, he knew they’d given him that potion…but it wasn’t supposed to make him mean, was it?

“Ah…sorry, Karamatsu, I thought you liked playing baseball,” he said quietly. “You used to.”

“Well, I don’t anymore,” Karamatsu stated crossly, and turned back to the magazine he’d been reading when Jyushimatsu interrupted him. “Now leave me alone, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Okay…bye.” Jyushimatsu walked out of the room, shaken by what had just happened. He couldn’t understand why Karamatsu would be so blunt and rude toward him, speaking in a way that made Jyushimatsu’s heart pound nervously.

Maybe he just didn’t sleep enough and he’s tired, or he’s cranky ‘cause it’s been so hot lately…yeah, maybe it’s got nothing to do with the potion!

He certainly hoped not.

—————

“Karamatsu-niisan…!”

“What, Todomatsu?” Karamatsu asked irritably, shooting a sharp glare at Todomatsu the second he heard the syrupy-sweet lilt in his voice.

The cold tone and harsh look perturbed Todomatsu a little, but he wasn’t deterred enough not to ask his question. “Could you please get me a drink from the fridge? I’m so thirsty.” He tried to appear as cute as possible when making his request.

“No, I will not,” Karamatsu glowered at him. “You’re not a baby, you can go get your own drink. Quit being so lazy.”

Todomatsu’s eyes widened at the cutting retort, but instead of retreating fearfully he frowned and said, “Oh, come on, you used to do that for me all the time. Choromatsu would’ve done it for me.”

“Then ask him to do it,” Karamatsu sniped. “I’m not your butler. You can get your own drinks, the kitchen is right down the hall and your legs aren’t broken.”

Todomatsu huffed. “How rude!” he exclaimed with an exaggerated pout. “Fine, then I will get my own drink.”

He stormed out of the room, fuming. Never before had Karamatsu treated him so meanly, and he didn’t like it one bit. Not just because he was now suffering the indignity of having to fetch his own drink.

It was because he didn’t seem like Karamatsu anymore.

—————

“Have any of you seen my limited-edition Nyaa-Chan poster?” Choromatsu rooted frantically through the closet, worry mounting within him with each second that passed that the poster wasn’t in his hands. “I was just about to hang it up in the perfect spot…oh no, don’t tell me I left it at the concert, not when I’d saved up so much for it…”

“Looking for this, my brother?”

Choromatsu spun around at the sound of Karamatsu’s voice, and relief flooded through his system when he saw his precious poster in the older brother’s hands.

“Oh! Kara, you found it! Thank you, I had no idea where it could have been…”

He stood up to grab the poster from Karamatsu…and froze completely in terror when he saw Karamatsu grip it in both hands and begin to tear it.

“Wait! What are you doing?!” he shrieked, lunging forward to grab the poster but unable to before Karamatsu dodged in the other direction.

Choromatsu stumbled to the floor and could only watch, horrified and heartbroken, as Karamatsu tore his poster in half. For a brief second he thought he could salvage it, tape the two pieces together—until Karamatsu began furiously ripping those pieces into tiny little shreds.

“There.” Karamatsu smirked as he unceremoniously dumped the handfuls of paper bits into the garbage. “It looks much better in there, if you ask me.” Then he sauntered out of the room, leaving Choromatsu on the floor.

Choromatsu could only stare, his chin quivering as tears threatened to fall. He couldn’t even bring himself to lash out angrily at Karamatsu the way he would with any other brother for touching or breaking his stuff. The poster had been rare and expensive and he was unlikely to ever snag another one, but that wasn’t what bothered him so much about what just happened.

Not once had Karamatsu ever done anything so heartlessly, with so much darkness in his eyes, something that he knew would hurt one of his brothers so badly. Not in the past…but now, he was turning into a monster.

That realization was worse than losing a dumb poster.

—————

As time wore on, Karamatsu grew meaner, and the brothers distanced themselves from him. They were scared of him. He wasn’t the sweet, caring brother they used to have, that they took for granted. With each passing day they regretted their reckless decision more and more. Changing Karamatsu had been a horrible idea, and they were devastated by the fact that it couldn’t be undone.

And then, one day, Karamatsu paid Dekapan a visit.

“I think I’m ready to be changed back now.”

“Oh?” Dekapan lifted his gaze from the invention he had been tinkering with. “Already?”

“Well, it has been a month, and I believe my brothers have learned their lesson.” A faint smile played at Karamatsu’s face. “I must admit, though, I didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off for this long—it’s hard work being a jerk, though I do believe I pulled off the role flawlessly!”

Dekapan nodded. “When they came in asking for a potion to change you, I knew they wouldn’t like the results, so I gave them a vial of water instead. That they weren’t any the wiser is…a bit disturbing, really.”

“Ah, but I appreciate it…as well as you calling me before they came home that day to devise our plan here.” Karamatsu sighed slightly. “I do feel a bit guilty for some of the things I did…destroying Choromatsu’s poster may have been too far. I was just…hurt, that they’d be so willing to change me that they’d resort to using some mysterious potion to achieve it. Am I…am I truly that unbearable?”

“You’re a, well, unique person, Karamatsu. I think a lot of people appreciate it more than you might think,” Dekapan answered. “And I’m sure your brothers have now come to realize what they’ve lost in thinking it would be better to change you. I think everything will be better from here on out.”

Karamatsu sighed heavily. “I certainly hope you’re right. Because if they go back to wishing I was different again…I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He didn’t stay long after that. The plan was arranged for Dekapan to call the brothers, claiming to have discovered a way to reverse the “potion” he’d given them. From there they figured the same plan as before would follow, with the brothers sneaking him the potion. Karamatsu would have to fake at least one more night of this heinous personality before “magically” returning to normal the next day.

Only time would tell if this scheme of their would actually work, or how long it’d take the brothers to grow tired of him again. Maybe they wouldn’t, maybe they would right away.

But Karamatsu was determined not to change who he was, not after this experiment. No matter what anyone thought of him, even his own family, he’d rather stay himself.

#osomatsu san #osomatsu san angst #karamatsu #personality change

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junkyardlynx · 5 years ago

Text

Pt. 8

As the purple sky gave way to dull and ruddy orange, the treeline along the highway gave way to open field and the single dirt road leading inwards, revealing the nightmare I suspected. Suspected, but not desired.

Unending flame.

Trees. Grass. Flowers. Animals. People.

Shrieks began to drown out the roar of the engine and music, splitting the air with their inhumanity. The insentient flora and fauna perished quickly, mere obstacles caught in the crossfire. The people weren't so lucky. They were there with unfortunate purpose, lashed to iron stakes in the ground, bound and burning. Ever burning. They should have expired long ago, choking on their own bubbling flesh and the thick, dark haze that suffocated the clearing. No such mercy found them, their bodies preserved by tainted magic. Their screams were a beacon.

A nightmare, born from dreams of flame, clawed it's way out from the space between the Layers. It trumpeted its existence with a cry that shook the earth, and all the unfortunate souls pinned to the ground by the overwrought iron stakes seemed to turn inside out at the sound. Red mist met black smoke and Hell was disgorged onto Earth, in the middle of the Jacklyn Halls Nature Preserve.

Something wicked this way comes, I thought.

Smoky the Bear would be disappointed.

As Sarisa flipped the tail end around at the mouth of the dirt road and brought the bike to a halt, I grimly noted that the timing was too perfect. The profane ritual was not easily engineered and its timing - birthing chaos in all its glory just as we arrived - spoke of three possibilities. Ice ran through my veins as I weighed them.

One, they were simply lucky. Not outside the realm of possibility, but unlikely.

Two, our every move was being watched. Leagues more fathomable, but also unfitting. No detection magics or familiars had been discovered, and conventional listening devices would have been rendered inoperable as soon as I discharged any amount of magic from my being.

Three?

Every move we made had been meticulously planned and manipulated by someone else.

The thought chilled me, but gave me strength. If the enemy needed us to behave, acting in unexpected ways would grant us an element of surprise in the future if this was the case, and I felt it was. However, there was no way we could “act unexpected” and simply ignore this colossus of fire and flesh towering before us. Over five metres tall with skin quite too white and human for my taste, it’s misshapen and childlike head bore countless cracks and fissures that leaked lava like open sores. Two black pits of tar, uncannily expressive, sat deep within it’s skull, it’s lips open and babbling words that were less words than syrupy sweet music. It wailed horrendously as it fumbled to it’s full height, the pain of birth fresh in it’s newly-formed flesh.

Ah.

“Is that...?”

Sarisa stood beside me, flicking her wrist to engage the bracelet on her wrist into a thin and flexible wire whip.

“Amdusias.”

“Wow, the old scholars knew-” Sarisa’s words were cut short as Amdusias swung one fat wrist, roughly the thickness of a sapling’s trunk, our way. We leapt back easily, gauging our distance and the actions of the demon. “They knew nothing, damn. Where’s his unicorn head? I was promised a unicorn head, Jeal.”

“Just be thankful he doesn’t have twenty-nine legions of demons and spirits with him.”

I slipped my hand into a Wound, pulling forth my trusted lance. Amdusias raged around, thrashing at the earth as rivulets of molten blood dripped from it’s numerous searing wounds. It’s rage was momentarily misdirected from us. Things were about to get serious, and this was no time to practice moderation. My own fatigued body had already been restored to working order by the dragon’s eye, so there weren’t even any excuses if I were to look for one. As the shattered dome of the observatory loomed in the distance, I found my blood quickening, as if the magic inside of myself and my lance ached to be unleashed.

Truthfully, they did.

Try as I might, I couldn’t help but admit I craved this. I reveled in it. Staking my existence on the here and now, on everything I was as I matched my being against another’s and triumphed. It wasn’t a part of my personality I particularly prided myself on, but it was there. Denying it would do nothing.

This lance. Lacking any discernible toolmarks and smithing techniques, it was slender, sharp and exquisitely white. It looked as if it was carved from one piece of pure light. I loved it so. Other than it’s colour and the craftmanship, it seemed unremarkable, bearing no real ornamentation - a well made stick, really . A trusty weapon with no apparent magical properties, a simple catalyst for my own strength.

This, of course, was false.

Pulsing just the right amount of magic into the shaft, I began to burn away the enchantment that bound the lance to it’s current form. The sheer power that began radiating from it and myself pushed me off the ground, thick waves of white magical energy beating into the very fabric of the world around myself.

Amdusias, being a demon, noticed the immense flow of magic. A shame, I thought. I would have liked to put the mewling babe out of it’s misery a moment sooner. I felt ice begin to cover my thoughts, smothering my more reserved self in preparation for cruelty. It began to charge at me with lumbering but quick steps, waddling with some sort of terrible and almost comical purpose.

Sarisa took that as a cue to buy me a bit more time. She leapt forward and between it’s crackling legs, enchanting her wire with the properties of water and shredding a large chunk of flesh from Amdusias’ right calf in the process. It tottered in the aftermath, but it’s own ruinous power restored the missing flesh to it’s weeping state as Amdusias simply fell backwards in an attempt to crush Sarisa. Solidifying the air behind her with magic, she pushed off it with her legs, darting from underneath the demon’s improvised body slam.

Harrying him with a flurry of lightning fast slashes, Sarisa’s footwork was poetry in motion. She danced like a ballerina, dodging and weaving even as the oppressive heat from her opponent caused sweat to bead on her forehead. I found myself captivated, even as I unraveled the last few threads of the spell on my slaying spear. It’s form both expanded and contracted at the same time, reforging itself into something altogether new and old, losing the luster of metal and gaining the brightness of sunlight. Wisps of magic trailed from behind it’s form, brilliant and pure. I surrendered myself to it’s

This lance was the crystallization of the [Concept of Slaying with a Spear], Rhongomyniad. My father told me when he allowed me to duel him for it that it started as a spear forged from a white ore found in a meteorite, meant for a king of men in ancient times. With no special power of it’s own at it’s conception, it nonetheless tore a bloody path of victory through history, finding it’s way into the hands of heroes such as King Arthur before coming into the possession of the Culaine family. He mused that perhaps the ore it was forged with was particularly receptive to the psychic emanations of humanity, allowing it to permutate it’s own existence into the [Concept of Slaying with a Spear].

That would mean that for millennia, the concepts and emotions aimed at this weapon were “that weapon is going to kill me.” “That weapon is going to slay me.” It had no choice but to become what it was.

With it’s form bared before the demon Amduisas, it seemed to howl against the nightmare’s own trumpeting roars, drowning out all of the sound. Sarisa whipped the water-enchanted wire across Amdusias’ face, carving a new line for the lava to pour forth before it healed. She retreated immediately, even before Amduisas began belch miasma and hellfire forth. She could feel what was coming.

I rose higher into the air, taking aim with Rhongomyniad. Aiming straight for where the titanic infant’s heart would be, I flung the spear with earthshattering force. With a speed so fast it appeared to teleport, the very air split in a sonic boom as Rhongomyniad struck true, spearing the so-called Duke of Hell Amduisas through it’s molten heart. It’s screams transmuted into music, it roared and cried it’s majestic pain, but it wasn’t over.

Light blossomed in the air around Amduisas, and a countless number of slender lances speared the demon time and time again, chunks of flesh and molten lava flying from it’s ravaged form, burning smoking craters in the earth. This was the total destruction of a strike from Rhongomyniad. I smiled to myself and descended from my lofty perch, sure of my victory.

That was my mistake, I suppose.

It’s body bubbled and shifted, spitting out my spear at a speed comparable to my throw. I barely managed to sidestep it, coating my hand in a layer of frost as I caught it. Being in the demon’s body had increased it’s temperature to somewhere nearly unbearable.

As it’s form was rendered inchoate, it began to melt away, only to reform into something quite more...manageable. Where a colossal and wailing child had been before, a somewhat aged man in a grey pinstriped suit now stood, seemingly untouched and unperturbed. His black hair was slicked back and peppered with a touch of grey. A thin mustache lined his upper lip, expertly manicured. His eyes retained the same coal-like quality, but now seemed to shine with a fatherly warmth. With a smile, his teeth were revealed to be immaculate in shape and a riotous red in colour, as if he’d spent the afternoon gorging himself on raspberries. A white unicorn’s head was emblazoned upon his breast pocket, replete with a fiery mane.

“That hurt, son.”

Amduisas, Duke of the Second Layer and master of music, expressed his displeasure in a tone that said “buddy, I’m not angry. I’m just disappointed.”

Sarisa had already made her way to my side. She was covered in soot and blood, but the blood wasn’t her’s. Relief washed over me at that simple fact.

“Did he really...survive that?”

Her voice was quiet, laced with a fear I wasn’t used to.

It made my blood boil.

This man.

Ah, this man that was never a man.

This [Dream of a Father’s Song].

The trees had begun to sway, despite the lack of wind.

The air began to howl, a symphony of unearthly music emanating from the thing before us.

Something wicked walked this Earth.

#writing #my writing #the deeper wound #modern fantasy #magic #original fiction

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