#maybe that angle is a bit too heavy for my taste.

[the-acid-pear]

All that phone looking yesterday made me dream I made a fucking gen 3 phoney oc and now I kinda want to make him real. He even came w a name everyone called him Ed or Gwen (sounds and letters mix like that in dreams). Maybe. Maybe.

[daenysx]

i meannn i told you i can't shut up (sirius has tongue piercing in this and i lose my mind about it)

sirius black x fem!reader, nsfw ♡

sirius can easily spend hours between your legs.

he pulls you into an angle he likes, your thighs parted to keep his head still, he likes to call the soft flesh of your legs as 'the best ear muffs'. you can only lay on bed, his pretty pillow princess, he willingly does all the work.

the sounds of him licking broad stripes on your cunt makes your head dizzy, he is shameless with his intentions. your panties are stuffed in his jeans' pocket, the tank top you wear to bed does nothing to cover your chest. you arch your back as he sucks your clit only a bit, his black locks cover your lower belly when he buries his head to your wetness.

"sweetest thing." he says, panting. "can't get enough."

"sirius-" you start but you don't know what to say. he's good at what he's doing, his tongue piercing grazes your sensitive spot and you whine. "do it again." you plead, eyes closed and brain slowly turning into mush.

"do what, sweetness?" he teases. "look at that, you're even wetter. didn't think that's possible."

"come on-"

"patience, babe." he says, biting your thigh.

your hands go to his head desperately when his piercing touches you again. you wrap your fingers around his locks unconciously, moaning his name as you pull him closer. you press him against your skin and he obeys with a soft groan. he sucks your needy bud, fingers stroking the sweet patch inside you. you pull him again when he touches a bit harder, the pressure is insane.

he only has a second to lift his head before you use your fingers on his scalp. "fuck." he whispers against your lower belly. "driving me mad."

he keeps sucking your clit, it's so swollen between his lips. he enjoys your taste, he adores how your head goes back when you can't stand his teasings. you play with his hair, nails scratching his scalp and sirius feels himself getting harder. it sends a chill to his spine, he presses himself on bed desperately.

"do it again." he says, getting faster. "pull my hair, baby, go ahead."

"do you like it?" you ask, breathless.

he rubs his clothed cock on bed again. "i like it." his cock is so sensitive, it hurts. "i'm gonna come for you, babe, if you keep doing that."

the words flash in your mind and you can't control what happens next. you moan needily, coming all over his face as he keeps licking you. your shaky fingers pull his hair harshly, you don't mean that (maybe), but sirius loves it. he rubs himself harder on bed as he grabs your thighs, the tingly feeling leaves him lightheaded.

the next minutes go blurry, sirius palms himself and squeezes with enough pressure to come. he doesn't care about his clothes or being embarrassed, thick liquid drips down on him as he lets himself come.

he breathes slowly, puts his head on your belly. the room is filled with breathing sounds, your fingers stroke his hair gently. you fix the messed up strands, your eyes heavy from sex. sirius is no better, he kisses your naked skin absent-mindedly, nuzzles closer to you.

"you ruined me." he whispers. "i love you."

"i know how to make you do anything i want now." you grin. "perfect."

sirius scoffs. he pulls himself up to make an eye contact, he gets closer to your face. "as if i haven't been wrapped around your finger from the start."

you cup his cheeks, brush a sweet kiss on his lips. "i love you, too."

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

horny, sulky, kinda mean, kinda roughhousing könig thought bc it's my birthday, it's 2:50am, i have been horny like a fuckin werewolf for like a week now. f!reader ig for talk about pussy.

So our man König doesn’t keep normal hours—not that you do, but dude is two days back from KorTac and pretty much strung out on the “fun” amphetamines KorTac req officers pass out like candy if you even wave smth that looks like a form at them. So kind of out of the worst of it, exhausted, but wired and feeling kind of shitty and toothy and wound up.

He wants to fuck. Easiest way to diffuse, decompress, and he’s hard as shit by the time he lumbers his way into bed with you—over you—all around you. You were reading off your kindle, not anymore. He plucks that shit right out of your hand and puts it behind him, tangling those long, heavy limbs around you like a boa constrictor.

“Was wondering when this was going to happen,” you say, hissing when he’s none to kind in nipping the skin of your neck, wrapping his arms around your torso, pushing your breasts up under your t-shirt. “Shit, you’re moody,” it’s half a laugh, and a grapple at not immediately just folding and giving into him. You like to bite, too.

“Give me your mouth,” he grunts, nose pushed into the spot behind your ear. He’s pushing down your underwear, singlemindedly stripping you down. His words make your skin humid, “Gonna play with your pussy, want you fucking wet for me.”

You give that little bit, turning your head over your shoulder, smirking into a kiss that drives deliriously deep as soon as contact is made. König isn’t a prim kisser, but a primal one. It’s not a clean act; sloppy, yes, and somehow tinged with something kin to restrained violence. Challenge? Dick swinging? Maybe something more biblical in nature—gluttony, or greed.

He’s a fearsome thing, and he may only be beautiful to you. A needful thing, too, twisting nest of starved serpents—6 feet 10 inches and pushing-300-lbs of fucking muscle, battering-ram-body housing more than thirty years of neglect-crushed memory out for retribution.

But you never were a target. He didn’t have a choice in that matter. You both know good and goddamned well that you picked him. Everything he gets away with is at your allowance, and good fucking Christ, he loves you for it.

His cock throbs against your bare ass through his boxers as his arm wraps around you, craning his hand to pump two big fingers into your sopping cunt, angling his wrist so he can press and rub your clit with his thumb.

Man’s got his perversions, and he’s the most physical person you’ve ever met in your life. He’s had a fraction of the sex he’s fantasized about, but you’ve covered hectares of that ground since you’ve gotten together. He’s a quick study, and his mind’s a nightmare of steel trap memory. He never forgets what you like.

Two fingers turn to three, and he almost pushes it to four—assured torture, too much stretch too fast—before you snap a hand around his wrist and buck hard back against him, seething his name in warning. “Don’t fucking dare.”

“Ja. Ja, Schatzi,” he mumbles, breathing hard and too collected. You’re both sweating already, and the bed feels too damn warm, but neither of you shift. The spooning position is perfect as-is, only needs acted upon. In the mean time, he draws his slicked fingers up, leaving them in the air before your mouth in question. He groans and shudders harshly when you take the digits into your mouth, almost laughing at the ever-fresh amusement of your own taste. Salt and cold coins, your own metallic tang a complement to the one on his skin. His voice shakes as he warns, “Time, now. It’s time, bitte, aw, fuck.”

Just like that, he sinks right into you, to the base, balls pressed tight against your lips due to your body’s contortioning to meld against his form. An ungodly moan bellows out of his throat, rattling from his chest into yours, arms tightening around you. You meet the fuck-weird noises, turning your head to keen into your pillows and pressing back against him. Your hand anchors behind you on his hip, as if pinning him in place, affixing your bodies together.

You both hang in a moment of suspension, hearts pounding, minds blank, stomachs rising as if careening over a hill with momentum not sparing you a moments reprieve.

When that finally snaps, you have to force him to focus, to fuck, and he’s slow about it, grinding into you as your cunt sucks him deeper.

That huge hand you know so well drops between your legs, right back to toying with you. Oh it doesn’t take long to get you off, bent in half on your side, holding onto him and gasping as you’re hit with wave after wave of pleasure.

He’s not subtle to signal when it’s his turn. He pulls you back up and clamps his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard through the fabric of your shirt, fucking you rough, now, and unheeding, like an animal in heat. When he finally finishes, spasming and jolting all over now that his balls have been emptied into you, he leaves his heavy arm over your waist, keeping you close. “Good shit,” he mumbles, throat sticking to itself it’s so dry as he pants, parched, “we split a smoke?”

You’re not much better, even though you’ve bravado to fucking spare. “I smoke. You go the hell to sleep now,” you try to sound stern and dismissive, but there’s a laugh in your tone some place. And fondness, undeniably. You feel his grin against your neck, his body purring mhm in question. “Feel better?” you ask, at length, stroking the hair on his forearms.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, weak and sweet with relief, “can sleep now.” A pause, you can hear him thinking. “Won’t, though. Because you were an asshole and had to bring it up first.” His laugh wheezes, low and susurring.

[leifygreeens]

could you write something about your first kisses with the bachelor/ettes? I feel like you're the only blog who characterizes them well ugh

Hey, anon. Sorry for disappearing on you, that’s my bad. I hope this is worth the wait. 

If you're looking for other people who know how to write people like they're people, @maylilithreign, @snailmail444, @babiebom, and @junicult are all great, and I can’t recommend them enough. (Minors do not follow/interact with Jo or Libby, and Bom and Snail don’t want any kiddos interacting with their NSFW stuff, so don’t do that either. Be nice and respect everyone's boundaries.)

Warnings: Cursing (my fault), a little bit of dialogue, and some suggestive moments (also my fault). Enjoy <3

Sam

Out of all of the bachelors, he’s the most nervous

Which is ironic, given the “jump-head-first-into-things-with-no-care-for-my-personal-safety” vibe he’s got going on, but whatever

He refuses to touch you, at first—but not because he doesn’t want to

Sam is an extremely tactile person, so of course he wants to touch you—but he also knows he can be a bit much sometimes, and he doesn’t want to chase you off with his greed or his enthusiasm

So he goes for soft, gentle, and perfectly pliant under your touch as you pull him in

It’s honestly a little jarring, because he seems the type to get desperate (true) and not be able to control himself (also very true)

But this boy is exercising an immense amount of self control to not jump headfirst into getting heavy and fast and yanking on clothes too hard

He does a good job keeping himself contained atta boy, buddy

He thought that once he’d finally gotten a taste of you, maybe he’d finally be able to think about literally anything else

Unfortunately, he would be incorrect

And now that he has experienced it, he’s overwhelmed and dizzy with his want

He keeps his eyes closed and basks in it for at least five seconds after you pull away

He is absolutely heaving, wrecked just from the tiniest chaste press of your lips against his

He’s been waiting for you to do that for weeks

His eyes flutter open slowly, and then his gaze flicks up to you

Licks his lips as he tracks his eyes down your torso and back up

His palm is warm against the back of your neck as he pulls you down for seconds

And yeah, this is more like how you thought it’d be

Does not stop pulling you against him, even though you physically couldn’t get any closer if you tried

Your shirt gets rucked up to your waist untintentionally, because he keeps gripping you and yanking you closer

But the moment he feels your bare skin against his palms, he’s flinging himself backward

Blinks up at you with bright pink cheeks and his hands twitching against your waist

Swallows hard and clenches his jaw

He knows he should let go but he really doesn’t want to

If you lean back in, he drags his hands up slowly, and traces the line of your spine with his fingertips

I’ll stop there lol

Sebastian

This boy. Jesus.

He’s got next to no experience, let’s just get that out of the way now

Is immediately overwhelmed, even before you kiss him

Just the feeling of your palms warm on his jaw as you angle him just so is enough to have him trembling

Stares at your lips through half-lidded eyes until you finally finish closing the distance

Shivers at the slightest brush of your lips against his

He gasps high and can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed by it

Grabs onto your hips for dear life

He is immensely glad that you decided to kiss him while he was leaning on his bike, because otherwise he would have collapsed at your feet he might collapse anyway

Lord help him if you try to deepen the kiss though

If you do, he might actually pass out

Similarly to Sam, he’s going to get desperate after a minute, but he’ll hold himself back

He’ll have way less success with it than Sam, though

Sebastian definitely holds you a little too tight, and doesn’t give you enough space or time to breathe between kisses

Even if you don’t touch him beyond holding his face, when you pull away, he looks absolutely debauched

Like you could’ve sworn your hands were never in his hair but somehow it’s still ruffled?

Nevermind his hoodie sitting askew on his shoulders and giving a considerable peak at his collarbones

Honestly you don’t know how he managed to do all that, but don’t bother asking him because he is not able to think straight at all

His eyes are hardly open, blinking slowly and zoned absolutely the fuck out while he tries to catch his breath

Homeboy is straight up panting

“Breathe, Seb.”

Whines out a “no” all petulantly, pulls you flush against his chest, and dives in again

Alex

Homeboy spent weeks fantasizing about kissing you before he finally worked up the courage

He wants your first kiss to be special, like something straight off the movie screen

But he’s constantly second guessing himself, convinced that no moment is perfect enough to cut it

He’s hoping that the moment will come when you’re on a date or something, and he’s planning romantic shit left and right with the hopes that something will click and that’ll be it

He’s dropping you off at home after another date, and another failed attempt

He walks down your porch and turns around briefly to make sure you get inside safely

You’re watching him go, a knowing smile on your face as you reach for the handle

“Goodnight, Alex. Get home safe.”

You lick your lips, and turn to go inside

That’s what does it. Because of course it is.

The urge, the determination, the sudden desire thick and pooling in his chest that he’s never felt before—he knows without a doubt that if he doesn’t kiss you right now, he’s going to cry

Fuck perfection, fuck the moment, he just wants to kiss you

Practically stomps up your front steps, breath heaving in his chest as he reaches out and pulls you right against him with a hand on your jaw

Angling you just so, and leaning in to seal your lips together

He breathes a sigh of relief

Finally.

Something like satisfaction settles in his chest, warm like honey dripping into a mug of tea

His touch is firm on your jaw, keeping you perfectly angled for him to kiss you how he wants

You hold onto his arms for dear life, anchoring yourself to him as he kisses you so eagerly that your back actually hits your front door

It doesn’t hurt, but that makes you gasp into his mouth, and oof that sound is dangerous for his sanity

Isn’t really rough about it, but he is firm

Hisses a curse or two between kisses, licks his lips a lot because he can’t get enough

Bringing your hands up around his shoulders, you tangle your fingertips in the short cropped hair on his nape

You run your fingernails over his skin lightly, and he shivers hard

Practically pins you against the door in his effort to get closer

He accidentally presses too close, and the tiniest noise rumbles against his lips from the back of your throat

He knows what that sound means immediately, and alarm bells go off in his head

Tears himself away from you and pants for breath

Drops his forehead against your shoulder and props himself up against the door instead of holding you

“Alex?” 

God, your voice is all hoarse from kissing him and it’s putting dangerous thoughts in his head

“I should go home. Before I…”

You agree, but he doesn’t move away

Your eyes flick down to his lips for a split second, and that’s enough

Just one more, he tells himself, and then you’re swapping the air in your lungs again

With one hand spread against the mahogany and the other gripping your hip, he gives you a few more than just the one

Elliott 

Same dilemma as Alex

Wants it to be special, dramatic, memorable, heart-stopping, all the things

And he tries

He tries so hard

And it almost works. 

God dammit, his picnic by the pond next to Marnie’s almost works

The moment is perfect, you’re smiling up at him with the breeze blowing in your hair and the sun in your smile

Until the sun is suddenly gone and the wind picks up into a howl

In almost no time at all a storm cracks the sky open and you two get absolutely drenched

You run to your farmhouse, practically soaked through as you make it to the safety of your porch awning

The picnic is ruined, and he’s super disappointed because he was so close 

Then he looks at you, and he’s never seen such a beautiful sight

Hair glued to your face from the rain, with a wild grin on your face and your laughter chiming like bells in his ears

He drops the picnic blanket heavy with rain water across the top of your porch bench to dry, and sets the basket down

He needs his hands free if he wants to do this right

He’s stepping towards you, shivering from the rain sticking to his skin

And we all know Elliott is a romantic at heart

Wipes the rain off your cheeks as best he can, all while he smiles softly at you

“May I kiss you?”

You nod quickly, immediately hooking your hands on the lapels of his jacket and hanging on

Kisses you gentle and slow

Cradles the back of your head and neck like you’re made of glass

It isn’t a particularly long kiss—maybe a few seconds at most

Breathes quietly against your lips when you part

Looks at you for a few long moments with all the love in his heart, and doesn’t plan on kissing you twice until you’re glancing at his lips again

Elliott brings his hands to your shoulder blades and presses you close to his chest

But he can’t get close enough

Drags his hands down to your waist and grips you tight

You squeak against his mouth when he does, and that’s when he loses his composure

Starts kissing you a little more firmly, tries deepening the kiss a bit

Shivers and gasps when your fingers tangle into his hair, still stringy and wet from the rain

And he doesn’t stop shivering

You pull away, feeling his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, and then you giggle because his teeth have started chattering

“Cold?”

“Extremely.”

You invite him inside to dry off and warm up

He may or may not kiss you again.

Shane

You’d think your first kiss would be nervous and awkward—no.

Shane holds himself back for at least a few weeks into your relationship, worried out of his mind that one wrong move is gonna shatter everything for you two

So once he’s confident and knows for certain that he’s what you want,

He’s not holding back for shit

Homeboy physically can’t stand the tension anymore anyway, especially with how often he catches you staring at him—at his lips

Pulls you in by the back of your neck and keeps his hand there to hold you close

Even when he pulls away to let you catch your breath, it’s barely enough because you’re still gasping into each other’s mouths

He literally does not let you go more than an inch or two

Your lips are 100% flushed and tingling from how much he nips at them

His other hand is firm on your waist and he does not let you go unless you ask him to

Struggles to choose between looking into your eyes or staring at your lips any time you part

So he does both

His hair is usually a little scruffy looking, but something about a kiss like that has him looking particularly disheveled

Shiny pink lips, bruised and angry red from how hard he’s pressing into you

Eyebrows pinched together and it almost makes him look angry

His hoodie is probably pulling at his shoulders a bit because somehow you managed to push it down his arms

Presses his thumb against the pulse point beneath your jaw, just to make sure he’s not the only one who’s losing it

And he struggles to keep it together when he feels your heart thumping wildly in your throat

Recognizes which direction you’re both going and starts switching to chaste pecks

Rests his forehead against yours as you both calm back down

Gets a little teary while looking at you, and huffs a wet laugh too

He’s so happy with you, and doesn’t know how he got so lucky

Harvey

Softest fucking kiss you’ve ever been given in your entire life

Your noses bump together a little before he’s diving in close

Holds you so delicately, because you’re so precious to him

Gives you a few test pecks before he actually goes for it, and breathes in heavily through his nose when he does

It’s the kind of kiss that has you pulling on each other to get as close as possible

He holds the back of your neck like Shane, but he’s much more gentle about it

Will let you pull away however many times you want, but chases after you every time

His eyes are all hazy and he physically cannot stop looking at your mouth

With one hand on your waist, Harvey will dip his thumb under the hem of your shirt and rub back and forth over your skin

You’ve never seen him as focused as he is when he’s kissing you

Doesn’t move to take the kiss deeper, and doesn’t use tongue—but he doesn’t need to

Just the insistent press of lips is enough to get his point across

If his glasses get pushed up or clink against your face, he’ll pull back to take them off and set them down

The tension is kind of overwhelming

Every time he tries to restrain himself or exhibit self control, it only takes one look at your big eyes blinking at him with a flush on your cheeks and he’s getting right back up in your business

You’ve never heard him curse so openly before, but trying to control himself is nearing painful

Dives in, pauses a centimeter away, swears viciously because he’s failing miserably at controlling himself, and then he’s giving up entirely

Couldn’t resist you even if he wanted to

You’ll have to be the one to put an end to it because Harvey cannot

Don’t call his name while he’s like this though because then he won’t give you a moment to speak again

[goodpointsandbadpoints]

i can't remember if I already requested #20 or not. I don't think I did?? Figured a second ask wouldn't hurt anyway asdjsjds <333

prompt 20: a kiss out of desperation

hellooo silver! you did not already send one! Here's a Nivanfield. It's just pure sappy smut tbh. (you can blame Sam this time for making me rotate piers in my brain <3). This prompt also made me think of Shake, so I might do a flash fic for them at some point for this prompt 👀.

tags: smut; non-op piers; new relationship.

- 🔞 under the cut -

“Hnh, hah—” he grips the pillowcase above his head. He can’t help the full-body shudders that run through him, every thrust bringing a noise to his lips. He used to try not to, tried to keep still when something was in him, but there’s no point in it now. 

Besides, he likes the way Chris looks when he does it. 

He’s looking down at Piers now, rocking back and forth with this heady, overwhelmed flush to his face. He fucks into him slow, just beginning. Every slow, rolling thrust strokes Piers up into his spine. 

They’re trying some things. Not anything too unusual or bold, really, but nearly everything is new for them. They spent a long time just kissing and touching. Chris was determined to find every place on his body that made him shiver—soft circle around his navel, traced scars, the drifted sensation under his arm. When he trailed just the edges of his nails over Piers’ knees, he parted them without a second thought. 

One thing led to another, the heavy weight of Chris settling between his legs, and the blood had rushed there so convincingly that he needed more. 

Piers feels like he’s not holding his end of the bargain. He takes Chris easily, losing himself so quickly to every part of being under him and around him, that he hasn’t spent much time giving back. His hands are on Chris’ shoulders. He lets them slide down to his front. 

The man’s nipples are already hard. For some reason, it’s endearing. Piers rubs his palms into them. 

Chris jolts like he’s been shocked. He makes this strangled, low noise, and Piers finds himself grinning. 

“That do it for you?” he asks. 

Chris gives him the world’s least-convincing glare. It could have something to do with the little thrusts he starts doing, his hips flexing at Piers’ thighs. 

“Put ‘em here,” Chris says. He takes one of Piers’ hands and slides it down to his waist. Piers does the same on the other side, and he holds Chris. 

Maybe it was to bring him closer—who knows, and he doesn’t really care. He pulls his legs up higher, and the angle draws Chris in further, and then they’re both making stifled, breathy noises chest-to-chest. Every drag lights him up, makes his toes curl.

He feels Chris pick up a bit. 

“You close?” he asks him. 

Chris groans first, then he kisses Piers. It’s desperate, more rushed than the slow exploration they had been doing earlier, but he pulls back and manages to say, “Yeah.” 

“C’mon,” Piers says. He gets Chris as close as he can, arching and pulling him in at the waist, tipping his hips and searching, finding. “Wanna see it.” 

It’ll make his day. That’s the only thing he can think as he watches Chris’ expression tighten. There’s some adjustment as Chris tips his hips a new way, and then—

“Hngh, Piers,” Chris gasps. He’s found it. He takes the pace higher, fucking him a little faster. 

Piers tenses around him just to feel it. It brings Chris over the edge. He feels him stutter his rhythm and fall into a halting one, bucking his hips. 

Everything together—sound and touch and the slow build he’s been getting all afternoon—is almost too much. Piers slips his hand between them and chases the pure, dizzy feeling. It pumps from his core like every color, like bending light and sweetness that he can taste. He feels himself tense, close, his face showing it. 

When he comes, it’s with Chris catching his breath above him, weight between his legs, and warmth everywhere. 

(collection on ao3)

[reborrowing]

a strange appearance, part three

if you read the previous chapter three, what if no you didn’t? Some of this is sort of the same, but also not really. I had wanted to set up a nice comfort scene that followed it that I liked and will probably find a new use for but...what I posted wasn't really working for me.

Stranger Swap Masterpost | ao3 First | Prev | Next

The two reflect on their predicament over a friendly breakfast, almost bringing their truce onward to trust. Almost. word count: ~2800 cws: reference to past abuse, unreality, fear, controlling behavior Taglist (reply/DM/ask to be added): @da3dm, @whumpsday

She was almost nothing in Val’s palm.

It was overwhelming, holding an entire life in their hands, but physically, she was so light that they could almost forget she was there. Val had braced the hand that held her up against their chest, and now she was leaned against their heart. The thin fabric of the sweatshirt she’d loaned them didn't do much to lower the intimacy of the position.

They felt everything she did: every twitch of her muscles, every little step to keep her balance, the way her chest pulsed with each breath.

And they felt just as exposed, if not more. For the first time, they were conscious of how much of themself was given away when they had been held in the past but they hardly had the space to think about it, because Phoebe was pressed so much closer to their heart than a stranger should ever be. She raised her hand to their chest and marveled at the heavy shudder behind their ribs.

It was too much.

Val nudged a finger under her arm and pushed her back as they reached the kitchen. She resisted a moment, then ran her hand along a neatly-filed claw. Her eyes glittered as she tapped her own nails along the surface. Val tensed, pulling their empty hand back to their side uncomfortably, and looked away towards the wall across the room. It was still mind-melting to watch their own hands hold her.

“Are your claws sensitive? I wouldn’t have guessed,” she said.

“Not like that, no. You weren't hurting me,” Val said.

They doubted she even could hurt them. She was even worse off than an actual borrower. She was clawless with dull teeth and built with luxurious fat in lieu of muscle. Val almost flinched at how soft she was—and how obvious it was that she was a delicate thing. Had the same been true when they were the one being held and prodded and broken, or did those soft human traits make that much of a difference?

They had always told themself that rough handling had come from ignorance, not malice, even that mishandling was inevitable. They couldn’t swallow hard enough to get rid of the sudden bitter taste. They cleared their throat.

“I can’t get anything ready without my hands free. You need to…I’m going to set you down on the counter now,” they said stiffly.

She made a thoughtful sound and braced herself as best she could against their thumb, this time leaning against the base as if to keep from touching their claw. She still stumbled once they started moving and winced when Val stopped. She stepped towards the edge of their hand and hesitated.

“What? Is something wrong?” they asked.

“Aside from the obvious? I’m kind of not loving some of my lifestyle choices from this angle. It looks, um, sticky. Maybe that’s all this is, some kind of stress dream about how behind I am on my housekeeping,” she said with a laugh.

“Mm. Maybe you should dream it cleaner,” Val said dryly, well aware of how uncomfortable the counter could be—they’d ruined at least one shoe stepping through the mess.

“Don’t think I’m not trying,” she said.

They bit their tongue to keep from saying anything else, still not sure how serious she was about the dream thing. She was either a fantastic liar or fucking insane and they weren’t interested in arguing with anyone frome either category.

Instead, they grabbed something clean for her to sit on. Their stomach fluttered at how close everything was, how…easy. They hardly even needed to lean forward to reach the paper towel tower on the other end of the counter and easily tore off a half sheet with their one free hand. It wasn’t like they didn’t know that human things were designed for human use, but it was incredible to feel it.

“Here, why don’t you sit on this for now?” Val said, folding the towel and setting it out in front of her like a rug.

She flinched at the brief rush of air, but seemed otherwise satisfied with the solution and climbed down. Val kept their hand on the counter even after she left. Looking down to watch her settle into the familiar landscape of the counter brought back that vertigo. Or maybe it was just the claustrophobia, sitting in the open but still able to feel the ceiling pressing down over head. Either way, they needed a moment to catch their breath and keep the floor steady beneath their feet.

She was staring at them again, her face drawn together in suspicion—was she putting things together? Or had they done something threatening or…should they reassure her? They weren’t sure what of. It hardly crossed their mind that she might be concerned on their behalf. Why would she?

**

They swayed in a way that reminded Phoebe vaguely of a building in an earthquake, which made her a little uncomfortable sitting in their shadow. Even if she abandoned her little napkin isle in the middle of her mess, she was still stranded on the counter in front of them. She wouldn’t have much of anywhere to go if they did topple over.

Except bed, of course. She’d just wake up. This was a dream. There was nothing to be afraid of here. Everything was just fine.

“You okay up there?” she asked.

Val stiffened, then shook themself out of it.

“I’m fine, yeah. I’m just tired.”

“It’s like seven am,” Phoebe said critically.

She actually hadn’t been able to get a good look at a clock after waking up shrunk. The one on the far wall had been far enough away that it was too blurry to make out and the last time she’d checked her phone was five-something, before she rolled back over for the rest of her sleep. There was no way to see the stove’s clock from where she was sitting either. But seven felt right, and that was how half of dream logic functioned anyway, right?

“I’m not really a morning person,” they said.

Phoebe laughed.

“Me neither, usually. Maybe you could make some tea with breakfast? It’s that wooden box on the other counter there. Like half of it’s herbal, but I’ve got this matcha and also a green jasmine blend that you’d probably like even if you’re pulling that face at the mention of tea,” she said.

“I think I’ll pass, but thank you. You said you had bagels ‘or something’ we could have?”

Phoebe nodded. She’d tried to come up with something in her kitchen that would’ve been exciting and even revived the hope that some of her thoughts would actually have some kind of impact on the dream—she wasn’t immune to the childish desire to indulge in sweets larger than herself. But if she had summoned donuts, they sure hadn’t landed anywhere in plain sight.

She had some junky cereal, but couldn’t think of a decent way to eat it without basically climbing into the bowl, which was a disgusting idea. There was fruit, but the way Val’s hands shook…she didn’t really want to ask them to chop up anything while she was up on the counter. So the best she could come up with was bagels, unless Val changed their mind about turning on the stove.

They nodded and stepped away, brightening the room several shades as they took their shadow with them. She gawked at the absurd scale of her apartment again, but it was hard to keep her eyes off Val. Even when they didn’t take up most of the horizon, even if she wasn’t currently the size of a teacup, they were weird.

They moved with the grace of a cat, and were so familiar with the layout of the kitchen it was unnerving—they hardly looked at what they were doing. But as soon as they actually reached to grab anything, it was like this was their first time inhabiting a body. They untied the twist on the bagel bag with both hands and a concentration usually reserved for safecracking. Phoebe was glad that they opted to slice the bagel on the other counter, because they picked up the knife with their whole fist like a toddler. They were so clumsy with it, they might as well have just ripped it apart with their hands.

Eventually, Val did manage to pry the bagel into one half and two quarters. The neater looking quarter he set on the napkin in front of Phoebe. They bit their lip and cringed when they noticed her watching them, their long ears folding back to disappear into their curls. They stuttered even less confidently than usual and fidgeted with one of the bread pieces still in their hands as they looked at her expectantly.

“Thanks? Or if we don’t want to eat it plain, there’s cream cheese in the fridge or peanut butter on the second shelf in that cupboard?” she said pointedly.

Val’s elf-y ears popped back up like an excited dog’s might. She sighed. Why couldn’t she get fun ears while she was here? And the bagel—she had stepped up to it while Val turned away to the fridge, and it didn’t look half as pillowy as she’d envisioned, especially with the rough cuts they’d made. Was it so much to ask for a bit of whimsy in her own dream?

She wanted to marvel at impossible things but all of them were sitting out of her reach. Instead of giving her an escape, the dream had only taken the mundane outside her power as well. She felt a brief wave of embarrassment as she asked Val to please add cheese to her bagel chunk as well. She felt like a child: easily impressed and absolutely useless.

Val finished prepping her breakfast and sat down on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. They towered over her just the same and she turned her attention to her own meal. It was strange and dense and difficult to tear through. Mostly, she ended up eating swipes of cheese with the occasional trapped crumb. It wasn’t the saddest breakfast she’d ever eaten, but she still wished she could’ve magicked up something soft and sweet.

She looked up as Val cleared their throat again. They were staring at their own hands, brows furrowed.

“You know, I-I wasn’t here to hurt you, you know. Um, still not, I mean. I wasn’t—I’m not— I wasn’t here for you.” Val said.

“Hm?”

“You said…about me probably being here to rob you? That’s not wrong, exactly. But it’s not supposed to be like this. You normally don’t—wouldn’t—even notice. I just…I don’t want you to worry about that, I guess? I’m not going to hurt you,” they stammered, fidgeting with the hem of their sleeve.

“I didn’t think you were, but thanks, I think? I won’t hurt you either, which seems like, obvious, but you’re so tense that maybe it needs saying,” she said.

“Sorry,” they said, but their shoulders did relax at least a fraction of an inch.

“Sorry I’ve got you so freaked out,” she said with a shrug. “But maybe you could tell me what you are here for?” she asked.

After a long pause, they admitted that they mostly stole food, just things they needed to survive. She frowned. She hadn’t noticed anything missing before, certainly not enough food to sustain a whole second person. Though, that was hardly the strangest detail of the morning.

“You laughed when I said this was a dream. Does this kind of thing happen to you all the time then? And you’re normally…that?”

“This?”

“Like, not a demon, I guess, but some kind of elf? And you see weird magic junk happen? Shrinking? You know who I am, so I’m assuming you know there’s like five and a half feet of me missing?”

“No, I've never seen anything like this, it just happened. I'm hoping it can unhappen soon. I am—was—just here to take some things but I…I can't leave now. And even if I could, I don't think I could leave you to fend for yourself while you’re like this,” Val said.

She frowned as she pulled another handful of bread free. That still wasn’t an answer, still no real explanation, just a nice sentiment. And just hoping for it to change? If she was wrong about this being a dream—if she let herself consider that for even a second—then they needed to find out what was going on and find a way to make it stop. This was almost an interesting dream, she didn't want it to be real.

Phoebe started to say as much as she took a bite and was clumsy enough to try and inhale at the same time and nearly choked herself. She coughed and sputtered and everything got dark as Val’s hand hovered overhead. She waved them off and wheezed, a red flush rising up her cheeks.

“Let me get you some water,” Val said.

Their hand withdrew and left Phoebe to finish recovering on her own. Her throat did burn and she nodded appreciatively. She was going to ask just how exactly Val intended to water her, but watched the answer unfold before she could catch her breath. They grabbed an empty juice carton from her recycling and twisted off the cap.

 There was that discomfort again at how intimately familiar they were with her things. A robber didn’t know she’d finished the orange juice, a stalker did. Or figments of her imagination, hopefully. Phoebe nervously tugged on a stray lock of hair.

“Uh, hey, while you’re up and being so very helpful, would you mind grabbing my phone? It’s in the bedroom, you probably saw it when I was screaming at you,” Phoebe said.

They paused halfway between the sink and Phoebe, for just a split second. They slid her the water and made their way back to their seat without so much as a glance towards her bedroom. They reached back across the counter and tore off half of the bagel half she’d been nibbling at and stuffed their mouth before they had a chance to answer her. She took a drink to soothe her throat while she waited for them to respond. They didn’t.

“Did you hear me? Could you get my phone? Please?”

“Or maybe I could make you some tea after all? I could help you make it, anyways, you’d have to walk me through it.”

“I want my phone,” she said.

A long pause.

“No.”

“Why not? It’s like, twenty steps. I promise it’s way easier than dealing with my janky tea set-up.”

“I’m not giving you your phone.”

“Why?” she demanded, which didn't help her feel any less like a child.

Val managed the briefest of glances in her direction before their face folded into a grimace.

“...I’m not supposed to be in your house. I feel like that’s a pretty good reason to not want you to be making phone calls,” they said.

“Seriously? I’m not gonna call the cops on you! I want the internet, god.”

“Then figure out how to wake up."

“Maybe I could google it if you got me my phone! Aren’t you bored just staring at the wall?”

Val said nothing, instead ignored her as deliberately as they could manage. Phoebe stood up and paced impatiently. She paused after a few laps, looking out into the distant living room. She’d left her tablet out on the coffee table the night before. She had no way to get over there, but it wasn’t actually that far away. She glanced back at Val, who was still staring at nothing. She had an idea that, for at least a few brief seconds, had seemed inspired.

“Hey Siri, call Chelsea!”

Val pushed to their feet, slamming their hand down on the counter so hard that she could feel the impact from several feet away. Again, their intense gaze fell on her like a pair of spotlights, golden and wide. Phoebe faltered, but the words were already out of her mouth. Val looked nearly the same as they had in the moment before bolting this morning, but they didn’t turn away from her this time. Fear was as good at inspiring fight as flight, after all, and all at once Phoebe didn’t have much ability to do either.

[vaingloury]

Disparate Thoughts on Dungeon Meshi

I'm an anime-only watcher, so no spoilers beyond what's currently aired (eps 1-3) + mild map spoilers for a random 3.5e D&D module (Sunless Citadel).

- I'm not the first nor will I be the last to harp on the English localised title but Delicious in Dungeon sucks. I do, however, think going with the "DnD" naming scheme was a nugget of a good idea (let's face it, "Dungeon Food" sucks too). Maybe "Diners in Dungeon"/"Dungeons & Diners" instead (as in those who dine, not a place where one dines). Or "Dungeon Dine" (like "dungeon dive"). Regardless, I'll just be calling it Dungeon Meshi going forward.

- I don't know if this is coloured by me going into this series with the knowledge that Ryoko Kui loves Baldur's Gate 1 and 2 or a wider ripple effect of eastern dungeon-fantasy conventions being shaped by there not being an official Japanese translation of D&D between Basic and 5e, but the world-building's vibe is old-school D&D as hell. It feels like it was written by someone who maybe never got the chance to play the tabletop game much but spent hours poring over the 1e Monster Manual in hopes of getting a campaign off the ground (and ended up penning a manga instead, game scheduling be damned). There's the disarming of traps, feeling for secret doors, and even the iconic red dragon as seen on the covers of the Basic Dungeon Master's Handbook and 1e Monster Manual being the dungeon boss. Design-wise, the dungeon's layout it reminds me a bit of the map from Ruins of Castle Greyhawk or The Sunless Citadel (pictured below, right).

- The main cast is very tropey at the moment. Quite literally all the Basic classes are covered; the generic white man Fighter (Lv 1, no multi-attack yet :P) as the party face, the halfling/thief, the elf/wizard, the missing cleric, the dwarf... This works for this point in the narrative but doesn't make me particularly attached to any of them. They need another overarching obstacle.

- I generally don't like Studio Trigger's output (not the Imaishi-involved stuff anyway; Gridman fucks) but I respect how bouncy their animation usually is. So, I was excited to watch something animated by Trigger but not (originally) written by them. Dungeon Meshi, however, looks static and resorts too often to Dutch angles to maintain visual interest. There's a bit of an art shift in episode 3 where this improves; more fun "off-model" moments, the movements get a little bouncier, more color harmony. Hopefully, this stays and isn't just a guest director fluke. Form the snippets I've seen on the manga, Kui suffers a bit from "draw background killed my grandma", thus her ability to make her simple character designs emote well has to carry the page. The anime does the opposite; super detailed backgrounds but flat shading/lack of texture on the characters creates a need for them to over-emote with a "screen-shake" effect in order to stand out from their surroundings, which I could see getting old fast. The main event, the food, looks better in the anime than in the manga due to colour and animation bringing it to life.

- I don't usually laugh at Japanese comedies because they're either too slapstick for my tastes or too pun heavy for my JP comprehension level. Dungeon Meshi gets a point for making me "lol" more than once.

- Finally, a good panty shot:

- I watched episode 3 dubbed. EN Marcille > JP Marcille (I say this as a stickler for subs). The rest of the dub cast is fine but I'm probably sticking with JP because JP Laios' ability to scream > EN Laios (EN is a great generic white man, though). I'm not familiar with most of the JP voice cast. I think Chilchuck is my fave in JP.

Both languages have little breathing room between lines of dialog and I was hoping the EN dub would play around with the fact that the character speaking isn't necessarily the one on screen (thus less lip-flap matching, especially for Senshi, who has few indicators that he's actually speaking even when he's onscreen) but alas. I'll do another one of these if I have more to say later in the season 🥂

[widoglock]

Just Like the Present

“You know you can tell me when things are bad,” Caleb murmurs, his fingers stilling upon Kingsley’s jawline. “You won’t scare me away.��� Kingsley takes a long breath through his nose. “Yeah. I know.” “But?” “Things have been…” He covers Caleb’s hands. “From what I remember from—from the others. It’s been a while. So I guess I’m out of practice.” “Out of practice with…” Kingsley laughs. “I dunno. Happiness? Good things? It didn’t bother me until today but for some reason I’ve felt…I feel like a square peg in a round hole all of a sudden, like me and happiness aren’t made for each other. Like it’s all too good to be true, for um. For someone…” “Kingsley.” “For someone like me, maybe, and I know that’s not—but there’s this—I think I hallucinated today, is the thing, and it’s got me spiraling. A little bit.”

Rating: M

Tags: 6k, Widomauk, referenced Shadowidowmauk, hurt/comfort, pining, touch starved Kingsley (cursed object edition), my usual obsession with hugs and lucid dreams

CW: Dissociation/derealization, hallucinations (sort of...see cursed object for details), anal sex (both Caleb and Kingsley have a penis), self-hatred

[Also on Ao3] Full fic below:

---

Kingsley wakes up from a nightmare, and he’s warm.

Groggy fingers find Kingsley’s and tangle.

“All right?” Caleb murmurs.

Kingsley groans. The cabin is crack-of-dawn dark. The blankets are the perfect kind of heavy, and smell like bay laurel and the two of them.

Caleb kisses the back of Kingsley’s head. Kingsley curls his tail around Caleb’s ankle. Caleb yelps.

“Scheiße, you’re cold.”

Kingsley doesn’t let go. “How’d you sleep?”

Caleb grumbles into his hair. “Well. Very well.”

“Storm didn’t keep you up?”

“Nein.”

“Nein,” Kingsley repeats, really plucking the consonants. “Magic man?”

“Circus man.”

“I'm not getting out of bed.”

Caleb snorts, and he’s so warm, and Caleb can hear the rain outside. “So sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Kingsley gets one last glance at the pile of clothes on the floor—takes a moment to admire the way Caleb’s overclothes fit along the grooves of his frock coat. Then a shadow blocks the window.

Kingsley looks up. Caleb is standing in front of Kingsley’s desk. He’s scraggly with dirt and exertion; a streak of blood darkens his forehead. Kingsley can barely make out the shock on his face.

Kingsley says, “Caleb?”

The Caleb on the bed tenses. “What’s wrong?”

The Caleb by the window is gone. Kingsley exhales.

“Nothing,” he says, because he really needs it to be true.

“Would incense help? I could open the drapes?”

Kingsley kisses his wrist. “It’s fine. Really.” He forces the shake out of his fingers, and tucks Caleb’s hand back against his chest. “Thank you, though.”

Caleb refits himself along the curve of Kingsley’s spine. “I worry about you, circus man,” he says after a while.

Kingsley closes his eyes. “Wake me when you smell breakfast?”

--

The rain is still spitting a bit when they get up for breakfast. The cold tastes like snow, and the sea air sets a sparkle to the mundane. The crew eat lavishly, having just been to port, enjoying fresh meat and cheese. Some rope snapped from the cold last night, and now the carpenter’s repair planks are lincoln-logged all over the hold; Kingsley and Caleb work out a solution with some magic and a little leftover sail line.

Around ten, Kingsley takes his turn at the helm. Caleb goes up to the crow’s nest to read. Frumpkin chases mice and rats and cheek skritches. It’s less cloudy now, with an added burst of wind, and the deck shimmers with rainwater. If Kingsley cranes his neck at the right angle, he can see the very top of Caleb’s head—a spot of color against the soft steel of daylight.

“I’m falling in love with you!” Kingsley shouts up at him.

Caleb shouts down: “What?”

“I said, I want to make you happy for the rest of your life!”

Caleb leans over the edge and yells what sounds like, “You know I can’t hear you from up here!”

Kingsley waves. Caleb mirrors the gesture. When Kingsley laughs, his breath fogs out of him. Caleb shouts something else and goes back to his book. Kingsley feels eyes on him, but when he turns around, there’s only the ocean.

The sea settles. The air shakes its winter bite. The crew gather for a game of cards, and Kingsley eats a sandwich for lunch. He’s on his way stern-side when he hears Caleb say, “Kingsley!”

Kingsley turns. He sees Caleb behind him on the stairs and says, “Problem?”

Caleb’s clothes are different. He looks scared. He says, “Kingsley, I need you to listen to me.”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you—what’s wrong?” He grabs Caleb’s elbow.

“This isn’t real.” Caleb grabs him back. “It’s a construct. You are under a—a spell of some kind. Do you remember?”

Kingsley starts to say, “Remember what?”—but then he blinks and Caleb has vanished. More than that—there are no bootprints to mark his passage. No dribble of rainwater. Not even a crease where Caleb had grabbed his coat.

“Okay,” Kingsley says, and goes to find some booze.

--

Kingsley wants to get drunk. He doesn’t. He’s got shit to do on deck, and anyway—he can’t make Caleb worry. They see each other often now—for days at a time even, when Caleb’s schedule permits. Still: Frost gathers on the porthole panes at night. A certain sacrosanctity clings to everything. If Kingsley carries a flask of the good stuff, so does the rest of the crew. It’s a pirate ship; pirates drink. It’s fine.

Normalcy creeps back into frame. Dinner is a jovial affair. Kingsley and Caleb trade gossip over wine and biscuits and salted pork. Caleb’s work stories are less gory than Kingsley’s—but by a smaller margin than one might expect from a man of his vocation.

They go walk along the bulwark and watch the stars come out. Their fingers graze, and Caleb gasps.

“You’re freezing!" Caleb begins rubbing Kingsley’s hands. “Doofi. Where are your gloves?”

“I dunno. Somewhere.” He loves the way Caleb shuffles his hands around like a stick in a fire plough. “I’m not cold, really.”

“You’re frigid. Hold on.” Caleb switches gears and takes off his scarf. He winds it around Kingsley’s neck. It’s dark blue and warm with residual body heat. Kingsley nuzzles his nose into it as Caleb dusts the hair from his face.

“You know you can tell me when things are bad,” Caleb murmurs, his fingers stilling upon Kingsley’s jawline. “You won’t scare me away.”

Kingsley takes a long breath through his nose.

“Yeah. I know.”

“But?”

“Things have been…” He covers Caleb’s hands. “From what I remember from—from the others. It’s been a while. So I guess I’m out of practice.”

“Out of practice with…”

Kingsley laughs. “I dunno. Happiness? Good things? It didn’t bother me until today but for some reason I’ve felt…I feel like a square peg in a round hole all of a sudden, like me and happiness aren’t made for each other. Like it’s all too good to be true, for um. For someone…”

“Kingsley.”

“For someone like me, maybe, and I know that’s not—but there’s this—I think I hallucinated today, is the thing, and it’s got me spiraling. A little bit.”

“Shit. That’s—”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Caleb says firmly. “It distresses you: It’s not nothing. I don’t portend to, ah, to know an awful lot about the mind. Hallucinations. But. There are ways to—there are paths to take, to help. And you…” Here he soothes his thumb across Kingsley’s cheek. “And you. My wonderful friend. You deserve the world. Nothing but goodness and love and rest. I will happily remind you of this as…as often as you’d like. Ja?”

Kingsley blinks rapidly. “Ha. Um. Ja.”

“‘For someone like me,’” he scoffs. He cups Kingsley’s hands. “You are ridiculous. Treasure yourself.”

Kingsley can’t quite nod. He feels the pool of fabric around his neck, and the cold wind through his hair. Caleb says,

“And for shit’s sake, let me buy you some gloves.”

That breaks the dam, and Kingsley laughs as he wipes his eyes. “I have gloves.”

“Not good ones, if you prefer to keep them off. Come to the city with me soon. We’ll find something versatile.”

Kingsley hears a ruckus on the stairs, and then the ship’s carpenter bubbles up from the galley like a cask buoy, suspended by the arms and cheers of her crew. She’s the musical flavor of drunk, and would like the whole ocean to know.

“Brine below with brandy in tow, on seas and—and sails of…what’s the last part?”

“Ferry,” Kingsley shouts.

Her friend rattles her arm around. “Sing the one about the girl from Brokenbank! The girl from Brokenbank!”

“And ferry! On seas and ferry and sail on the—the what? The girl from…?”

“Brokenbank!”

“Right! La…la fille d’Brokenbank!”

The carpenter launches into something bright, brash, and palpably Swavanian. Her friends shout and sway along. Summoned by demand or opportunity, the ship “musiker” appears from belowdecks, and with a few sweeps of his bow promotes their drunken sing-along to a proper soiree.

Kingsley leans against Caleb, and Caleb leans against Kingsley, and the both of them lean back against the bulwark. “La fille d’Brokenbank” ends in a chorus of applause. The next number sounds oddly familiar. Kingsley can feel the vibration when Caleb starts to hum along.

Kingsley says, “You know this one?”

“The Zemnian version. The original.”

“How’s the translation?”

“Terrible.”

Kingsley offers his hand, palm up. Caleb takes it. Drunken whoops accompany their sashay onto the main deck.

The body remembers what the mind forgets. Sometimes that means panic attacks over innocuous shapes and sounds, and sometimes it means knowing all the steps to a dance he’s never heard of. Kingsley’s feet fall into something tap-like, and he and Caleb bob and weave like streamers at Harvest Close. They collide; Caleb takes the lead, and his hand finds its home between Kingsley’s shoulder blades. They’re close enough for Kingsley to map the laugh lines on Cakeb’s face. There’s still a smudge on his temple from journaling, and a dusting of cat fur on his shoulders, and Kingsley loves him so much he has to laugh.

Off-beat claps bolster the tempo, and soon Kingsley and Caleb are spinning faster and faster, around and around and around like feathers in a gale. Caleb raises their joined hands, forewarning a swingout, and Kingsley lets their combined momentum carry him out onto the deck. The tassels of Caleb’s scarf fling around his neck on a delay; the frost nips his nose and ears. A familiar pair of hands catch him by the hand and waist before he can spin himself apart. Kingsley meets Caleb’s eyes again—

And finds them shadowed. Desperate. Caleb’s cheeks, once flushed with wine and exertion, are pale like snow. His hands clutch hard enough to hurt. He looks fragile, and frantic, and his clothes are the wrong color. He opens his mouth and says,

“Kingsley, please.”

Kingsley’s heart stops. He wrenches out of Not-Caleb's grasp.

“Kingsley—!”

“Stay back!” Kingsley warns, and tastes metal—the signature ozone buildup which precludes very powerful magic. He turns to find Caleb—the ruddy, soft one—with his arm outstretched, palm full of fire.

Kingsley doesn’t process the distance between this new bedraggled Caleb and the old. He feels more than sees his hand take Caleb’s wrist. He knocks his aim aloft, and Caleb’s spell unloads right over his doppelgänger’s head. The fire bolt cuts through the fog like a signal flare.

“You can see him too?” Kingsley pants, as the sparks scatter over the water.

Caleb stares at the doppelgänger. His fingers are still staticky with magic: “Who are you?”

Not-Caleb won’t look away from Kingsley. “Kingsley. It’s me. This is a dream. You are under a witch’s spell.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t—I'm sorry, but I can't keep the connection open for much longer. I can wake you up, but it has to be your choice.”

Kingsley smells rain and salt and wine. “You’re not—I’m not under a spell. I’m—I’m here on my ship with you—the real you. And we’re headed to Nicodranas—"

“Kingsley.”

“We’re headed back to see Yasha and Beau and, and Fjord and Jester and Veth, and we’re all going to catch up at your wizard tower—”

“But how did you get here?”

Kingsley flounders. “What?”

“I asked you, how did you get here? Here on this boat, on your way to Nicodranas?”

“Wh—we took off from the coast. A port town.”

“Which port town? On which coast?”

Kingsley doesn’t know. Why doesn’t he know? He looks back at the scared faces of his crew—at the musiker, bow frozen on the upswing, and the drawn swords of his seamen. If they know the answer, they aren’t keen to share.

“What are you?” Caleb snaps. “Who sent you?”

Not-Caleb sways with the wind. “How did you get here, Kingsley?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You will die if you stay here much longer. This spell is like a drug, to keep you complacent while it sucks the life out of you.”

“You are the real spell,” Caleb accuses. “Where did you come from? What do you want from us?”

A smatter of snowflakes find purchase on the sails; the deck; the collar of Kingsley’s coat. He should be cold. Why isn’t he cold?

“Answer me!” Caleb shouts.

Kingsley tests the words out on his tongue: “What happens to you? If I stay.”

Not-Caleb’s fingers twist around his coat sleeves.

“Kingsley.” The real Caleb grabs him by the shoulders. “Look at me. This is real. I’m real.”

“Where were we, two weeks ago?” Kingsley’s vision blurs. “Caleb? Why—why don’t I know the names of the crew?”

“I think—I don't know. I think you are under the weather somehow.” Caleb’s grip migrates to his hands. “It will be okay. Kingsley? Listen to me. There are paths to take, paths to help, remember? We can fix this. Together.”

“Why are you here?”

That lands a blow; he can tell. “Kingsley, please.”

“You’re a professor. From Rexxentrum. You do meetings and private lessons. You never have time for anything. Why are you out in the middle of the fucking Lucidian ocean? Why are you here?”

“I am here because I love you,” Caleb pleads.

Sometimes, you only learn there was a beam under your feet when it breaks.

Kingsley can hear his own heartbeat, and the murmurs of the crew. He looks out over the rail at the tar ocean that stretches on and on forever.

“No you don’t,” he says.

“What?”

“You don’t love me.” Sehanine, he’s such an idiot. “You love Essek. You live in an adorable little cottage together on the east side of the capital, near the academy, and you keep a garden with green beans and crocuses and funny wooden shelters for the bees—and I’m out here on the ocean, and you don’t love me.”

“That’s not true,” Caleb—no, not Caleb, never Caleb—says. “Kingsley. You aren’t well. You aren’t making any sense.”

“To your credit, it was a very nice dream.” Kingsley pecks him on the forehead. “Thanks for the dance.”

He unlocks their hands. If Caleb calls after him, he can’t hear him over the roar of the ocean, or maybe the blood between his ears. He holds out his hand to Caleb—the one with traces of garden dirt in the grooves of his boots—and says,

“I’m ready.”

--

Kingsley wakes up from the best dream of his life, and he’s fucking freezing.

Pebbles scratch his cheek. He sits up, leans over, and vomits up his breakfast. He’s pretty sure he can hear people shouting. Someone grabs him around the waist.

“Caleb?” he slurs.

“He’s okay.” Yasha runs her fingers through his hair like she hasn’t done since he was Molly. Each point of contact feels like a breath after a week underwater. “Rest. We’ve got you.”

“‘M I gonna die?” Kingsley asks her.

“No, Kingsley, you are not going to die.”

“Feels like I’m gonna die.”

Yasha says something else—something firm. Kingsley claws for purchase. The tide drags him out from under her hands, and he drifts.

--

Consciousness is fickle after that. Kingsley thinks he sees a wagon bed, and Jester’s face, and the honey glow of late summer through a canvas tarp. His dreams are empty and waterlogged, his reality a disjointed stream of technicolor snapshots.

Then his brain finds a foothold. It hoists him over the ledge into cognition. Kingsley sees moonlight first. Or, a refraction thereof. Kingsley looks up to check. The windows overhead link arms to form an elaborate glass triptych, their panes bustling with circus wagons and astral cities and tieflings who wave and dance and drink Hupperdook mead.

Kingsley pulls the covers up over his head. At the foot of the bed, an uprooted Frumpkin meowls his displeasure.

Chair legs scrape hardwood. “Kingsley! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, you’re awake!”

“Despite the gods’ best efforts.” He didn’t know a person could get this cold. Jester peels the blankets from his face and says,

“You look awful.”

It’s great to see her. “I feel awful.”

“You should be healed by now. Like, super duper triple healed. I’ve been pumping spells into you like crazy.” She flicks his nose. “You really freaked me out, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“Here, drink some water.”

He accepts a cup. The water settles like a rock at the bottom of his gut. “What happened?”

“Okay, so…do you remember how we found a house full of super spooky witchy stuff?”

For once, Kingsley does remember. The artifacts were deemed too potent to leave for the crows, so they’d stuffed their cart with odds and ends and rattled away toward the capital.

Kingsley teases out the details like puzzle pieces from behind a shelf. “We hit a pothole.”

“Mhmm.”

“A crystal fell out of a bag, and I…I uh…”

“Mhmm.”

“Shit.” He drags a hand down his face. “I really grabbed the one that puts you in a coma, didn’t I?”

“Like it was a platinum piece. Caleb says it makes you live out your greatest hopes and dreams so you don’t notice it sucking out your soul.”

“Right. Yeah, he told us that part before I uh…” He watches Frumpkin knead himself a nest along the crook of his knee. A claw pierces the blanket. “Ow. Yeah. How am I not dead?”

“Caleb cast some kind of dream spell and fell asleep next to you. It was super cute. And super scary.” She props her elbows up and rests her chin on her hands. “Frumpkin, you are going to tear the quilt.”

Frumpkin yawns his derision. Jester says, “Sooooo. What did you dream about?”

Kingsley whistles. “The world’s biggest pirate boat orgie.”

“Oooooh!” Her tail stands up straight. “Was I there?”

“We were on our way to pick you up. If that counts.”

“I think it should. Caleb told me to tell him when you woke up. He’s really worried about you.”

Kingsley pulls the covers back over his face. Jester coos and pats his horn through the blanket.

“Don’t worry. We can just hang out for a bit. Oh! And Caduceus said to give you some tea. I’ll be right back.”

He’s asleep before she even leaves the room.

--

He cracks an eye open, and Yasha is in the chair next to his bed. Beau sits crosslegged on the rug. The couple appear to be mid-argument over school districts, or maybe what constitutes a blade versus a sword. The windows cast elaborate landscapes on the wall. Kingsley goes back to sleep.

--

The next time he wakes up, it’s dark again, and Caduceus is bent over in his sleep. An empty cup keeps vigil from the bedside table. The air still smells faintly of dead people tea.

Kingsley thinks his blood might be frozen. He hooks his nose over the lip of the blankets and glares at the empty fireplace. There don’t appear to be any matches around, or even any wood.

Kingsley counts to ten and pries himself from the depths of his bed. The cold wood floor shoots needles up his feet. He dances his weight around until his body adjusts.

A ginger shape darts off the bed and out the door.

Midnight zoomies. Kingsley looks after Frumpkin, then back at the fireplace. He could pull the rope for a servant, but he also knows there’s a library two floors down with a hearth the size of a wagon cart. The guest room has always felt more like a shrine than a bedroom anyhow.

Kingsley drapes the first blanket over Caduceus. He wraps the second around himself like a sheet of butcher paper and shivers his miserable way to the library.

The library lights are periwinkle tonight. Kingsley picks his way through the warren of shelves and arm chairs to the couch, then the hearth. He stands with his numb fingers brooch-locked around his blanket, washed out by firelight, and waits for the heat to permeate the cold front under his skin.

And waits.

And waits.

Well, fuck. Kingsley steps closer to the fire. He can feel the heat on his face, but only by degrees of separation, like there’s a veil between himself and the flames. Kingsley dumps his useless blanket on the floor. Fuck the fireplace. Fuck the whole tower and all its gleaming monuments. Kingsley thrusts his hand into the fire.

Someone yelps. A strong grip wrenches Kingsley’s hand from the fireplace.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“That’s sort of beside the point.” Shit, that hurt. Kingsley looks down at his hand, and then the hand that paints a line of heat around his wrist. “Dick and balls, Caleb. Are you—?” He takes Caleb’s hand. “Are you burned anywhere?”

“I am not the one who shoved his hand in a fire.”

“Fire-resistant, remember? It’s fine. Barely stung.” Kingsley tilts Caleb’s hand. Runs his finger along the slant of his pinky. “You look a little pink here.”

“Why are you trying to set yourself on fire two days after I pulled you out of a coma?”

“Just quirky like that, I guess.” Everywhere their fingers brush, a shock of heat pricks the veil between Kingsley and the rest of the world. “Thank you, by the way. That was…you didn’t have to do that.”

“You know I did.”

“Just…” Kingsley needs to let go of Caleb’s hand. “I’m sorry to ask for one more favor, after everything.”

Caleb looks at him with inexplicable tenderness. “What do you need?”

Kingsley releases Caleb, and cold floods right back up his arm to fill the spaces pierced by Caleb’s touch. He’s tasted relief now. Kingsley’s nails grazed the riverbank only for the current to drag him back under, and the cold hits so much harder for the memory of air and sunshine.

Kingsley says,

“I need you to forget it. All of it. Everything you saw. I’m sorry to have put you through it, but there’s no taking it back now—so the best I can do is ask you to…to kindly put it in a box in your brain somewhere and bury it. Bury it deep and spare me the mortification.”

“Kingsley—”

“Tell me I haven’t ruined our friendship over a silly little daydream.” Kingsley will not cry. He will not. “None of it has to mean anything. Anything at all.”

Caleb kisses him.

Kingsley’s brain skips and starts. He feels the tickle of Caleb’s stubble first. A match catches, and heat—real heat—grazes his lips; catches on his gasp. Jester told him once about the Temple of the False Serpent, when the room flooded and Fjord passed his last breath to Jester on a kiss. Caleb’s lips are soft and sure. The tips of his fingers dust Kingsley’s cheek. Sunlight pierces the thicket.

Then Caleb breaks away. “I’m sorry. I know you—”

“Don’t stop.” It’s a pathetic mewl. He’s shaking so hard it hurts. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Caleb’s face crumples, and then his hands are back on Kingsley’s face. Their lips meet. Kingsley makes a sound from the very pit of his chest. The relief is so profound he thinks he’ll crumple.

“Shh, shh.” Caleb kisses his cheeks; his brow; his jaw. “I’ve got you now. I’ve got you. Es ist in Ordnung.”

Kingsley sways. Caleb braces him with his arms. The warmth spreads up Kingsley’s spine; down his throat; expands with his lungs, slow as daybreak.

“Es ist in Ordnung,” Caleb repeats, like he can taste Kingsley’s desperation. “Es ist in Ordnung…”

The kiss deepens. Caleb hugs him closer. Kingsley’s arms ache. He screws his nails into his palms. If he touches Caleb he’ll break the spell.

Caleb rests their foreheads together. He pants, and his nose brushes Kingsley’s, and he says,

“You are an idiot. I love you.”

The world tilts on its axis. “You don’t. You can’t.”

“I love you both. Essek knows I love you both.”

It kills Kingsley to tear his head away.

“Kingsley…”

“If you ever loved anyone with this face,” Kingsley says, “it wasn’t me.”

Caleb makes a low noise at the back of his throat. He grabs Kingsley by the arms and pushes him onto the couch. His mouth locks around Kingsley’s throat. Heat spikes through Kingsley’s chest like a blade; he only knows he threw his head back from the give of the cushions. Emboldened, Caleb teases the skin below his ear. Kingsley hears, over his own keen,

“You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“It’s cold,” Kingsley manages.

Caleb recaptures his lips. His legs brace Kingsley’s hips; his palms leave sunshine prints on his chest. One hand slides down, down, down. Fingers tease the line of skin between Kingsley’s shirt and pants. Kingsley arches up. He must make some other sound, because Caleb says, “Right here, schatz.”

“Caleb.” The fingers press harder. Lift the edge of his shirt. “Caleb.”

The touch vanishes like a snuffed candle. “All right?”

“Please—I can’t—”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No. No, please. Please. Caleb, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Lips on his lips. Kingsley softens.

“Es ist in Ordnung…Es ist in Ordnung.” Caleb’s hand slides back up under his shirt. “I have you. Just stay with me.” He runs his fingers up his ribcage. “Just stay here with me.”

It takes a second to remember how to speak: “I’m here. I’m here.”

A flash of magic, and the library doors swing shut. Caleb undoes the first three buttons of Kingsley’s shirt; stops to kiss the exposed skin; undoes the last three. Pushes the fabric aside.

“I loved Mollymauk. I loved Lucien. I love you.” He kisses the words down Kingsley’s ribs. “I am in love with the dust that makes you. Is that so difficult to believe?”

Kingsley laughs. Forces back tears. “A bit, yeah.”

“Why?”

He wants to live under Caleb’s hands. He wants to run away to the ocean and never look back.

Caleb dips closer. He stresses, “Why is it so difficult to believe that you are loved, Kingsley?”

“Don’t ask me that. Please don’t ask me that.”

Caleb’s fingers slide back down his stomach. “I want to hold you. I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

“I’m not a real person,” Kingsley tells him. “I’m just a jumble of broken parts in a pirate coat.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“It should.”

Caleb says, “Do you know what I dream about? I dream about waking up next to you on a Saturday morning, with nothing to do but lay around and kiss you and watch the light change.” His hand wanders below his pants. He cups Kingsley’s hip. “I dream about taking you to the market, and filling our baskets with fresh berries and sweetbread and whatever you like. I dream you show me the ocean. I dream we lay out on the deck of your ship and look up at the stars. I dream I forget my lunch, and you appear mid-lecture with a bag of snacks and tomatoes from the garden, and I get to show you off to my class. I dream about that a lot.”

His hand trails back up his thigh. Kingsley writhes, a live wire under his touch.

“I dream I wake up from a nightmare, and you are there. I dream you teach me how to sail.” His thumb sweeps closer to Kingsley’s cock. “I dream I stay up grading papers, and you come up from behind and wrap your arms around my shoulders, and you tell me the work will still be there in the morning. I dream I get to hold you and kiss you and make you come. Will you let me?”

Kingsley looks up at Caleb, and the way the fire halos his hair.

“I love you.” Kingsley’s fingers are claws on the cushions. “Before I knew my own name I knew I loved you. Fuck me, use me, whatever you want, you’ve got me.”

“I told you, I want to make you feel good. Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Caleb draws his hand back up the line between his thigh and stomach, away from his cock.

Kingsley whines. “I’m not…I don’t deserve this.”

“Ah. Too bad. Tell me anyway.”

That shocks a laugh out of him. “You’re a tyrant. I want…”

The fire crackles. Caleb’s hands are on his hips, anchors to reality.

“I want you,” Kingsley chokes out. “I want to feel you. I want to feel you on me, around me.”

“How do you mean? Do you want me to fuck you? Ride you?”

“Oh fuck. Shit.” He’s sure his heart will pound out of his chest. “Touch me, ride me, please. Yes.”

Caleb kisses him. The world narrows back down to the bloom of his touch.

“All right. All right, I’ve got you.” He pulls away. “Not going anywhere. Lay back for me?”

Kingsley musters the wherewithal to obey. Caleb shuffles out of his boxers. He reaches for the waistband of Kingsley’s pants.

“Ja?”

“Please. Please, shit, here, let me—”

He helps Caleb pull down his pants and underwear. Magic dusts Caleb’s hands, and then a vial appears between his palms.

“Oh.” He rattles the vial. “I am glad that worked.”

Kingsley pretends not to stare at Caleb’s cock. “Yeah? What was the alternative?”

“Forty-five pounds of dinner rolls.” He uncaps the vial. Kingsley looks on, almost from outside himself, as Caleb warms a dollop of oil between his hands.

Kingsley’s body knows sex. It’s had sex as people he can’t bear to claim, with people he’ll never care to know. In the wake of his resurrection, as Kingsley grappled for some kind of ownership over his body, he’d collected flings like copper pieces. It shouldn’t be a shock, when Caleb brushes two fingers up his shaft. It shouldn’t feel so new, when Caleb swipes his thumb over the head of his cock.

Caleb’s free hand finds Kingsley’s on the couch. He says, “Touch me?” and there’s a tremor. Maybe there’s been a tremor for a while.

Kingsley unlocks his grip from the couch. He takes Caleb’s wrist, and the world doesn’t end. Oil spills down his cock with the steady up and back of Caleb’s other hand. Kingsley’s grip spasms. He finds Caleb’s sides and clutches for purchase. Caleb says something soft and low. He breaks away to pour more oil onto his palm. Kingsley watches, helpless to move, as Caleb reaches down with lathered fingers. He preps himself. The firelight catches his fingers as they reappear. He says,

“Still with me?”

The memories are fuzzy. “I’ve left you a lot, haven’t I?”

“You always come back.” Caleb prestidigitates his hands clean. “This couch may, um. May prove a challenge.”

“We could move to the floor?”

“No, ah, I think this will work fine. Just…”

The cushions dip with one knee, then the other. Caleb sits so he brackets Kingsley’s thighs. He plants his palms to frame Kingsley’s head, and looks down at him with such lavish adoration Kingsley wants to wither away.

Caleb’s brow furrows. He hooks his finger and feathers the underside of Kingsley’s horn. Kingsley shudders.

“Someone lied to you,” Caleb whispers. “Who convinced you that you are worth so little?”

Kingsley looks away. Caleb’s finger finds a certain spot along the base of his horn; spurred by Kingsley’s moan, he massages the skin there with slow vigor. He says, “You deserve so much more than I could ever give you. I’m selfish that way.”

Kingsley musters a scoff. “Only you could look at this and call it selfish.”

Caleb kisses him. Kingsley thinks the world could end and he wouldn’t notice. He runs his fingers through Caleb’s hair, like he’s always wanted to do, and Caleb rewards him with a shaky noise. Everything is yellow and soft and dappled.

Caleb leans back. He raises himself over Kingsley’s cock. A pause, as he looks to Kingsley for permission. Then he sinks down. Caleb takes the tip of his cock. Heat envelopes his shaft, slow and steady. Kingsley can only heave for breath. His horn half catches on a pillow. Caleb hooks his palms above Kingsley’s hips. He says something punched out, like he can barely fit the words out of his throat, and the walls around Kingsley’s cock contract and release. Kingsley bites back a wail.

Caleb, fully seated now, takes a moment to adjust to the stretch. He’s still wearing his sleep shirt. His hair is ruffled from Kingsley’s fingers. Kingsley covers his hands. He closes his eyes and floats with the pattern of their overlapping breaths; feels the hug of Caleb’s body all around like a winter coat.

“Don’t think I’m not gonna…” Caleb’s muscles flex, and Kingsley has to pause to recover his wits. “Don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“Good. Because I won’t be able to keep this up for very long.” Caleb raises himself to the tip of Kingsley’s dick, then rides the shaft back down to the base. Kingsley doesn’t hear the sound he makes, but he feels the air leave his lungs and mouth. Oil beads off his thighs and cock and stomach. Kingsley’s fingers knit with Caleb’s, hard enough to sting. The sound of skin on skin; Caleb’s broken Zemnian as Kingsley ruts up to meet him on the downturn. They find a good angle; Caleb shouts, and Kingsley drives back at the same spot. Caleb’s muscles pulse; a few drops of precum bob off his cock. A shock of pleasure nearly throws Kingsley over the edge.

“I’m—fuck, Caleb, I’m…”

Kingsley is a star in Caleb’s hands. He’s bleeding light and Caleb is holding him through it—holding him like he’s something soft and impossible.

“Kingsley…”

“I can’t—”

“Come inside me.” Caleb draws their joined hands over Kingsley’s stomach. “Please—”

Kingsley thrusts back up at him, and the words are lost. Waves build upon waves. Kingsley’s cheeks are wet. It’s hard to see past the pleasure. He says Caleb’s name, and Caleb squeezes his hand, and Kingsley comes.

He hears Caleb gasp. Kingsley reaches out through the haze. He cups Caleb’s cock with his free hand, and Caleb thrusts down once, twice. He comes over Kingsley’s stomach.

A suspended moment. Caleb rolls up onto his knees, off Kingsley’s cock, and collapses. Kingsley throws his arms around his back.

“Caleb. Caleb…”

Caleb plants a messy kiss to his shoulder. Kingsley’s fingers find his hair. The world realigns itself in panting increments.

A log splits in the fireplace. Caleb groans. He starts to sit up, but his hand slips; Kingsley catches him before he can slide off the couch.

“Okay?” Kingsley laughs.

“Ja. Ja, I’m…” He laughs too. “Move over a bit.”

They shuffle until they’re face to face, Kingsley hammocked between Caleb and the back of the couch. Caleb flicks a prestidigitation cantrip at Kingsley; at the couch; at himself. The mess evaporates.

The cushions dip; Caleb’s fingers dust the floor. Kingsley can’t be bothered to open his eyes. A little buffet of air tickles his skin, to the snap of fanned-out fabric. He thinks of clotheslines in summer, and the blue sheen transition from the outdoors to a worn foyer.

“I’m good,” Caleb whispers, as he tucks the blanket over their shoulders.

Kingsley pricks his fingers into Caleb’s shirt.

He murmurs, “Don’t wake me up, all right? I like it here.”

Kingsley feels Caleb exhale. “You think this is another trick?”

“I don’t know. Mostly I’m warm and I’m tired and I love you.”

“And tomorrow you will wake up,” Caleb taps one knuckle, “and you will still be here,” another, “and I will still love you, too.” He kisses Kingsley’s hand. “So. If you are tired, sleep.”

Kingsley thinks he was an optimist once. Belief comes to him like muscle memory, and he sleeps.

[wide-ride]

Fae Court (1.2k words, rapid weight gain, lactation, a hint of breeding, a hint of horror)

The banquet is spread out before her like a rich profusion of jewels, like a wet gutting at a charnel, and she thinks: well, it would simply be rude to refuse. One dainty silver fork is already pressed into a dumpling bundle of duck coated in a lush red sauce, as glossy as a cherry. It tastes, however, of the meat. Heavy, gamey, hearty with fat within thick, soft dough. It fills her mouth and then escapes down her throat, leaving a faint fading of flavor, a craving. She aims the fork and spears another. She bites, chews, swallows. She daubs sticky red from her lips with white linen.

Fae court is raucous, and all attendants are wrapped up in their own jests, their own lurid conversations, but she still has the presence of mind to notice furtive glances, to notice outright stares. She had not needed any cajoling to make her eat.

There is a queen at the head of the court, or a king. An androgyne with a narrow face and bright eyes. It is from that seat that the sharpest attention comes; when the monarch smiles, she glimpses a fang. “Dear thing,” the despot says, “are you hungry?”

She nods, once, and then, as if it is her duty, she spreads pale butter over bread, and she bites through the crust.

(“Poor girl must be starved,” one goblin says, in jeering pity.

“Not the brightest,” one faerie quips, and it sips sugared dew.)

Thin arms angle elegantly; the monarch gazes upon the feast without taking a bite. “Darling thing,” they say. “Are you often hungry?”

“A bit of madness in the king,” she answers around a mouthful. “And all down the line. Bad crops, no food. No prospects. And the daft man keeps inviting wars. I thought—” she says, and for the first time she wavers. A glint of fear shines in her eyes. There are sharp little teeth in all the mouths around her. Their bodies move with a hummingbird’s quick and still grace. Her own is slow, and far too real; her pulse flutters in her neck. “I thought,” she says, and she swallows. “We’ll get pillaged. I’d like to not get pillaged. I’d rather come here.”

“You believe, then, that I am not mad?” the monarch asks. The crowd titters.

“Maybe,” she admits. “But you’ve got rules.”

“That we do.” A slender hand strokes the tablecloth. “Do you know what they are?”

“I eat, and I’m in,” she says, as flat as a blade. “I’m a citizen of fairyland, and a peasant of his no more. Listen, I know that it’s— a questionable decision. But you lot grant wishes, and give quests, and those sorts of things. I don’t quite believe that I’ll die here. Not like out there.”

Their laugh is like the rustling of crystal, like the precarious swaying of a chandelier. “A citizen! You would make yourself my subject?”

“I’ll pay taxes and all,” she says, and she gulps down a glass of nectar. “Toil in the fields much the same. I don’t mind that.”

“Poor little beast of burden.” The monarch’s gaze drops down the slope of her chest to the swallowing heave of her breasts. Direct and dark, animal. “Yes,” they say. “You have successfully invited yourself here. You will be, I believe, a very productive member of our society.”

She reaches for another roll, and that gives her pause; she had only really needed a nibble to cheat her way in, but she has been gorging herself without thought, without even her own notice. But now that she has realized what she has been doing, she only desires it more; rich meat, thick butter, sweet fruits, all the things she cannot afford. A bead of sweat trails down her temple, and she feels a tautness at her midriff.

She glimpses, then, a bulging stripe of pale above her skirt, an astounding and thick spilling-over of fat. She finds that she cannot breathe. Her face reddens. She shifts in her seat, and she sees the drooping swell of her gut splay yet further over her thighs.

“This—” She stammers. “This— what is—”

Growth comes, and she blooms; a dire warmth seeps out from her core, spreading, swelling. She clutches at her chest. It is softer now, more pendulous, tipping her posture in a way she is not accustomed to. She cannot help herself; she cries out. “Help the poor girl,” the monarch commands, and needling fingers weave through the laces of her supportive corset. It loosens, and she finds that she can breathe again; she is breathless, however, at the plump mass spilling out before her. Clawed hands pluck away her blouse and rend her undergarments, but she does not recognize the body below her. It is doughy, heavy. Rolls rise around her sides and then drape down, piling upon the spread of her stomach. When she spreads her corpulent thighs, her gut sags low between them. She lifts her arms, and she feels a wobble.

“Worry not,” the monarch says. “Our honored guest. Or— not a guest, no? But we shall honor you the same.”

Some new morsel is lifted to her lips, breading and duckfat and thickly dripping sauce, and— she eats it, a little helplessly. And she sees that bite sink into her belly and swell out a heavy bloat. The cool spring air wafts over her freed breasts, and as she perks, she thinks— it is only the cool air. But the next bite brings the sight of each teat puffed up as if teased, and they feel heavy, sore, latent. Another few bites rounds her, and she feels each breast lift and roll atop the stuffed, heaving mass. She feels distended, distorted. Everything wobbles. Her stomach churns as if each crumb was a feast in itself.

The vulnerable underside of her gut begins to drape beyond her parted knees.

“Productive little heifer,” the monarch purrs. “Animal strolling so proudly into my larder.”

A carafe is held to her lips: sweet cream. She can feel it as a coolness within her. Her gut grows, and her breasts sway, sagging to the sides of her rising stomach. She looks bloated and bred. She feels it. The last swallow disturbs her ailing belly like a kick, and a warm, liquid weight engorges her teats. Her nipples nearly level with her navel. She groans.

“Quiet, now.” There are clawed fingers scraping the plump layering of rolls upon her side. “Complain, and I’ll give you an udder.”

The aching heat relents with a dribble; a trickle of white travels down the round swell of her belly. “Oh,” she moans, overwhelmed. “This is—”

“Watch your words, dear.” Elegant hands pinch the leak to press and pull; milk gushes. With it comes a pure and blinding instinct, a throb in the woman’s cunt. She would like to eat, and grow fat, and be milked, and be fucked— to have her belly swell, to be put to good use, for this indulgent body is a blessing. She would quite like this new life without worry. (She would not even mind the udder.)

“One more,” the monarch says, and a candied cherry is put to her lips, dripping with syrup. “One more, and you shall never leave here under your own power.”

She parts her lips, and she laps at the fae’s fingers, and she tastes fruit, sweet sugar, and the subtle iron underthrum of blood.

[colorisbyshe]

hey music anon! I absolutely adored all of the music you've recc'd to me so far! Is it possible for me to ask for some more? I've loved all of it but found that some I have loved the most are EX0, Beyonce, Heize, Monsta X, Tiger goods and wonder girls.

If not that's cool, you've already given me so much more to explore :) I actually ended up getting recommended SZA by spotify and loved her stuff :)

I don't remember everything I rec'd you before, so sorry if I end up reccing something I already rec'd you but I remember your general taste from the first ask and might mix tht in

but also I'm gonna take a LOT more wild swings to kinda test the boundaries a bit, so it's okay for you to tell me what DIDN'T work for you

you might like:

t by 88rising with utada hikaru (disclaimer, the song isn't the greatest but it's nice playlist filler)

make it by 2pm

sour diesel, wrong, too much by Zayn

soul lady or neon by yukika, this feels a bit like a reach but if i remember hte heize tracks i rec'd you it's maybe not a reach??

thank u soooo much by yubin (she was a wonder girl!)

drink i'm sippin on by yaeji

how we do by xiumin (he's from exo!)

easy by wjsn the black, unnatural or new me by wjsn

love talk by wayv

love me do by vixx might match your exo tastes

freak by victoria monet

love foolish by twice

tri-angle by tvqx

retro future or 365 fresh by triple h

walkin by tomoko ikeda (not kpop, jpop)

rascal, save room for us, 2 on by tinashe

scent of you by &TEAM (again, not korean, it's japanese)

sexuality or criminal by taemin

runner by t1, raiden, baekyun (from exo!!), and changmo

sunmi is a member of wonder girls and it's hard to rec any one song by her! curve, sunny, heart burn are all great ones but gashina and siren are her biggest tracks. if you liekd yubin, sunmi did a track with her called who am i

16 shots by stefflon don, this is more a shot in the dark but i think it might combine some energies you're into?

fntsy by so!yoon! again this is a HEAVY out of bound swing but.... maybe?

do you want it right now siedah garrett

te felicito or chantaje by shakira or... since you like beyonce now... listen to shakira's collab with her "Beautiful liar"

fear by seventeen

28 reasons by seulgi or her song feel good she did with irene (would be listed under irene & seulgi i think)

F'd Up by Savannah Cristina ft Flo Milli

Smooth Operator by Sade

if you liked beyonce, know she recently sampled show me love by robin s. used to know me by charli xcx ALSO samples this but idk if charli is where you're at rn

my friends who like monsta x also seem to really like pentagon but i'll admit i only know two songs by them?? shine and naughty boy and they aren't... quite monsta x energy. but idk amybe it ticks the same boxes?? i am VERY unsure of these but the songs are cute

i hear my two cats fighting and have to take a break to break them up but i was going reverse alphabetically by artist so i can pick back up after M if you still want more or want to use this list to stop me where i'm overreaching and encourage specific sounds

[estarion]

　　　he withdraws—just a little—when she reaches for him;  he doesn’t know if this will lead to more rough treatment, something baffling and maybe worse, or—oh.  he laughs, but it sounds more like a string of incredulous coughs as she readjusts her grip and brings him up.

　　　hellscript.  rakatak takes that in;  she has five or six inches on him and he’s angling his chin up a bit, hand released and terse palms dusting him off.  now he really feels like her child.   “that’s—”   that choked laughter again.   “uhh.  thank you.”   quick, low, muttered.

　　　clean?  he supposes.  he’s not going to check her work.

　　　“for what you’re offering, too.”   she’s moving for the door;  he follows unhurriedly behind, arms crossed.  he needs to go in there looking like a man who wasn’t just on the receiving end of a thorough dressing-down.  he’s surprised a stray harper hasn’t come around to see what all the anxious discussion has been about.

　　　she holds something like hope in front of him.  it’s different from when the devil did it—no, that was dangling, then disappearing.  rakatak isn’t leaving.  not waiting for someone else to do all the heavy lifting.   “mm...”   she mentions desperation;  he’s still tasting dirt, sputtering a bit to relieve his tongue.  maybe he’s imagining it.   “from one up-in-the-air endeavour to the next.”   astarion is smirking now, almost cheeky.  his right brow perks.   “... so, what then?  you want to have a look at my back?”

　　　he just told her he didn’t want karlach seeing.

　　　a hand moves to the back of his neck as he thinks.  it’s not an uncomfortable thought.  not in the same way.  more, just—embarrassing.

　　　“tonight?  or...”

　　　he clears his throat, quickly re-crossing his arms.

　　　someone’s pushed on the door from within and astarion squints, head cocked to see whoever’s bound to be looking stunned on the other side.

"There are ways around this," she murmurs, raking hands through her hair to try and get back some semblance of poise, "but you have not made assisting you in it a very tempting prospect." It's not exaggerating to admit she lost her cool slightly. Even if he does somewhat deserve it for trying to go over her head so flagrantly, the fact does remain that Astarion's proven himself thoroughly useful.

The paladin huffs, shakes her head, and reaches down. Her hand first finds his shoulder, then down his arm to his hand, and he's pulled to his feet. "Hellscript - fine. I may not be able to read it, but I'll take it down for you. May not be the most adept landscape artist, but sigils are something I have... a passing familiarity with. Surely we can find someone who recognizes what it is without having to disrobe you for them." A cursory effort is made to brush him down. Always easy to forget how unaccustomed the goodly races (and natives in general) are to roughhousing.

Steps are taken towards the door, but Rakatak pauses before her hand reaches the knob. She casts her eye back towards the rogue, some sort of consideration in her eyes at the admittance he gave her. That can't have been easy. Her first instinct is to put it aside for later, not drag him through what can't have been easy to say in the first place. A feeling pervades her, though, that it should at the very least be given its credence first. "Desperation is unbecoming of us, but I understand your need to see it through. I am not going to petition the infernal for this... up-in-the-air thing, but I will assist you in learning more about it. We may not even need Raphael for it to be solved."

[novakstiel]

here are some photos of my yesterday’s look. the concert was really good and i had a blast, i’m glad i ended up going :’)

[elysianslove]

HI FOR THE DICK ANALYSIS CAN U START WITH JJK PLSS SJSJSJ btw i love your blog sm. thank you for making my day better <3

—🧢 (i hope no one have claimed this emoji yet)

HVSJSJD ABSOLUTELY YES I CAN also i love YOU so much mwah <3 and no it’s not taken!! it’s yours now <3

anyways let’s get into w the unrealistic dick analysissss <3 while writing this i deadass was like “so hm should i mention what their cum would taste like” i hate myself 

could i have said more? yes. did i want to spare you guys and my dignity? yes. 

JJK DICK ANALYSIS

starting off with our mc, itadori yuuji

fat cock. fat! cock! it’s around 6.5 inches, but god, there’s so much girth he needs to prep you for forever before you can take him. very veiny too, with a slight curve to the right, and the head flushes so pink when he’s fully hard. it’s just so thick and heavy and feels so good in your hand when you stroke him. inside of you?? holy shit. never used to shave, but once he got an s/o, he started to trim so that it’s tolerable. so kind of him <3 and he has the sexiest happy trail ever. literally so hot, especially when it peaks from his shirt. took him a while to learn how to use a cock as thick as his tbh, but it’s so big that even if he messily fucks into you he’ll leave you braindead. also need to point that yuuji cums like so much. an unbelievable amount. dick looks so good all wet and messy though mwah 

fushiguro megumi

pretty fucking dick. it’s so pretty. so pretty. bit on the longer side, at around 6.9 inches <333 but it’s a skinny dick. hits all the right spots though. it’s so pretty y’all. pale all along and a dark pink tip, not very veiny, but curves a little to the left. the tip is generally sensitive, but he’s just extra sensitive. like the moment he slips inside of you and your walls tighten around his tip he’s ready to bust. loves it when you suck on it then blow and it’s all cold, he just full on shivers it’s beautiful. clean shaven, always. before, with, and after an s/o. he just feels so much cleaner and put together, and becomes he adores deep throating, he doesn’t wanna inconvenience his s/o like that. get you a thoughtful guy like megumi <3 

gojō satoru

i hate this man. he’s like a 7.2 inches and acts like he’s 10 inches. but to be fair, he really does know how to use it. it’s a little tanner than the rest of his body, which is suspicious. do you tan your dick gojō? knowing him he probably does. golden, light pink head, and doesn’t curve at all. just like slaps straight up against his stomach. clean shaven, but he does it to like??? prove a point??? it’s pretty, i’ll admit, has some girth to it too. relatively veiny as well, but nothing that stands out too much. oozes out so much precum when he’s aroused, like ok damn???  but trust, he’ll really know how to make you feel good. also, need to add that gojō definitely flexes his dick at you just cause he can. like makes it bob up and down and twitch. hate him. 

ryomen sukuna

okay so i know he technically shares a body with yuuji but for the sake of this analysis. he is— my god, i. good luck like, not dying. 15 inches 8.5 inches? give or take :) so fucking thick, and is a darkish, fair color all along his dick, and is a dark, dark pink/mauve at the head. so fucking veiny, like you can feel it when he’s inside of you. doesn’t shave lol. to be fair, he doesn’t want you to shave either, but like he won’t stop you if you do. don’t expect him to though. makes you deep throat him and pushes your head down and all, the audacity. cums so much it’s scary. if cum inflation was legit it’d be sukuna’s main thing. 

nanami kentō

big, fat, long. all of it. bigger than gojō’s. he’s like a 7.6 inches and god does he put every single inch to use. tip flushes an angry red when he’s properly horny. the way he fucks you feel him in your guts, for real. it’s just so fat, and it fills you up so deep. perfect dick. not clean shaven, but it’s not unnecessarily messy either. he likes making you cream around him and marveling at that ring of cum around his cock. and speaking of, he cums so much, and it’s so thick too. anyways. can’t fuck nanami kentō and not cry because of how overwhelmed you are. thank you, moving on. 

getō suguru 

AH. GOD. monster cock. it’s like 8 inches pls. doesn’t he look like an 8 inches. tell me he doesn’t. is that even realistic. who cares? he’s 8 inches. it’s longer than it is thick, though, but trust, you’ll feel him in your guts. flushed, dark, pink head, relatively pale all throughout, and curves a little to the right. never preps you because he’s an asshole i guess? also never shaves, sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, trims, and has a lovely happy trail leading down. dick looks gorgeous when it’s all wet and glossy <333 

inumaki toge 

another insanely pretty dick. like the moment you tug his pants down you just gasp ‘cause wtf it’s gorgeous? very pale, light pink and flushed head, always oozing precum. not veiny at all, and curves to the right. he’s not longer than he is thicker, neither is he thicker than he is longer. justttt right, at 6.4 inches. knows how to use it. angles it perfectly when he’s fucking you. also clean shaven! absolutely! it’s the least he could do, you know. incredible orgasm control to the point that his dick’s always teetering on a purpling head, all for you though <3 

fushiguro toji

another monster cock. like around 7.7/7.8 inches, relatively thick, and another one who’s tip gets a dark red when he’s hard. likes to get himself ready for you by deep throating you and coating his dick with your spit. honestly, in his defense, his dick does look gorgeous like that. not too veiny. there’s one or two that are prominent, maybe. not clean shaven. maybe if you like bully him into doing it something he might. threaten him with no sex! his dick is so hefty and heavy though, like it’s just thangin’ when he’s in sweats. i just know he goes commando. ugh, dilf <3 

[itsdanii]

I really love your “rejecting and regretting” drabbles and I would love to request one with Suna and Iwaizumi please

Rejecting you and regretting it pt. 3

hey, bub. thanks for requesting! im so glad you're liking my works ♥️ was supposed to post this yesterday but i had an appointment with my psychologist so sorry for the slight delay. that being said, here's your request for iwaizumi and suna. i hope you like it♥️

genre: slight angst to fluff, slight crack

warnings: cursing, rude behavior (resolved), please do message me if i forgot any

ft. suna rintaro, oikawa!reader x iwaizumi hajime

title says it all.

Suna Rintaro

out of all the inarizaki boys, suna rintaro was the one who managed to pique your interest

at first, you thought that he was the most quiet amongst the group but the longer you stayed as a manager, the more you realized how wrong you were

In fact, suna is one of the most talkative, along with the miya twins

you even felt bad sometimes for kita for having to discipline the three as if they were his own kids

one day, you suddenly realized that you were falling for the middle blocker

you knew that it was not a good practice to fall for someone in a team you manage but it's not like you can control who you fall for, right?

and so, you made a decision to confess to him

"Oi, y/n! What's that yer holding?"

You squeaked upon being called by Atsumu and quickly hid the cake you were holding behind your back. Smiling awkwardly, you made your way to him and placed the cake on top of the table.

It was currently lunch time and as a usual routine, you, Osamu, Atsumu and Rin were meeting at your spot just near the gym to eat.

"Can you atleast lower your voice? The moment the others see this cake, it'll be gone in a snap of a finger," you scolded at him.

"Cake? What's it for?" As if a light suddenly appeared on top of Atsumu's head, he took the box and opened it with sparkling eyes. "Looks good!"

"No, wait!"

Your lips parted as you watched him take the fork that you put inside and sliced a piece for himself. He even let out a small moan of satisfaction as the taste of the cake filled his mouth.

"That...was for Rin," you said with a tiny voice, making Atsumu raise an eyebrow at you.

"Suna? Why are ya givin' him a cake?" Noticing the way you failed to answer, a grin started forming on Atsumu's lips as the realization came into him. "Holy shit, ya like him!"

"Like who?"

You and Atsumu both froze at the sound of Suna's voice. Swallowing the lump forming in your throat, you slowly turned around to face Suna who was now frowning at you.

"Rin-chan..." you said slowly.

Suna and Osamu both took their seats, Osamu sitting beside Atsumu and Suna sitting beside you.

"Y/n likes someone?" Osamu asked and took the fork to taste the cake you made, his face lightening up as it somehow reached his standards.

Being the goofy one, Atsumu nodded with a grin. He spared Suna a quick glance before wiggling his eyebrows at you playfully. "Mhm. The one they like is actually a part of the volleyball team. Any guess, Rin-chan?"

Despite the nervousness you're feeling, you managed to roll your eyes at Atsumu as he tried imitating the way you call Suna.

Suna just shrugged his shoulders, looking almost unbothered if not for the fact that he was gripping his chopsticks a little too tightly. "Don't know, don't care."

You felt your confidence drop a little at his lack of enthusiasm. "Aren't you even just a bit curious?" you asked, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

"No, why would I be? It's not like it's any of my business. You can like whoever you want to like. It's not like I give a damn about it," Suna simply answered.

The small hope inside you that you gathered throughout the whole week just to confess completely vanished, replaced with doubt and sudden insecurity. The way he said those words seemed as if he doesn't care about you at all and the fact that he said it in front of the twins made it even worse. You felt humiliated.

You glanced at Atsumu for help and the setter just sighed before sliding the box of the now half eaten cake to Suna. "Didn't have to be so rude 'bout it, Rin. Taste the cake. Maybe it'll change yer mind and make ya realize how dense ya are."

Suna just glared at him and took a bite, his eyes darting towards your figure. "Were you supposed to give this cake to the person you like?"

Seeing you nod, Suna rolled his eyes. "I don't think it's a good idea. It tastes like shit, I'm sure the guy would reject you the moment he takes a bite."

Your heart dropped at what he said. Not only did he say that your cooking was bad but also rejected you without saying it directly. The moment you felt your eyes tearing up, you immediately stood up and left the table, ignoring the continues yells of a certain miya.

Suna stared at your back before frowning at Atsumu. "What's up their ass? I just said it didn't taste good is all. They didn't have to be sensitive." Contrary to his words, Suna grabbed the fork and continued eating the cake.

"They made the cake for ya, dumbass," Atsumu answered and stood up, quickly grabbing his things before leaving to follow you.

Suna froze upon realizing what Atsumu meant. Eyes darting towards Osamu, he muttered a small curse before gripping his hair in frustration. "Samu..."

Not even waiting for what Suna wanted to say, Osamu shook his head no with a displeased look. "Ya fucked up big time. Sorry but I can't help ya with this one."

-

Suna was on his own.

No matter how much he tried convincing the twins to help him, neither of them agreed. He didn't know how to approach you after what happened. You basically ignored him even during practices, only doing your duties and talking to him when instructed by Kita.

Several days went on yet you were still ignoring him, and to say that Suna was getting fed up was an understatement. Not only were you ignoring him but you were also spending too much time with Atsumu.

Sure, he was aware that you two are bestfriends, but that doesn't mean that it wouldn't turn into something more. After all, Atsumu was a likeable guy. It wouldn't be impossible for you to fall in love with someone like him.

And so, the moment Suna saw Atsumu almost kissing your cheek, he snapped.

With fast strides, he went over to your direction and pulled you away from your bestfriend who only shrugged his shoulders and went on his way as if nothing happened.

Suna stopped when you reached an empty classroom and he immediately shut the door behind him for privacy. "I'm sorry for being rude to you last time," he started.

"You weren't only rude to me, ya know?" you said and averted your gaze from him. "You also rejected me. I know that I haven't directly confessed to you yet but it still hurt. I just assumed that maybe I had a chance since we were close with each other. I'm sorry for-"

"Please, don't," Suna said to cut you off. He stepped closer to you and placed his hands on your shoulders, regret visible on his face. "Don't apologize for liking me."

"But Rin..."

"I don't want you to take it back. I like you too, y/n. So please..." Suna dropped his arms to his sides and rested his forehead on your shoulder before muttering, "Please don't ignore me anymore. I promise I'll love you the way you deserve."

You felt yourself soften at his words and despite how much what he said last time hurt you, you knew that deep inside, your heart belongs to him. You brought your hand up to run your fingertips over Suna's hair before nodding. "I won't ignore you anymore, Rin. You know why?"

He lifted his head up to look at you hopefully. "Because you like me?"

"You guessed right."

The moment you said those words, Suna immediately placed his hand on your jaw, angling your head up to him. "And I like you too."

Not able to hold himself back anymore, Suna leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, your eyes closing as you savored the feeling of finally kissing the man you like.

Iwaizumi Hajime

Iwaizumi is your brother's bestfriend

The first time you saw him was when you were in first grade, him and Tooru being a year older than you

Despite the small age gap, you still grew close with him as most of your time, you spent with Haji watching random movies and playing volleyball

When you entered high school, you only became closer to them

He protected you from bullies and those people who only wanted to use you in order to get closer to your brother

At first, you didn't notice that you were falling for him, thinking that you were just attached to him after being by his side for such a long time

But when you realized that your gazes lingered on him longer, your mind started wondering the feeling of his hand holding yours, and the way your heart fluttered everytime he was close, you knew that you've fallen for him deep

It was a Friday night, both you and Tooru were dressed in your pajamas as you waited in your room for Iwaizumi to finish making the popcorn.

Today, you all scheduled a movie night since this was the only time the three of you are free. Being a third year and a volleyball player at the same time was hard on both your brother and Iwaizumi's time and often times, you had to cancel due to them having an early practice.

Luckily for you, it seemed that their coach finally had mercy and decided to give them a weekend break.

You, on the other hand, had lots of free time in your hand since your workload isn't as heavy as theirs which is why you were always the one who adjusted when it comes to the schedule of your movie marathon night.

"Iwa-chan, gimme the one with more popcorn!" Tooru immediately said as soon as Iwaizumi stepped inside your room, balancing two bowls of popcorn in his hold.

You rolled your eyes at your brother and stood up to help Iwaizumi, purposely showing your brother how you took the one with more popcorn in it. "Sucker," you said, sticking your tongue out at him.

Iwaizumi sighed at your attitude and plopped down beside you which made your heart flutter as always.

When the movie started, you noticed how much the two were so focused on the screen. You felt a little guilty since you were basically the one who suggested the movie yet you were the one who isn't paying attention.

How can you even focus if your crush is literally sitting beside you on your bed?

You could even smell him by how close he is beside you. You were, after all, crushed in between him and your brother, a blanket covering the three of you as you squished yourselves in your bed.

As the movie went on, you felt your eyelids getting heavier. You let out a small yawn and rubbed your eyes, the sound of the people talking on the screen making you feel drowsy instead of stopping you from sleeping.

Iwaizumi, who had noticed the way your head was swaying from side to side, gently took the half empty bowl of popcorn from your hold and wiped your fingers with a baby wipe. He then carefully guided your head to rest on his shoulder before refocusing his attention on the movie.

When you woke up, the room was silent. The television was already turned off and the lamp was already turned on. You looked beside you and noticed that the spaces beside your bed were already empty, reminding you that you must've fallen asleep and Iwaizumi and Tooru must've transfered to their rooms already.

Feeling your throat demanding for some water, you slid off your bed and made your way towards the kitchen. As you grabbed the glass, you almost dropped it upon seeing a reflection of a man behind you.

"You scared me," you whispered into the quietness as you came face to face with your brother's bestfriend.

He chuckled and ruffled your hair before grabbing himself his own glass, eyes staring at you as he downed the water within seconds. "Sorry. I didn't expect you to wake up since you always sleep like a log," he said with a grin.

You lightly smacked his chest, your cheeks heating up as you felt his hard muscles, no doubt the results of playing his sport.

A small growl coming from your stomach suddenly disturbed the silence, Iwaizumi's laugh immediately booming throughout the kitchen as you blushed in embarrassment. "Shut up. I only ate popcorn, you know?"

Shaking his head with a small smile, Iwaizumi pointed at the stool before saying, "Go sit. I'll whip you up something to eat."

You immediately obliged and couldn't stop yourself from smiling as you admired his back while he cooked. "Neh, Haji," you called out.

"Hm?" he hummed, throwing a quick glance at you.

"Do you like someone?"

You knew that asking such question was bold of you, especially when neither of you totally expected it. You didn't even know how the words managed to get out of your lips. All you knew was that if there was a perfect time to confess, it would be now.

After all, with your brother enjoying his time in dream land, nobody would disturb the both of you. It was serene, and you hoped that the outcome would be just as serene as the moment.

"Where's this coming from? Is this your way of trying to confess to me?" Iwaizumi said with a chuckle.

"And what if it is? What are you going to do?" You bit your lower lip anxiously as you waited for his reply.

But instead of embracing you and confessing his feelings too just like you expected, you were greeted with the seriousness of Iwaizumi when he spun around. He walked over to you and and placed the freshly cooked Omirice infront of you.

"Then I'd have to reject you," he answered simply, his voice sounding as if the topic wasn't up for any discussion.

"Why? Is it because I'm Tooru's sibling?" You frowned at him and crossed your arms over your chest. "You know that wouldn't change anything if you date me, right? You'd still be Tooru's bestfriend."

"I already said I'd reject you. That's it, end of discussion." With that, he turned his back on you and made his way out of the kitchen.

But before he can even completely walk out on you, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. "But I like you, Haji. I always have.." You voice seemed tiny all of a sudden and your grip on his wrist tightened instinctively when you felt him removing your grip easily with his free hand.

"I'm sorry but I don't like you, y/n. Now, let go and stop with your delusions because no matter what you do, I'll never like you."

You felt your heart shatter at those words, tears quickly streaming down your cheeks as you watched him walk away, leaving you all alone in the now empty kitchen.

Guess you don't always get what you want, huh?

The rest of the weekend, you did your best avoiding Iwaizumi to make sure that you don't make him uncomfortable. You made sure to stay cooped up in your room until you were certain that Iwaizumi had already left. Heck, you even rejected your brother's offer when he asked if you wanted to go meet up with rest of the boys at the mall.

You knew that Tooru wasn't unaware that something happened since you've never rejected any offer when it comes to shopping. But even if he did, he sure stayed quiet about it and gave you space which you were thankful for.

A week rolled by and Iwaizumi was starting to get antsy. His spikes were not as good and his movements were too sloppy to the point that their coach had to sub him out during one of their practice games.

As he sat on the bench, his mind went back to the time he rejected you. Back then, he was sure that he did the right decision. He was a third year and you were only in your second year. Not only would it seem that he was after some kid, he would also look like an asshole who only befriended Oikawa for his sibling.

But that was before.

Now, he wasn't so sure anymore. He missed your affection towards him and the way you cared for him. He missed how you often visit their practice and give him first his water bottle instead of Tooru. He missed your playful banter and the way you irritate him by simply joining forces with your brother.

Fuck, he missed you.

And the way he only realized it now made it even worse.

Iwaizumi ran his fingers through his hair out of frustration, and when he saw someone handling him a water bottle, he instantly lifted his head up expecting to see you. Except it wasn't you, it was Tooru.

He mumbled a small "Thanks," before sighing evidently, making Tooru raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Just what happend between you and y/n?"

Seeing the panic on Iwaizumi's expression, Tooru just rolled his eyes. "Don't even try denying it, Iwa-chan. I'm not that stupid, you know? Y/n's basically isolating themselves inside their room as if they're scared that you might visit anytime and you.. your play sucks that even Makki and Matsun noticed it."

"Didn't have to remind me," Iwaizumi grunted.

"Hmm," Tooru pressed a finger to his chin as if he was thinking, eyes slightly widening as he remembered something. "Is it because they finally confessed to you?"

"How did you-"

"Oh it's simple! I heard my dearest sibling practicing their confession several times before you came last Saturday. I didn't expect them to confess that early though. The confession sounded too plain for my liking," Tooru said with a hum.

Iwaizumi could only look at him with parted lips. How come Tooru seemed unbothered by the thought of you confessing? Wasn't he supposed to act like a protective brother?

Noticing the way Iwaizumi was staring at him, Tooru pouted. "What're you looking at, Iwa-chan? You're not thinking of dating me instead, are you?"

"Dumbass. I'm thinking why you seem too relaxed at the idea of your sibling confessing to me," Iwaizumi said, hitting the back of Tooru's head.

"Eh? Why? Did you expect me to go apeshit on you?" Tooru chuckled. "Don't worry Iwa-chan, I completely approve of you dating them! Just don't try to hurt their feelings or I'll be mad for sure!"

"But I already rejected them." Iwaizumi groaned and rested his head against his palm out of frustration.

Tooru, who seemed to gain sympathy at his partner, patted his back and said, "Then we'll just have to do something about it, don't we?"

-

When you arrived home, the house was eerily quite. The lights were all off making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You knew how much Tooru hated coming home with the lights off so you always made sure to leave it on in case you arrive later than him.

"Tooru?" you called out as you switched the lights on. You surveyed the whole living room and kitchen but your brother was nowhere to be found.

Shrugging your shoulders, you went up to your room and almost screamed at the sight of a man sitting on top of your bed, a bouquet of flowers in hand along with a bunny stuffed toy.

"Why do you always have to scare the shit out of me? I swear one of these days, I'll die of heart attack because of you," you scolded as you closed the door behind you. You discarded your bag on the couch and stood in front of Iwaizumi with your arms crossed over your chest. "What's all this about?"

Scratching the back of his head, Iwaizumi spared a quick glance at your wardrobe before sighing. "They're um... They're for you." He handed you the flowers and the bunny, eyes watching you warily as you smelled the pink roses.

You weren't unaware of what was happening. You always witness these kinds of things but since you were still hurt about what he said, you decided that you wouldn't give in to him that easily.

"Thank you," you answered dryly before placing the roses on top of your study desk.

Iwaizumi cannot help but panic because of this. Have you already decided that you no longer like him? What if you already got yourself a boyfriend? His thoughts started running wild inside his head and it was only when you touched his shoulder that he was brought back to the reality.

"Sorry...I," Iwaizumi fisted his hands on his sides before continuing. "I'm sorry for hurting your feelings, y/n. I didn't want to reject you. I actually like you but I got scared. I mean, you're Oikawa Y/n, my bestfriend's sibling. I didn't want you to think that I was only friends with your brother because I like you. In the end, I hurt you and god knows how stupid I am for doing such thing."

By this time, Iwaizumi's eyes were closed, afraid of looking at your reaction. He was even biting his lips and if not for the seriousness of the moment, you would've took a picture of his adorableness.

"I guess an apologizing Haji, is a cute Haji," you said with a smile making his eyes open.

"Shut up," he said shyly with the tips of his ears turning red. "I'm being serious, you know?"

"And I'm being serious as well. I'm not kidding when I said you're being cute right now," you said, continuing to tease him.

"Y/n."

You giggled at the warning in his tone. "Alright, alright. 'm sorry." You took his hand in yours and gave it a small squeeze before lifting your gaze up to him, all signs of goofiness now vanishing from your face and replaced with honesty and admiration. "I like you too, Haji. I still do."

"Shit." Iwaizumi smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist, his strong arms lifting you off the ground out of happiness.

You squealed as you were lifted and you encircled your arms around his neck to cling to him.

"Gosh, Iwa-chan! My sister said she likes you too and the first thing you say is shit?!" Tooru said as he revealed his presence, his hand rubbing his back at the ache for staying too long in the cramped closet.

You gave Iwaizumi a few taps on his back which he immediately understood. He placed you down and grinned as he watched you taking your brother out of your room by pulling at his ear.

"Ouch, y/n-chan! Iwa-chan, help me!"

Iwaizumi just chuckled as the door infront of him slammed shut, the shouts of Tooru as you hit him bringing a sense of satisfaction to Iwaizumi.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

can i pls request some jealous sex with derek shepherd??👀💕 thank u xx

Don’t

Pairing: Derek Shepherd x Reader

Warning: SMUTTY SMUT SMUT‼️ 18+ ONLY‼️ unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT!) , jealous Derek, kitchen sex, nipple play (slight), cum play

MASTERLIST

-----

"Get back here!" the front door slammed shut behind your fuming boyfriend as you walked further into your apartment

"Go home Derek!" you spun around on your heels to face the fuming man across the room, finger pointing to the same door that he just entered through

"I've had enough of your shitty behaviour for one night"

"My shitty beha- you're pushing it"

Tonight you both attended a dinner with a few of your co-workers and Derek is so admant that you and his best friend Mark were flirting with each other, which brings you here in your living room

"You and Mark were practically fucking each other with your eyes tonight thinking that I didn't notice but I did!" your blood boiled even further as he continued to accuse you of something that he clearly made up in his head

"You know what, maybe I was fucking Mark in my head because CLEARLY I'm desperate for sex" Derek's face became more red with rage as you spoke

"You know what was going through my mind as he was talking to me, I thought about him shoving me up against the nearest wall and sticking his tongue down my throat while his hands groped my brests or ass" clenching his jaw he gripped onto the back rest of the sofa so hard until his knuckles turned white

"You're crossing a line" at this point you didn't care

"I wanted to know what it felt like to have Mark Sloan fuck me into oblivion, to fuck me so hard that I wouldn't be able to remember my own damn name while I cum all over his cock"

"That's enough" Derek stalked over to you but you held your ground still spewing all the vail things that he so obviously thought was happening in my head

"I wanted him to turn me into a moaning mess, to have me screaming out his name as I orgasm-" you were cut short by Derek's hand wrapping around your throat choking you lightly just how you like it. His once angry demeanor is now overtaken with lust

"I said that's. enough." his breath fanned against your flushed cheeks, you could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he forced you to look into his eyes. You cunt fluttered as he backed you up against the island top

"Let's put that mouth of yours to good use. On your knees" he released your throat and pushed you down to the floor. He quickly undid his pants and his semi-hard cock sprung free from their restraints. You took his cock into your plams, spreading the pre-cum on the head of his cock before spitting on it. Derek grabbed a fist full of your hair and pulled your head back

"No time for games" licking the prominent vein from the underside of his massive cock you couldn't help but smirk at the sounds that came from him and you're bearly even started

Opening your mouth you slowly went down on him, hollowing your cheeks as you sped up. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat each time and it's time like this where you're thankfull that you don't have a gag reflex.

His grip on your hair tightened as he started taking control, bucking his hips fucking your mouth wildly. Your saliva coated the shaft of his cock and trickled down your chin, making a complete mess. Reaching up you palmed his balls earning a grunt of approval from the Derek. You felt his cock twitch before he shot his load down your throat. He pulled out and you swallowed every last drop, he hoisted you up and bent you over the kitchen counter, raising your dress to revel your bare ass

"No panties" spanking your ass he pressed his cock up against you thrusting between your ass cheeks. Derek raised your leg and placed it on the conter before stooping down to your soaking cunt

His broad tongue lick a broad stripe from your needy hole to your clit while index finger played with your opening before he stuck it in. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and licking turning you into a moaning mess

"Derek!" you fisted his curls pulling his face closer to your cunt, grinding down on his face as he hungrily ate you out in the middle of your kitchen

Moaning you gripped onto the cabinet handle tightly, knuckles turning white as you felt your first orgasm of the night build up. Derek sped up the pace, fingertips brushing against that specific spot inside of you. Your eyes folled to the back of your head as you clamped down on his digits as you came. He continued to lap at your juices, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue

He stood up and you were about to straighten up but he held you in place, turning your face to meet his. Lust blown eyes stared into yours briefly as he crashed his lips against yours. You could still taste yourself on his tongue as he explored your mouth. His hips rocked into yours and you moaned feeling his stiffened cock pressed firmly against your ass

Derek started trailing open mouth kisses along your jaw, neck and your exposed shoulder blades, lining himself up with your aching cunt. Digging his fingers into your hips he thrusted his cock into you not giving you any time to adjust before he was pounding into you like his life depended on it

"Fuck!" his cock streatched you out deliciously, the burn turned into pleasure in no time. He nipped at your earlobe, stuble grazing against your skin driving you insane. Derek pushed you flat against the countertop railing you at a better angle, cock hitting against your g-spot with each thrust

His groans became louder as your needy cunt fluttered around him each time he entered you. The sinful sounds of skin slapping against skin mixed with your moans and cries of pleasure echoed throughout your apartment. You were sure your neighbour was hearing eveything right now but you couldn't care less

Reaching behind you, you placed your hand on his abdomen in hopes of slowing his pace but he held your arm against your back, still brutally fucking into you

"Nuh uh, you wanted to be a brat, this is your punishment" your legs started turning into jello as another orgasm flodded your body, this time you felt a gush of hot liquid, smiling at the mess you made you rubbed circles onto your swollen clit as your arousal ran down your leg

"Shit" his hips started stuttering as his cock twitced inside of you, Derek emptied his seed deep inside of you before pulling out. You felt his sticky cum flow out of you and like the tease that you were you dipped you finger into your cunt before bring your fingers up to your lips, slowly sucking them clean

Straighten yourself Derek wasted no time in turning you around before hoisting you onto the counter. Shoving the skirt of your dress above your waist he thrusted into you again, cock still rock hard. He attacked your neck in kisses, teeth grazing against your flesh ever so often as he fucked into you. Derek pulled down the top of your dress exposing your breasts, he pinched your perky nipples and you could've cum right then and there again

"Mhmm Der-" running your hands through his long locks you dragged your nails against his scalp and he grunted in approval, slowing his pace a bit to take your right nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue driving you closer to the edge

"You gonna cum again" you wanted too but you were sure that you couldn't. When he didn't get a response he started torturing your clit causing you to cry out

"I-I can't" vision blurry you held onto his forearm body quivering from all the pleasure that you were recieving. Derek spread your legs wider, pulling your hips closer to edge of the counter resuming his animalistic thrusts into your dripping cunt

"You can, one more time for me baby" your eyes were glued to where your bodies connected as felt your orgasm build up. He pressed your foreheads together as you both enjoyed the sight, sinful moans slipped past both your lips

His dick was drenched in your slick, dripping down his heavy balls and onto his trousers. The tip of his cock found that spot again causing your eyes to roll again, toes curling, legs shaking and you knew that it wasn't long before you came again

"Right there" you felt yourself let go and once again you squirted your juices all over him, you were sure you were seeing stars from the intensity of your orgasm. He helped you ride out your high, chasing his own release. With one last thrust into you he buried himself into your cunt, hot cum spilling into you

Taking his face in your hands you pulled him into a steamy kiss as he stayed buried inside of you. Pulling back slightly you couldn't help but release a breathless chuckle

"If this is the type of sex I get from getting you riled up I guess I'll have to do that more often" your voice was hoarse from all the screaming and moaning you did and he lightly thrusted into you and you groaned

"Don't"

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 17

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 17

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~3300 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost…

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15  Part 16

Part 17

Billy couldn’t stop gawking at you, wondering how it was possible you grew more beautiful each time he saw you. The red wrap dress you were wearing accentuated all your curves, and it took every bit of willpower he had not to rip it off of you and fuck you senseless right then and there. Unfortunately, he had to behave himself. Caravan was a pretty bouji place that had recently been labelled as one of the hottest restaurants in Manhattan and he had to pull a few strings to get a last-minute reservation for tonight. But seeing the smile on your face when you realized this was where you were dining had been completely worth all the hassle.

As the hostess guided the two of you to your table, he noticed a few assholes at the bar admiring you from afar. Immediately he snaked his arm around your waist to draw you in closer. You were his. If he could he’d pluck out every one of those fuckers’ eyes so they never made the mistake of looking at you again. Better yet, he’d keep you locked behind closed doors. Of course you wouldn’t agree to anything like that because you were too goddamn independent for your own good.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, taking a seat at your designated table.

Billy’s attention returned to your face as he followed suit, his gaze inhaling you in. “You look too hot. Too many assholes staring at you,” he grumbled.

The worried look on your face was replaced with a beaming smile, one that made his cock twitch.

“You’re being ridiculous” you remarked, scanning the menu.

His eyes drifted down to your chest, the swell of your soft, supple breasts just begging to be kissed and licked by him.

“Stop staring at my boobs, Billy,” you chastised even as a small smile graced your lips. “This is a proper first date. You can’t just ogle me like that. You have to behave like a gentleman.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been that.”

“Well, try,” you ordered.

The waitress came by with the bottle of red wine you’d requested and poured some in both of your glasses. He noticed the redhead giving him a friendly smile, her green eyes lingering on him for a second too long. Fine, yeah, she may have been hot but she wasn’t you. No one was. So while he would have happily slipped her his number in the past, now the idea of being with someone who wasn’t you no longer excited him.

Once she left, he took the opportunity to move a few inches closer to you. What he really wanted was to get on his knees and bury his head between your legs, but something told him eating you out in in the crowded restaurant wouldn’t go over very well with you.

“I think she likes you.”

Hand propped on the back of your chair, he started playing with your hair. “Who?”

“Our waitress. She didn’t look at me once, her eyes were on you the entire time.”

He leaned in, ecstatic at the thought of you acting possessive. Even though you’d confessed to having feelings for him, Billy still worried you were ready to bolt at any moment. To see you jealous meant you genuinely cared and he didn’t have to worry about you leaving him. “She’s not my type. I have my eyes on someone else.”

You made a show of looking around the restaurant. “Oh, is Madani here too?”

“Funny,” he retorted, taking your hand in his.

“Your ginger’s lucky. I’m dressed way too nice or I’d take my knife and stab her with it.”

He smirked. “You’re vicious when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I just don’t like bad service.”

“Bullshit.”

“Billy, you’re hot. You know that. All the women here are checking you out. If I freaked out every time someone did that, I’d have a breakdown.”

He wanted to destroy the fucking world at the thought of someone even looking at you but apparently you were simply ambivalent about him. “So it’s that easy for you? Your brain tells you to turn off a feeling and your heart just does it?” Even to his own ears he sounded bitter. “Guess you’re not all that invested in me.”

Your eyebrow quirked up, apparently surprised by his edgy tone. “Do you want me to go nuts?”

“Just want you to give a damn.”

“You think I don’t?” you snapped. “Every time she looks at you I want to tear her hair out. Even though the rational part of me knows she’s probably just flirting with you because it’s part of her job or she’s hoping for big tips. Or maybe she really does want to fuck you. Either way, I want to punch her across the face. Happy?” You gulped down your wine.

Grinning, he squeezed your hand. “Then why not just tell me that? Why act like you don’t care?”

The agitated expression on your face was replaced with tenderness, your eyes soft. “Just because I don’t have a jealous fit doesn’t mean I don’t care. I just…” You exhaled a sigh, and he sensed this was difficult for you. “I express my emotions differently than you.”

“I noticed. You put on an act while holding everything in.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But I want you, the real you, not the version everyone else sees.”

“It’s not that easy, Billy.”

He brought your palm to his lips. “I’d never told anyone about my mother.”

“You didn’t tell me either,” you pointed out.

“You found out anyway, and I’m so fucking glad you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have realized I could be real with you.” He placed a tender kiss on your skin. “I don’t want to hide anything from you, Y/N.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Then tell me about William Rawlins.”

Your request gave him pause, his eyes roaming over your face. He’d taken painstaking measures to keep his partnership with Rawlins a secret yet you’d discovered it. “What do you want to know?”

“He gave you a lot of money.”

“I earned that money,” he said in a defensive tone. “He and I were partners for a while. Then he died.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to hide your connection to him.”

“You found out about it though.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Yeah, too good,” he muttered. He released your hand, watching you intently. “So what do you want to know?”

You leaned in closer, your voice barely above a whisper. He was momentarily distracted by the sensation of your tits pressed against him but he forced himself to concentrate.

“What happened to Rawlins, did you have anything to do with it?”

Billy took a swig of his wine. “Why do you think that?”

You quirked your eyebrow at him. “Knifed by someone in the parking lot. They never found the guy who did it.”

“He had a lot of enemies,” he pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe I was wrong.”

He studied you for several seconds, trying to decide if he should take the leap or not. “You’re not wrong.”

Realization dawned on your face as the truth set in. “Why did you do it?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

So he told you, about Operation Cerberus, his role in it and the money he earned, how he’d eliminated Rawlins a year ago when the prick plotted to take out Frank and his family. To this day Frank didn’t know about Billy’s partnership with Rawlins or how close he came to dying and he intended to keep it that way.

Throughout his confession his eyes were glued to your face, gauging your reactions. The part of him determined to do anything to be a success, the one who didn’t let society’s morals get in the way of his ambitions, would never be accepted by his closest friends. Despite the myriad of reasons to have kept that side of himself hidden, he didn’t want to do that with you. Because as risky as it was to be so open with you, it was also exhilarating. There was no one in this world he’d ever been this honest with and that kind of intense connection with you was addictive. He wanted you to know everything about him, all of the dark and vicious thoughts that ran through his head, the burning ambition that kept pushing him forward. He wanted you to know him inside and out and he wanted the same from you.

Before he could prod you to speak your mind the server came by with your dishes, setting your meals on the table. The redhead took her time, all the whilst your gaze was focused on the table, avoiding his. Billy’s heart started to pound in his chest, he was suddenly filled with doubt. Had he made a mistake in telling you the truth? Did he just completely fuck this up? Every second the goddamn redhead lingered at the table felt like an eternity when all he wanted was to shake you out of your stupor.

The second the server left, he moved in on you. “Are you gonna say something?”

You finally looked at him, your forehead burrowed. “We need to do a better job of hiding your history with Rawlins. I found it, that means someone else can too.”

“You gonna help me with that?”

You shook your head ‘yes’. “Yeah, I have to. You need me.”

“What I did doesn’t bother you?”

You exhaled a heavy sigh. “Of course it does, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ve seen me at my worst and you didn’t judge me. I won’t do that to you either. Besides, when the universe deals you a shitty hand you’ve got to find other ways to even out your odds.”

A strange feeling of warmth flooded over him, compelling him to angle forward and kiss you on the lips.

You pulled away a second later, smiling at him as you rubbed the corner of his mouth. “This lipstick isn’t kiss-proof.”

“I don’t care.” Wicked visions of you flashed through his mind. Your bold red lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him off the way he liked it. His cum spread over your tits, your neck, your lips. The taste of your sweet, delicious cunt on his tongue as he fucked you with his mouth. The heat of your tongue against his as he rammed into you over and over-

“Stop looking at me like that,” you warned.

“Then stop looking so hot,” he snarked.

You smiled, biting down on your bottom lip.

It blew his mind how sweet and shy you were when he paid you compliments, like you didn’t expect that from him. Obviously he needed to fix that, because you deserved to know how insanely beautiful you were all the time.

“Has Anvil been okay without Rawlins?” you asked, taking a bite out of your butternut squash ravioli.

Swallowing his steak, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was tough for a while but we’ve been doing pretty well the last few months.”

“You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished, Billy. You took a big risk going into business for yourself and you made it work. That’s amazing. I could never do that.”

Billy’s insides radiated with happiness. Other than Curtis and Frank he never really had people who genuinely believed in him so to have you cheering him on was exalting. Especially considering you were great at what you did and he had so much respect for you.

He poured himself and you more wine before reaching for your hand again. “I think you could. You’d make a shitload of money if you freelanced.”

You shook your head ‘no’. “No way, I’m too much of a coward to take a risk like that.” You took a sip of your wine. “Plus I get to go to Paris for work.”

“Or you could go to Paris on vacation and not work.”

“Then I’d have to pay for it,” you pointed out, grinning. “When you grow up the way I did, you learn to appreciate free things.”

Your enthusiasm was infectious, he couldn’t hep but smile back. A part of him was hoping this would be the perfect opening for you to talk more about your childhood, about everything you went through, because he desperately wanted you to trust him as much as he trusted you with his secrets.

“I’ll be there for two weeks,” you continued, oblivious to his disappointment. “We’re going to scout out locations for the new branch and-”

“We?” Billy interjected.

You cast him a quick glance. “Roger’s coming with me on the trip.”

The jealousy that struck him felt like a swift kick to his gut. Images of you and that goddamn bastard traipsing around and enjoying romantic date nights in Paris assaulted his mind. Agitated, he pulled his hand from yours. “I bet that fucker can’t wait to be alone with you.”

“Billy, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“How would you feel if I took off with someone who wanted to fuck me?”

“First of all, he doesn’t want me.”

His jaw clenched with frustration as he glared at you. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s thought about fucking you.”

“Even if he does, I don’t want him.” You reached out to cup his face, your voice so soft and tender in your attempts to placate him that he momentarily forgot how upset he was. “You really think I’d jeopardize what we have for a fling with Roger? I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then don’t go. Turn him down.”

Irritation flickered over your face, he could tell you were done coddling him. “Billy, you have no right to ask me that. I’d never interfere with your work.”

Underneath all that jealousy he knew you were right. As much as he despised the idea of you going away to Paris with another guy, he couldn’t demand that you not go on work trips. If you did that to him, it would annoy the fuck out of him. Yet despite his rational side recognizing he was asking for too much, he couldn’t help but feel bitter. “That asshole’s gonna make a move on you, I know it.”

“What if he does? What do you think is gonna happen?”

Hs eyes met yours, urgently seeking some kind of validation from you. “You tell me.”

“Do you think I’m going to sleep with him?”

He flinched. “Don’t talk about fucking another guy, please. You’re gonna make me lose my appetite.”

You took his hand and placed it over your left breast, probably to distract him from all the disgusting images that were running through his brain. “I wanted you so badly and even then it took me like a month to fuck you. Trust me, I’m not going to sleep with him when I’m not even attracted to him.”

Spotting the earnestness in your eyes, the knot in his stomach finally loosened. Roger may have had a hard-on for you but Billy knew you felt nothing for the fucker. He’d noticed that even at the night of the gala. So that meant he had to trust you, there was no reason not to. “Call me every night when you’re there,” he grumbled.

“Every night? You’re probably going to start blocking my calls,” you laughed.

He booped your nose. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

You beamed. “Fine.” A wicked glint flashed in your eyes, a seductive smile on your lips as you slowly moved his hand lower, his fingers now on your nipple. “Hey, just ‘cause you’re not there with me doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”

He stroked your nipple over the fabric of your dress, enjoying how the nub hardened under his touch, the way your breath hitched in your throat when he continued his ministrations. With his other hand he tucked your hair behind your ear, whispering to you. “Phone sex is alright, but nothing beats this.” His tongue curved along the shell of your ear, and you trembled against him. “Right?”

The waitress seemed to come out of nowhere this time to ask how your meals were, and you jumped back. Disappointed, he sighed.

“Food was great. Thank you,” you replied, smiling stiffly at the redhead.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Privacy would be great,” Billy muttered.                                                            

You kicked him under the table. “Dessert menu?”

“Sure. I’ll bring it right over,” the waitress said, taking your plates away.  

“I’ll give you all the sugar you want once we get outta here,” he murmured seductively, caressing your thigh.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “That’s a terrible line!” You took his hand and removed it from your thigh. “Billy, I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

“Why not?”                                                      

“Because it’s our first date and I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Now that’s a terrible line,” he fired back, mimicking your earlier tone.

“Also, we already had sex this morning.”

“So? I’m greedy. I can’t get enough of you.” There was that shy smile of yours again, and he reached out to give you a sweet peck on the cheek. “You blush every time I tease you.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, it’s adorable.”

Your cheeks grew even more red. “I’m not used to it from you. A part of me still thinks you’re bullshitting me.”

Billy stiffened. “Really?”

“I know you’re not playing me,” you reassured. “It’s on me, not you. I just have a hard time accepting when good things happen.”

The waitress came by with the dessert menu. He briefly glanced at it before ordering a slice of pecan pie while you ordered a piece of chocolate cake.

As soon as the redhead left, he broached the topic with you again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. You have to believe that.”

You didn’t look at him, your eyes fixed somewhere on his chest. “I do. You were so pissed off at me last night. I honestly expected you to hit me because you were so angry. But you didn’t.”

It made him sick to his stomach that you actually thought him capable of hitting you. It hadn’t even occurred to him that you would worry about that, but of course you would. With your childhood it made perfect sense, he was just a fucking idiot who hadn’t realized how much it still impacted you. “I’m never gonna lay a hand on you. I swear.” His eyes locked with yours, hoping you can sense how much he meant those words.

“I believe you.”

His voice was insistent, his gaze boring into you. “Why did you think I would?”

Your eyes wavered from his eyes to his lips for a long time, the atmosphere thick with tension. Your facial expressions ran the gamut of painful emotions, from uncertainty to fear to sheer panic.

It finally sank in that maybe the reason you were keeping the truth from him had noting to do with if you trusted him or not. Maybe you didn’t want to be assaulted by memories from the past that caused you so much pain. The last thing he wanted was for you to experience that hell again. Regretting his demanding tone, his hands caressed down the length of your arms. “You don’t have to tell me, It’s okay.”

Your eyes brimmed with aching vulnerability as you looked up at him. “I want to… I just… give me some time, okay?” You pressed your lips against his, giving him the softest, sweetest kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight for so long, I don’t want to ruin it, you know?”

His heart felt full, his mind reeling with wonderment at the thought of you truly reciprocating his feelings. His arms wrapped around you as you sank into him, burying your face in his chest. His fingers stroked the back of your hair, murmuring soft, soothing words to you. Somewhere in the distance he heard the server’s voice trying to interject, but he didn’t give a damn.  He was yours and you were his and nothing was going to ruin that. Nothing.

Part 18

A/N - I realize not much happened in this chapter but I just reallly wanted to write a dialogue heavy part where they simply get to know and enjoy each other. I think they’ve earned some fluff. LOL.

As always, thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Please let me know your thoughts.

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